Ghosts of Christmas Past (4 page)

In other words, Al thought, this guy could have been doing anything in the twenty minutes it took for the rookie to arrive. The phone records could be double-checked but he suspected Matthews could actually talk on the phone and do something else at the same time.

Well, so long as throwing up wasn't one of them.

“Do you have video surveillance in this wing?”

Matthews brightened. “Yes, of course. I already told Security to make sure all of the footage from last night was saved.”

“Would it normally be erased?” Al asked.

“It's on a loop. When the new day starts, the previous entries are overridden.”

What a freakin' cheap system, likely because the museum was city owned. But maybe Matthews was wrong and didn't know what he was talking about. Memory was cheap—that footage had to be stored somewhere, even if in a computer trash bin.

Al heard footsteps and turned. Two men wearing crime scene jackets were headed his way. “Wait here. We're going to need your assistance again in a moment. Let me just talk to my people.”

Matthews retreated to his corner again. Al ignored the crime-scene techs examining the body for the moment because they were making dumb Christmas jokes. Instead, he closed his notebook and peered at the rookie's name tag.

“Officer Alvarez, how did you manage to pull this duty?”

“It was end of shift and I was low man on the roster,” she said, fingering her hat. “I think they decided it was a prank call, anyway.”

“Is that what you thought? That this was a prank?”

She paused, frowning. She fiddled with the hat in her hand. He wondered if she was too young for this work. But, no, she must be about the same age as Noir.

“Yeah. I'm a rookie so I figured someone was hazing me, at least I thought that until I found the body.”

“When you discovered the body, why did you call it in directly to Major Crimes instead of your own precinct? That's not protocol.”

“Captain, I didn't mean…I mean…well, this seemed like the kind of crime that your unit, Major Crimes, handles.”

“And that you went around proper procedure to come to me doesn't bother you?”

She clenched her hat tighter. “I wanted to see the crime solved. Sir.”

Stubborn for a rookie and convinced that she was smarter than her superiors. Al bet she was hazed daily.

She and Noir had a lot in common.

“And the detectives in your precinct aren't up for solving the crime?”

Alvarez shook her head slowly. “Not if their clearance record is any indication.”

“Alvarez, you realize how much deep shit you will have to wade through when you get back to your precinct? Your detectives will never forgive you for going around them.”

“I knew that when I made the call to your division, Captain.”

“Hah.” He leaned in closer. “No one told you the reward for initiative was more work, did they? So here's the deal: Take Matthews to his office. Secure the bag that apparently belongs to our victim. Keep it in your possession and do not let any museum employees near it. As far as I'm concerned, everyone's a suspect. Including our tossing-cookies witness.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, Captain.”

“After that, head to the security office and make sure no one messes with the video. Do whatever you have to do to secure that footage. Hold that station until I get there. For this case, you're assigned to me. I'll clear it with your precinct commander.”

“I won't let you down, Captain, sir.” She nodded, making the ponytail bob again.

“Just follow
my
orders, Officer Alvarez, and that will be enough.”

So eager. So young. She thought the task was a reward. Noir would have known the reward for good work was often more work.

Worse, he'd just put Alvarez in the middle of a big media circus, likely further pissing off the territorial detectives in her precinct. Serve the assholes right. They didn't recognize a good police officer right under their noses.

Alvarez's confidence in her abilities also reminded him of Noir, save Noir had never, ever been intimidated by him or this open and eager to please. Alvarez was more like an eager puppy rather than a full-grown wolf, as Noir was.

Still, he was trying to gather a team for Major Crimes, officers he could trust that would back each other up. Alvarez would fit in. He could teach investigation to a rookie, especially one who caught on fast. He supposed he should teach her diplomacy and tact, too, but he hadn't learned that yet himself, so they were both screwed there.

His phone vibrated. He checked and saw Noir's number. Damn. He didn't want to rehash their argument from this morning, not when he had no good answers for her.

He texted her that he had a complicated one, would get back to her later and would try to be home for dinner.
Takeout. I'm buying.

And he realized again that just a few months ago, he never had to do this juggling act. Nothing but the job needed his attention and he'd liked his life that way.

Maybe Noir had a point about him not wanting to change.

Doctor Didio and the crime-scene techs removed the body. The techs stayed to process the coffin. Al decided to take another look around the exhibit. A blow to the head by something wooden. Hmmm…

He stopped in front of the Dickens exhibit. If the murder was a statement about an evil tyrant, there might be something in this exhibit. As everyone knew, there was a famous wooden prop in the story.

