Gerd had one of the finest hamartiaphily collections in the country, comprised of a huge number of unique, one-of-a-kind items. Many of them had been selected for display in the HCG catalogs, being as they were the best prototypical examples. Some were the only known specimens of a sin subspecies. Gerd himself had been a founding member and had served as president of the Hamartiaphily Collector's Guild for a number of years, back in its early days. No one had better craft credentials than him.
And no one knew more of what went on in the trade at any given time. I'd often consulted with Gerd on police cases. The man was a fount of knowledge, full of insider information.
He poured a splash of liquor into two snifters at his bar. I took the one he offered and sat down in a comfortable wingback chair in front of the low wood fire burning in his fireplace. Gerd moved to one of his many mahogany display cabinets and retracted a vial, then handed it to me.
"Is it not exquisite? I obtained it from a collector in Cairo, just the other day. There was quite the competition for it, but I prevailed."
The sin took my breath away. I could sense the energy of its spectral radiation leaking through the leaded glass of the container.
"'Exquisite' is an understatement. I've never seen its match for color-and such perfect symmetry! Family 'avarice,' if my eyes don't deceive me. Although the shape of the crenellations seems atypical for that class."
Gerd beamed. "That's because it is a previously undiscovered species, Peter. The provenance is somewhat shaky, but the specimen's conformation speaks for itself. I think it will justify a brand new HCG category entry-if my instincts are correct."
I handed the vial back to him and took a sip of liquor. After Gerd replaced the precious item on his shelf and sat down in the chair next to me, I briefed him about the case. Then I handed him a printout I'd made of a recent hamartiaphily forum post.
"This looks like a new person on the scene. Have you any idea who he is? He's trying to hawk some low-level sins that you might get from a petty criminal like our victim."
Gerd glanced at the sheet. "No, I do not recognize the user name. I presume he uses an overseas anonymizer service, like many in our trade do?"
I nodded. "Yes, I tried to trace him, only to run into a dead-end IP routing address in Romania. It's going to be difficult to officially track him down and follow up. Particularly since I have to abide by Guild rules. Naturally, I'd never reveal the identity of a fellow sin-seer to others outside the craft. That's a given. Still, we are talking about murder here."
"Which makes this a difficult situation for you. If, however, we are truly dealing with a renegade seer, we may be obliged to take matters into our own hands. What is the expression . . . 'clean up our own house'?"
"But how do you propose to do that? I question the wisdom of going in that direction. If it's our man, he's clearly very dangerous."
Gerd reached over and patted my arm. "Let me make some discreet inquiries, Peter. In the meantime, try not to fret. Everything will seem better in the morning, when the rain stops and the sun comes out." He smiled and stood up. "Would you fancy a game of chess? That will help take your mind off these . . . distasteful subjects."
****
I left Vanderhout's residence late. The rain had stopped and a thick fog had drifted in to blanket the wet streets. As I drove home, I noticed that I was being tailed. Probably Detective Henderson or one of his lackeys.
This business was getting complicated.
What was worse, I discovered that someone had entered my apartment and gone through my things while I was gone. It had been a subtle job, and I might not have even noticed it-except that I'm scrupulous about filing my data CDs. I noticed that a pair of them were out of order in my desk file drawer. Looking further, I found other small hints of intrusion.
Henderson again, no doubt. I felt the heat rise behind my collar. The bastard! Who did he think he was dealing with?
Fortunately, there was no way he could've found any sensitive information on other sin-seers, even if he had scraped my computer's hard drive clean. Those data were safely stored where no one could find them without tearing the place down to its foundation. Still, I felt irate. I'd confront the son of a bitch in the morning and demand that he back off on me.
Or maybe not. It wouldn't be wise for me to cut off my nose to spite my face. The fact was, I benefited greatly from my relationship with the police. By my consulting agreement, ownership of any sins I extracted from murder victims for identification transferred to me. And Lord knows I enjoyed a small but very tasty supplement to my regular consulting income when I sold the best of the little buggers on the open hamartiaphily auction markets.
I took a deep breath and calmed myself down. There was one good thing, at least: It didn't matter if Henderson knew about my relationship with Gerd Vanderhout. Gerd had never made any pretext of hiding his involvement in the craft. After all, it wasn't an illegal activity. He was above reproach. And, while he might be questioned in the matter, Gerd was under no legal obligation to cooperate. The courts had been clear on that.
Clear in more ways than one, actually. Physical sins couldn't be admitted as evidence in any court of law. Who but a few could even see them? And how could a judge objectively believe a person's claims to be able to do so? Likewise, any descriptions, classifications or analyses relating to the sins, even by persons known to be "expert seers," were inadmissible. One might as well admit court testimony from a palm reader, or a clairvoyant. We in the craft were fairly well-insulated from the law, and that included freedom from search warrants and court injunctions related to hamartiaphilic affairs.
To be sure, individual sin-seers might help the cops with difficult cases, as I routinely did. But any information we provided was strictly on an unofficial "background" basis. I knew that some in the Guild took a dim view of my relationship with the police-but I'd always cleaved closely to the spirit of our craft guidelines pertaining to non-disclosure. I had my reputation to maintain, after all.
I took a shower and got into bed. I had almost fallen asleep when a horrible thought entered my head: What if the surveillance and the break-in had not been Henderson's doing?
What if other interested parties were in play?
Sleep evaded me for the rest of the night, while my brain tried to corral all the alternate possibilities.
Maybe it would be best for me to play it straight with Henderson.
****
Detective Henderson leaned back in his chair and exposed the soles of his shoes to me. "So let me get this straight, Pete: You think you were tailed last night, and you think someone broke into your place. Anything taken?"
"No, but-"
"Anything damaged?"
"No, Henderson. Nothing was harmed."
"Have you received any threats recently? Any reason to believe somebody is wanting to do you wrong?"
I stared down at the dust bunnies lying on the floor under Henderson's desk. "At first I thought it was your own guys, poking around to glom onto my confidential information. I intended to confront you about that. But then it occurred to me that it might have been somebody connected with Manny Greer's murder. Maybe making sure the job was done cleanly enough. It freaked me out. I . . . I want some investigation done. And some protection."
"Okay, duly noted. I'll send a tech over to check things out, see if we can find anything tangible. And I'll try to arrange a squad car to swing past your street more often on its regular patrol. Understand, that's only because we're colleagues, of a sort. Call it professional courtesy. But there's no way I can pull anybody off their assignments to baby-sit you full-time. Do you own a handgun?"