Almost an hour later, Alex followed the faint lines of the truck’s passing along a waterfront street on the south side of the rail yards. The path had led them into the Middle Ring, to a hardware supply shop, then back out toward the Hudson. Now, as Alex walked along the street, the faint lines turned and flowed up against a carriage door set into the side of a dark warehouse.
Alex closed his right eye and opened his left, looking up at the building. There was no sign that anyone worked there. No doors were open, no windows were lit, and there was no noise or commotion.
“I think this is it,” Alex said over his shoulder.
Behind him, Danny and the six beat cops had been following in Danny’s car. He pulled over and they piled out.
“Check the door,” Danny told Johansson.
The big, blond cop walked over to a service door in the side of the building and tugged on the handle.
“Locked,” he said.
Alex tried the carriage door and it budged a little.
“I think this one’s open,” he said, putting his shoulder against it and pushing. A moment later he wished he hadn’t as his still cracked rib exploded in pain. Alchemy could speed up healing, but it still took time.
“Ah! That was stupid,” he gasped, clutching his side and stepping back so that Johansson and two other officers could take his place.
“What’s wrong?” Danny asked, stepping up beside Alex.
“Bad guys,” Alex said, giving their long established code phrase. They both knew there were parts of Alex’s job that a straight arrow police detective was better off not knowing about. Now, anytime Alex was involved in something that might put his friend in an awkward position, like being the victim of attempted murder, Alex blamed it on bad guys and Danny let the matter drop.
The doors of the warehouse creaked as the officers pulled it open, revealing a cavernous space beyond. Light streamed in from third-story windows, revealing an open floor with blocks and bolts and concrete pads arranged in rows that must have once supported machines on an assembly line. Whatever this factory had been, however, someone had turned it into a garage. No less than twenty trucks of all different shapes and sizes were parked inside. They sat, silently in four rows of five, just gathering dust. Other than the trucks, the warehouse was completely deserted.
Danny stepped up beside Alex and whistled.
“Would you look at that,” he said. “Why would people steal all those trucks and then just leave them sitting here?”
Alex shook his head.
“I have no idea,” he said, stepping into the cool space beyond the carriage door. He moved over to the first truck in line and pulled open the back door. The inside space was empty except for some tools and a broken crate.
Moving to the next one, Alex pulled the rear doors open. This time the truck wasn’t empty. A row of full crates lineed one side of the delivery truck’s cargo space and there were tied bundles of something that looked like cotton.
“Danny,” Alex called. “You’d better take a look at this.”
The detective and several of the officers came hurrying over. Danny took off his hat and stared at the nearly full truck.
“Check the other trucks,” he said to Johansson. The officers each took a truck and soon they began calling out their findings. When they were done, only six of the trucks were empty, and the rest had cargo left in them. Some of them had obviously not been touched.
“I don’t get it,” Johansson said, scratching his blond head. “I mean I’d get it if the guys who stole all this stuff wanted to use the trucks, but why steal a truck and just park it with everything still in it?”
Alex had a thought and pulled out the list Callahan had given him. Scanning through it, he found the rolls of denim, bales of cotton, cans of lamp oil, a crate of cast iron toy cars, paper napkins, and other things that didn’t seem to have any real value. There were, however, some things that stuck out. A dozen spools of heavy gauge copper wire, a truckload of magelights, assorted construction equipment, and building supplies.
Folding up the list again, Alex walked along the rows of trucks, looking at the company names. He stopped when he got to one labeled, Masterson Tool & Die.
Consulting the list again, he saw that the truck from Masterson had been carrying drill bits for a mining machine that were to be shipped by train to a site in Colorado. Walking around to the back of the truck, Alex opened the rear door. He already knew what he’d see there, but it was nice to have his hunch confirmed by the site of the empty cargo space.
“I know that look,” Danny accused, stepping up beside him. “You’ve figured something out.”
Alex put the folded list of stolen goods back into his shirt pocket and shook his head.
“Maybe,” he said. “It’s just a hunch right now.”
“Care to share?”
“Not yet,” Alex said, patting Danny on the shoulder. “Let me make a few calls first. I wouldn’t want to send you off on a wild goose chase.”
Danny looked like he might object but finally nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go find a phone. I’ve got to call this in anyway.”
16
The Hall of Records
The diner Danny found to make his phone call from was the kind of place you didn’t want to sit down in, much less eat at. That didn’t seem to matter much to their clientele of burly workmen in coveralls that smelled faintly of blood. It was located across the street from a slaughterhouse and cannery, an enormous brick building that filled an entire block.
The rumble of the massive engines that drove the slaughterhouse and the cacophony of terrified pigs as they were lifted up from their pens to their doom carried all the way to the diner. Danny had to cover his free ear to hear what Callahan was saying on the other end.
Alex looked around at the men who sat eating, paying the two men in suits no attention. Despite their obviously being out of place, no one wanted to attract the attention of a police detective.
“Your turn,” Danny said, handing over the telephone’s earpiece.
Alex pulled Bill Sanderson’s card from the pocket in his rune book and gave his number to the operator. A moment late the line connected, and Alex strained to hear the engineer’s voice.
“Sorry,” Alex said. “It’s noisy here, there’s a slaughterhouse across the street. I was calling to tell you that the police found your missing truck.”
Sanderson was glad to hear that but asked about the shipment of boring bits.
“Those are still missing,” Alex said. “I was wondering, though, could those be used to dig a tunnel?”
“I assume you mean here in the city,” Sanderson replied. “They are made to dig tunnels, after all.”
“Yes,” Alex confirmed. “Like maybe under a street to get into a bank vault.”
“I doubt it,” Sanderson said. “Mines have big diesel engines mounted on rails to drive the bits. That would make about as much noise as your slaughterhouse. Then there’s the exhaust; anyone wanting to drill under a building would have to vent the engine to the outside or it would kill them. Somebody would notice that for sure.”
Alex thought about what the tool engineer had said. It made sense: if there was a big motor rumbling away in the basement of some shop or professional building, people passing by on the street would hear it.
“You’re thinking that’s why that guy was kidnapped,” Sanderson guessed. “The Assistant Mining Engineer.”
“Yeah,” Alex admitted. “I thought it fit pretty good, what with your missing bits and all, but I guess you’re right.”
“Well I’m glad you found our truck,” he said. “But I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with your case.”