Probably a dumb notion, but he couldn't resist.

The Christmas tree candles (really small electric lights) were lit at the Cratchit house, eliminating shadows. Al gingerly stepped inside the exhibit and focused on Tiny Tim. The little mannequin grinned from underneath a dark thatch of hair, looking more creepy than happy.

Al took photos to document everything before he moved the crutch. “Gotta borrow this for a second,” he muttered.

As if Tiny Tim would mind.

Al lifted the mannequin's arm up gingerly to pry the crutch free. When the arm was loose rather than stiff and the crutch came away easily, Al knew his long-shot guess had been correct.

He held the crutch up to the light. A long crack divided the top. Splinters poked out and several dark drops were visible. Blood, though the crime scene techs would have to check the stains to be sure. He turned around, thinking there was probably other blood splatter in here too but, things being what they were, he would have to wait for the techs to come back. It was a friggin' miracle they'd come so fast this morning.

Al glanced around to see if anyone noticed what he'd done but the hall was empty. He took photos of the crutch. This way, the crime-scene people could process, but he'd also have a record.

The crutch was a weapon of opportunity, so that meant rage or desperation. If the victim had fired his weapon and the killer had been unarmed, someone had remembered the crutch under heavy stress. Perhaps that someone also was familiar with the museum.

Al carefully replaced the murder weapon under Tiny Tim's arm, backed out of the exhibit and stood there for a moment, admiring the tree. Let the crutch stay there. Removing it might tip off the killer.

He glanced around the room again. This hall was a tribute to holidays and hope. That it'd been used for murder pissed him off.

Chapter Four

Looking at city hall was like looking at the remains of a civilization after a natural disaster. The structure was all there but in stages of decay.

The outer stone of city hall might have been brown once, but soot and dirt had taken their toll and it was mostly gray now. Cleaning it would take some serious blasting, and even that might not be enough if the stone underneath was cracked and corrupted. Someone had gone to the effort to hang an oversize holiday wreath just over the chiseled
City Hall
above the doorway but the wreath was already drooping and brown.

Lucy supposed economic collapse counted as a disaster of some sort. Plenty of people had escaped by fleeing, leaving only the misfits and the stubborn. She knew Cassandra was a self-proclaimed misfit but Lucy wondered what Salvatore considered himself, especially since he was a city employee stuck working in this derelict place. That had to be depressing. Maybe he was used to his office. He had Cassandra to come home to, after all.

Though, Al's precinct was just as depressing from the outside, and he didn't seem to mind.

“They should set our people loose on the façade to beautify it,” Lucy said.

“I suggested that to Salvatore once. He said the paperwork to even volunteer would be a mess,” Cassandra said as they walked up the cracked granite steps that led to the main entrance. She clutched Lucy's arm. “Do you really think this will do any good?”

“Absolutely,” Lucy answered with far more conviction than she felt. “I've looked for missing people before.”

“Did you find them?”

“Yes.” Okay, Al had found the hostage and the operations base of her former captors. But she'd helped.

Al still hadn't answered her call. The one time in the last few weeks that she wanted to work with him, and he was blowing her off. Damn. They were a mess, one she had no idea how to fix.

She and Cassandra entered through doors framing the broken revolving door. Almost immediately, they encountered a security station with a metal detector manned by two guards. One looked as ancient and decrepit as the building but the other's bulk nearly burst out of his buttoned shirt. Cassandra had been sure getting by security would be no problem. The bulky guard stared at them, and Lucy wondered if Cassandra's assumption would hold true.

“Hey, Zev,” Cassandra said. “Busy today?”

“Hey,” Zev, the older man, answered. “Pretty busy. All the bigwigs are here. Budget stuff.”

“We'll be in and out of Sal's office before you know or anyone else knows it.”

“Is Salvatore here?” The burly guard asked.

“He finally arrived home, sick as a dog, probably a hangover.” Cassandra rolled her eyes. “He left some paperwork behind and felt guilty about not doing work, so he asked me to get it for him.”

“If he's not with you, you can't go up,” Burly Guard said.

“But…Zev, you know me,” Cassandra said. “Me and my friend will only be a second!”

Zev glanced over at his fellow guard. “Um, rules are rules. Sorry. You'll just have to tell Salvatore if he needs the paperwork, he has to get it himself.”

Lucy put her arm around her friend. “It's okay. Let's go dose Salvatore with more coffee and see if he can make it.”

