The movie ended with a last giddy aerial view of a flying machine dipping its wings toward some vast, impossible city. Then the theater lights came up and Baumgartner spent a maddening quarter-hour glad-handing the assembled managers before she made her way up the aisle to where Jesse and Elizabeth sat. “We can talk in the green room,” she said cheerily. “Thanks for your patience!”
* * *
The room to which Baumgartner led them was furnished with a conference table and some folding chairs, a coffee urn, and the clutter of used paper cups. Baumgartner settled into one of the chairs and said, “Well, I think that was successful!”
“No doubt,” Elizabeth said. Elizabeth had asked Jesse to keep quiet during the interview, for the same reason he had taken the lead in Futurity Station. This was her investigation now, on her turf. “It’s amazing how much thought has gone into the film program,” she said.
Baumgartner beamed. “Isn’t it? August Kemp has been personally involved, so we’ve all been doing our very best to get it right. He has a way of motivating people—his enthusiasm is contagious!”
Everyone professed to love Kemp. And most of that love seemed reasonably genuine. August Kemp was apparently one of those wealthy men who inspire devotion in their employees. Most of them. “What about you, Ms. Baumgartner? Are you a hands-off manager, or do you like to get up close and dirty?”
Something in Elizabeth’s voice made Baumgartner frown. “Before we go on, can I ask what this is all about? Mr. Barton arranged the interview, but he wasn’t clear about its purpose.”
“We’re looking at how supplies get distributed once they come through the Mirror. There have been problems with bottlenecks—shipments of nonessential goods clogging up inventory while more important items wait to get tagged.”
“I see. Well, I’m deeply involved in the work, but not so much that end of it. I haven’t noticed any problems if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Specifically, in August your department received new digital projectors?”
“We upgraded all five cinemas. Four-K two-D Barcos. New switchers, new interfaces, everything running off Android tablets—plus more lamps and lenses than we’re ever likely to need.”
“All arrived in a timely fashion, undamaged?”
“Yes! No problem at all.”
“Anything included that wasn’t on the bill of lading?”
“Not to my knowledge. Like what?”
“You unpacked these items yourself?”
Baumgartner hesitated and stroked her nose with the thumb of her right hand—it seemed to be a nervous habit. “Well, some of them. Mostly I leave that to the technicians.”
“Any technician in particular?”
“We have a team.”
“Do unauthorized personnel have access to your storeroom?”
“If so, I’m not aware of it. You’d need the right card to get in. Security, isn’t that your department?”
“And are you on friendly terms with any Tower Two employees outside of the entertainment division?”
“Because of the work I do, I have informal contacts with a lot of people in both towers.”
“Do you have contacts with any local people in Tower Two?”
“Like this one?” She waved her hand at Jesse, as if Elizabeth had brought him in on a leash. “As a rule, no.”
“All right. Let me read you a list of five names, and you tell me if you recognize any of them.” Elizabeth took a notepad from her hip pocket and flipped through pages while Baumgartner fidgeted. Elizabeth read the names slowly, and Jesse watched Baumgartner for any visible reaction.
There was none he could detect, but he was distracted by the last name Elizabeth read: Mick Finagle. Finagle was a Tower Two security guard, the one toward whom Jesse’s old girlfriend Doris Vanderkamp was currently directing her affections.
“No,” Baumgartner said curtly.
“Are you sure?”
“Not absolutely sure. I’m introduced to people on a daily basis, for all kinds of reasons, and I don’t always remember names. But nothing rings a bell. Honestly, this is starting to feel like an interrogation.”
“Are you aware of any contraband circulating among the staff in your department?”
“Contraband?”
“Drugs,” Elizabeth said.
She had chosen a moment when Baumgartner was once more reflexively rubbing her nose. Now her hand fluttered under the table like a startled bird. “What are you suggesting?”
“Are illicit drugs, such as cocaine, circulating in the entertainment division in Tower One?”
“Certainly not! I mean, as far as I know.”
Elizabeth penciled something into her notebook. “Okay. Thank you, Ms. Baumgartner. We may need to speak to you again, but that’s all for now. In the meantime, if you think of anything that might be pertinent, please contact me. Anything you choose to say will be held in the strictest confidence.” She lowered her voice and added, “We’re not interested in punishing anyone. Management is aware of how hard you work on behalf of the City. We just need to be aware of what’s coming through the Mirror, and we’d be grateful for any help you can give us.”
A threat and a promise in one package, Jesse thought. Neatly done. He followed Elizabeth out of the room, leaving Baumgartner dumbfounded and twitching. In the privacy of the staff elevator he said, “So what does Baumgartner have to do with guns?”
“Barton thinks the weapons came through the Mirror along with a shipment of theatrical gear. It’s reasonable to assume illegal drugs might be coming in by the same route. Baumgartner’s coke habit isn’t the secret she thinks it is, and it gives us leverage.”
“Coke?”
“Coke, yeah, you know: cocaine. When she powders her nose, she literally powders her nose. You understand?”
“Why would anyone bring cocaine from the twenty-first century?”
“What do you mean?”
“When she could just send someone to the druggist in Futurity Station. Coca wine, coca tooth drops, powdered cocaine—”
“Holy fuck,” Elizabeth said.
* * *
Wednesday night was Netflix Night in the Tower One Staff Common Room. Elizabeth might be there, and that was a temptation, but Jesse had attended the event last week and hadn’t felt especially welcome, so he took advantage of the free time to cross over to Tower Two and visit the commissary. He was hoping to run across Doris Vanderkamp, preferably not in the presence of her new beau.
Doris was unpredictable, but on slow weeknights she typically lingered in the commissary waiting for company to drift by. And true to form, here she was, working her way through a bucket of fried chicken and dropping crumbs onto the pages of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper. “Interesting story?”
Doris glanced up, her dark hair bouncing like a nest of coiled springs. “You.” She sniffed and returned her attention to the paper. “Seems like the Spaniards caught up with Boss Tweed.”
“May I sit?”
“Don’t know why you’d want to. Everyone says you go around with that big-shouldered Tower One woman nowadays.”
He settled into a chair. “And you go around with Mick Finagle.”
“Are you jealous, Jesse Cullum?”
“Of course I’m jealous. Any man would be.”
“Liar.” But she gave him a grudging half smile.
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Who, Boss Tweed?”
“Mick.”
“How would that be any business of yours?”
“None, except that I need to talk to him.”
Doris closed the newspaper and pushed it aside. “What do you need to talk to Mick about?”
“About that head cold you can’t seem to get rid of.”
“Are you drunk?”
“You know me, Doris. I’m the original teetotaler. I don’t drink hard spirits. I also avoid Vin Mariani and Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. But back in San Francisco—”