I knew all this because the victim’s sister was a Rainbow client. She’d wanted the killer dead, and she’d shown me pictures from the trial, and there was Fenn.
Incredible. I pointed out to her that the killer was dead, as surely as if he’d been dropped in the ocean.
But I’ve never said anything to anyone, not even Alex. And I doubt this memoir will ever be published. In any case, I won’t allow it until I’m sure it can do no harm.
I thought his summons meant they’d caught the intruder. Probably trying to break into someone else’s place.
The police office is located on the lip of a ridge about a kilometer away from the country house. The day was unseasonably warm, so I decided to walk over.
It’s an old run-down stone building, a former courthouse, with a lot of space in back and upstairs that they’d sealed off because they had no use for it and wanted to avoid the expense of climate control.
The front looks like a neglected thirteenth-century portico. Lots of fluted columns, curving steps, and a fountain that doesn’t work anymore. A bit pretentious for a police station. I climbed the steps and went in. The officer on duty showed me directly into Fenn’s office.
Fenn was short and heavy, with a voice down in the basement somewhere. Off duty, he enjoyed a good party, a good joke, good VR. But when he put the badge in his pocket, his personality changed. Not that he became unduly formal, but anything not related to the business at hand was clearly perceived as inconsequential.
He had large jaws, riveting green eyes, and a talent for making people feel that everything was going to be all right. A plastene bag stood on the floor at his feet.
“Don’t know what we’re coming to, Chase,” he said, looking up from a document and waving me to a seat. “Getting so people’s homes aren’t even safe anymore.”
He lifted himself out of his chair, came around in front of the desk, and used it to prop himself up. The office was small, with a single window looking out on the house next door. The walls were covered with awards, commendations, pictures of Fenn standing by a police cruiser, Fenn shaking hands with important-looking officials, Fenn smiling broadly as someone pinned a set of bars on his shoulders. A blackened Fenn carried a child out of a disaster site.
“Did you catch them?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Afraid not, Chase. Wish we had. But I do have good news for you.” He reached down beside the couch, picked up the bag, and held it out to me.
It was the coins.
“That was quick,” I said. “Where’d you find them?”
“They were in the river.”
“In the river?”
“Yes. About two klicks downstream.”
The satin-lined container that had housed the collection was ruined. But the coins were okay.
“A couple of kids were making out on a landing. Skimmer comes by, swings low over the river, and drops that and the books. Everything was in a weighted sack.” He produced one of the books. It was a soggy mess. I couldn’t even read the title.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why steal stuff, then throw it in the river? Were they worried about getting caught?”
“I have no idea. It happened the same night they were taken. Next day, the boy came back to the spot with a sensor.” He examined one of the books under a lamp, holding it carefully as if it were something unclean. “He thought it was strange, and he called us. This one”-he consulted his notes-“is God and the Republic. ”
“Yep. That’s one of ours.”
“Leather cover.” His jaw muscles worked. “I don’t think it’s of much use now.”
We sat staring at one another.
“Sounds as if somebody has a grudge,” I said.
“If they did, Chase, Alex wouldn’t have had a house to come home to.” He ran his fingers through his hair and made a series of pained faces. “It doesn’t make a lot of sense. Are you sure nothing else is missing?”
“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes thieves really want an ID, but they take other stuff so the owner doesn’t notice right away. That way they can go on a spree.”
I looked down at the bracelet that carried my data disk and thought about it.
“No,” I said. “We checked that possibility last night. Did the kids get a look at the skimmer?”
“It was gray.”
“That all?”
“That’s it. They didn’t get the number.” He squinted at one of the coins.
“Where’s it from?”
“Meridian Age. Two thousand years ago.”
“On Rimway?”
“Blavis.”
“Oh.” He put it back. “The inspecting officer told me there were other valuables that the thieves missed.”
“That’s correct.”
“And that some of them were out in the open.”
“That’s true, too. You’ve been over there, Fenn. You know what it’s like.”
The green eyes narrowed. “You and your employer need to get serious about security.”
“We already have.”
“Good. It’s about time.”
I thought we were ready to change the subject. “By the way,” I said, “have you made any progress toward catching the people who planted the bomb at Proctor Union?”
He grunted. “It’s not my case. But we’ll get them. We’re checking out every Kondi in the area.” Kondi was a disparaging term for anyone from Korrim Mas. His lined face acquired a bulldog look. “We’ll get them.”
“Good.”
“The bomb was homemade. From chemicals available over the counter. And insecticide.”
“Insecticide? Can you really make a bomb out of that?”
“Yes, indeed. And it packs a wallop.”
I sent the boy who’d found the package in the river a couple of rare coins, and judging from his reply, he was smart enough to understand their value. A few days later Fenn confessed they were having no luck tracking down the thieves, and he said that we’d have to be patient, that eventually they’d make a mistake, and he would catch them. What he seemed to be saying was that the police were waiting for them to burgle somebody else.
At about the same time I got a call from Paul Calder. He materialized in the office, wearing a gray military-style jacket over a blue shirt. He was outside on his veranda. “Chase,” he said, “I wanted you to know how much I appreciated your getting Maddy’s vest for me.” He’d already thanked us. That, and the fact that he looked embarrassed, told me something had happened. “I’m sending you another four hundred.”
“Was there something else you wanted to buy?”
“No. Call it a bonus.”
We’d already been paid. “That’s generous of you, Paul. But why?”
He was about average height, a bit overweight. He wore an unruly black beard in an effort to appear intellectual, but he just looked unkempt. Calder was afflicted with runaway piety. Lots of references to the Almighty. “I really liked that vest.”
I noted the past tense. “What happened to it?”
Another grin. “I got an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
I believe, had he been physically in the room, I’d have throttled him without a second thought. “Paul,” I said, “tell me you didn’t sell it.”
“Chase, they doubled my money.”
“ We would have doubled your money. Damn it, Paul, I told you that thing was worth a lot more than you’d paid for it. Do you still have it in your possession?”
“He picked it up this morning.” I sat there shaking my head. He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. “I know what you said, about what it was worth, but I thought you were exaggerating.”
Paul’s money was inherited. He’d never known what it took to create wealth, so he’d never taken it seriously. Money was just something he spent when a whim took him. More or less, I thought, the way he took his religion. There was a superficiality to it. Lots of Bless you’s and God willing’s but I never got the sense he thought in serious terms about what a Creator might be like. Or what the implications were.