Cassandra nodded, exchanged a good-bye with Zev, and they went back out the way they'd come.

Lucy drew her friend to the side of the steps, out of sight of anyone looking through the glass doors.

“Now what?” Cassandra asked, her voice cracking.

“We're not done here,” Lucy answered. “I'll sneak inside.”

“And how do you get past the guards? You might convince Zev but not that new guy.”

“Just go back in there and ask if you can get one of Salvatore's friends to sign you in.”

Cassandra put her hands on her hips. “That won't work.”

“I know. I just need you to provide a distraction so I can sneak past them.”

“There's no way to get past them, unless you somehow turn invisible or something.”

Lucy smiled. “Trust me, okay? What do you have to lose?”

“What if you're caught and arrested? I'll have you
and
Salvatore to worry about.”

Lucy sighed. She could demonstrate the invisibility to Cassandra but that might scare her friend off more than being vague. Al had never been scared of her, but most people freaked when they saw her go invisible.

“Do you want to find your guy or not? We need to get inside and I can.”

Cassandra nodded. “Okay, if you say so. Maybe I can talk Zev out of arresting you when you get caught.”

“Never gonna happen. I'll follow you in. From there, just talk to Zev for a bit. Don't worry about where I am or where I've gone. I'll meet you down in the parking lot when I'm done. Might take an hour or so.”

Cassandra took a deep breath. “What the hell. Something tells me I want to see this.” She squared her shoulders and turned to face the door.

Lucy smiled. If this worked right, no one would see anything. That was the point.

As Cassandra turned away, Lucy closed her eyes and concentrated. Her friend had sarcastically asked if she was going to turn invisible. Exactly, Lucy thought, and vanished from sight in the blink of an eye.

Originally, Lucy believed her invisibility had been caused by the insane experiments her captors had conducted on her. With help, she had discovered her ability was a latent telepathic power that had been triggered by the trauma of her torture. She hadn't been able to escape, so she'd literally willed herself invisible to her captors' eyes.

She felt so much better knowing the invisibility was a part of her and not created by her torturers.

“It's an amazing and powerful telepathy, Lucy. What you're doing is sending out a mental command to people that they can't see you at all.”

That's what Beth, her telepathic mentor, had said. Lucy hadn't believed it at first because if she could do that, why couldn't she make her clothes invisible? But Beth said telepathy required belief. If Lucy believed only she was invisible and her clothes weren't, then people saw the clothes but not her.

Now, Lucy could make herself
and
her clothes invisible, a wonderful change from having to run around naked to vanish. All she had to do to turn the ability on was think “no one sees me” and her subconscious, so used to projecting the thought, did the rest.

It took more concentration to turn off the power. After a year spent in constant invisibility, it was far more her natural state.

Lucy followed Cassandra through the door.

As Cassandra pleaded unsuccessfully to the two guards, Lucy waltzed right past them. She debated going up the sweeping front staircase but decided there could be too many people hanging around the main area. Instead, she slipped into a stairwell in a corridor on the right.

She was Noir now. Whatever else she did, wherever she belonged as Lucy, being Noir would always give her a rush. It would be even better if Al were with her, watching her back.

Her soft-heeled boots made little sound on the enclosed stairwell. She pulled her hat low to avoid a good photo of her face if she was caught on camera.

She should've asked Cassandra if city hall had video surveillance. She hoped not. She had no idea if her telepathic command to be unseen extended to someone at a security station in the building. Her range was still unclear.

Salvatore's office was on the fourth floor, number 134. Noir pushed open the door slightly in order to peer into the hallway. No one was in sight.

She stepped out of the stairwell.

The area was deserted. Maybe everyone was in that big budget meeting that Zev the guard mentioned. Whatever the reason, it was perfect for her needs.

She turned left and stalked down the hallway. She passed doors with little hint of what went on behind them. They were old-fashioned doors, wooden with frosted-glass upper portions that had numbers painted on in ink, like something out of an old movie. No names on any of them, only numbers. She found 134 after turning right at the end of the first corridor. She slipped on her gloves and turned the door handle.

Locked.

Damn. She should have asked Cassandra if she had a set of Salvatore's keys. Noir knelt in front of the door to get a better look at the lock. Like the design of the door, the doorknob was archaic. If she could slide something between the door and the bolt, she could pop it right open.

She pulled the flat plastic jimmy from the inside of her coat. When she'd been a runaway with no place to go, she had used it to slip through back doors and find warm places to sleep.

The lock clicked. Success. She walked inside and shut the door with as little noise as possible. She blinked to adjust to semidarkness, as the office had no window and the overhead light was off. Turning the light on might bring attention. Instead, she used her little flashlight and directed the beam at the floor so it wouldn't flare through the frosted glass.

Neat freak, aren't you, Salvatore?
A desk calendar covered the center of the desk. Papers were stacked on the side in out-boxes and in-boxes. To the other side was a pencil holder that looked like Cassandra's metalwork, and next to it was a framed photo of her and Salvatore.

Noir peered at the calendar. Yesterday's date was circled in red, with the words
budget meeting
in all caps. This all looked normal. It'd be nice if one of the entries said “bad guys” with a blinking neon arrow pointing to them, but no such luck.

Noir ran her finger over the calendar, hoping her first impression was wrong, but still found nothing out of the ordinary. Cryptic, yes, with some entries that seemed to be gibberish but obviously meant something to Sal. She wondered what Al would make of them.

Yesterday, however, was blank. Maybe he'd planned to do something that day he didn't want to record.

Noir ripped off the page for the month. Cassandra might be able to decipher Salvatore's shorthand. As Noir pulled the page free, a postcard floated to the floor. She picked up the card, part of publicity for the local exhibition at the museum. Nothing out of the ordinary there, either, given Cassandra's art would have center stage.

Still, Noir folded the postcard inside the page from the calendar and tucked them into her coat pocket.

Noir knelt and searched the trash can. Empty. She lifted up everything on the desk, looking for notes or anything underneath. Zilch. If only Salvatore were a messy guy, there would be more clues here.

She checked under the desk and found a little laminated trinket about an inch long. It was…something, but Noir couldn't guess what. It could be Cassandra's work. She pocketed that too.

She brushed against the monitor, an old CRT model that had seen better days. It rocked, uneven. Weird. Normally these old CRT monsters were steady as a rock. She lifted it to look underneath and spotted a small thumb drive.

Aha. No way that was here by accident. It joined the calendar page, the postcard and the trinket in her pocket.

The door to the office opened.

Noir plastered herself against the wall, near the door.

A man and a woman stepped inside. The woman's voice was lower than Noir expected, and angry.

“No word on where he is?” the woman asked. She was tall, with a face that had probably once been pretty but was worn down with lines and worry. Her brown pantsuit washed out her complexion, doing her no favors. “There must be some clue in here to where he's gone.”

“We already looked here this morning and found nothing,” the man answered.

“Not even on his computer?”

“No, Ms. Schneider,” he said. “We downloaded all the memory. He'd wiped it clean.”

Salvatore, Noir thought, exactly what are you into?

“There must be something here or he wouldn't have sent his girlfriend to get it,” Schneider said. “I can't believe you didn't have our guards grab her. She's our leverage with him and we let her walk right back out of the building.”

“I can't just have them arrest her.”

“Tell them to check if she's out in the parking lot. If she is, arrest her for conspiring with her boyfriend to steal city property. And murder. Don't forget murder.” Schneider's voice grew shaky with the mention of murder.

What?
Murder? Steal city property? This had just gotten a whole lot messier.

“We don't know that Johns' death had anything to do with Giamatti,” the man said.

“Murder. Someone
murdered
Sholly. And Salvatore Giamatti is missing. They met yesterday. You don't have to be an accountant to do that math.”

Again, a ton of emotion in Schneider's voice. Sholly Johns, whoever he was, had been important to her.

But who the hell was he? And what city property had enough value to steal in the first place? She and Cassandra needed to find Salvatore and ask, and before Schneider got him.

“Look, Schneider, I know you're upset but just how do we charge this woman with theft? If we did, we'd have to reveal the stuff was gone. We don't want that kind of publicity,” the man said.

“Fine, fine. Tell the guards to grab her and I'll come up with some dummy charge about trying to sneak into a government building. You bring her to me.” Schneider slapped her hand on Salvatore's desk. “I want Salvatore Giamatti. We have her, he'll come to get her.”

Screw that, Noir thought. Cassandra was going nowhere with the guards or anyone else.

A radio crackled from Schneider's purse. The sound was garbled and Noir couldn't understand the words. But Schneider's answer was audible enough.

“She's out in the parking lot still? Pick her up, you idiot. She's probably working with her guy on this whole mess.”

More crackling.

“You want to keep your retirement pay? Go outside and help pick her up, old man,” Schneider said.