“That’s the last platform,” said Nippen. “You can just barely see the lamps. It’s farther away than you think. Some people walk for hours, thinking a platform’s just ahead. It’s like that.”
With a sinking heart Garvey continued toward the lights. He’d spent nearly two hours in the dusty tunnels and found no more than a trash can and a homeless man, neither of which seemed to carry much importance for his case. It felt like it was his job to catch the murders that couldn’t possibly file.
“Sometimes I think Morty might not be wrong,” said Nippen at his side.
“About what?”
“About the voices. The voices in the tunnels. I mean, sure, it’s just sounds and all, but if you spend enough time down here it does sound like they’re saying something. What, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve just been down here too long,” he said as Garvey climbed up to the platform. He looked off into the tunnels, thinking, then smiled up at Garvey. “Maybe if you spend every day in the tunnels you imagine things.”
“Maybe,” said Garvey.
“Is that it for you? You done here?”
“I sure hope so.” Garvey took off his tin hat and handed it to Nippen. “Thanks,” he said. Then he walked away, smoothing his hair down as he did so, and left the little man leaning up against the platform.
“You have a good afternoon, Detective,” said Nippen. His voice echoed throughout the empty station.
“Goodbye, Mr. Nippen,” said Garvey.
“And good luck with your case!” he called, and laughed.
It was not until much later in the day that any of Garvey’s efforts were rewarded. He sent the trash can uptown to the Department, vaguely mentioning it might be evidence, and then began walking the blocks near all the previous stations the trolley had stopped at. It was dreary work, and he was not entirely sure what he was looking for. Just seeing if there was something nearby that those people on the trolley had been doing, some indication of who they were and why they’d been there.
He was deep in the Shanties in one of the poorest sections of town when he saw it. A sign hanging on the front of a bar, made of old, weathered wood; yet painted on the sign itself was a white hammer set on a black bell, and below that were words telling passersby it was the Third Ring Pub.
Garvey took out his sketch of his John Doe’s tattoo and held it up. It matched perfectly.
It was about as far from an upscale place as he could imagine. It stank of old beer even from the street and the door had been broken in numerous times, the innards of its heavy lock exposed in the shattered wood. Garvey braced himself, then pushed the door open and walked in.
The ceiling was low and the splintered wooden floor was covered in sawdust. Garvey began to take measure of his surroundings, but before he could he realized the quiet susurrus of bar talk had died the moment he walked in. He looked around. The corners were packed with men in overalls and threadbare canvas pants, all of them standing up to look at him. Their forearms thick and scarred and their faces bright red with drink and years of work. They stared at him, hardly holding back their contempt, and Garvey became intensely aware that this was a union bar through and through, and he was wearing a suit and a demeanor that screamed police as loud as it could.
Garvey smiled, tipped his hat, and quickly walked out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Hayes and Samantha rode up the elevator to find the forty-seventh floor of the Nail had erupted. Runners bolted back and forth from office to office carrying messages. Every other room was filled with shouting. Evans had been called away to an emergency meeting, and Hayes and Samantha waited before his office for three hours. Hayes slept and snored and would not quiet no matter how many times Samantha woke him. After the fourth time she gave up and sat as far away from him as she could.
When Evans tottered in he looked decades older than when they’d last seen him. He looked at them bleary-eyed and said, “I see you got my message.”
“No,” said Samantha. “I don’t think we did.”
“Oh. Then you just predicted it. Come in. Some people very much want to talk to you about this.”
She began following and on the way in kicked Hayes, who awoke with a snort. They both sat down before him, Hayes still yawning. Evans was silent for a very long time before saying, “You know what this is about.”
“Yes,” said Hayes. “The Bridgedale Station.”
“Yes. It’s very bad for everyone.”
“McNaughton’s not connected, though,” Samantha said. “Not really. Right, sir?”
“No. Only vaguely associated. But the public wants to see it. After all, we helped engineer the trolley lines, and it’s already rumored that the passengers were union members. They want to see us exploiting the workers and sending them to slaughter. You know how it is. Have you talked to anyone?”
“Talked?” said Hayes. “Besides Garvey? No.”
Evans looked at Samantha. “You?”
“I don’t know anyone to talk to,” she said.
“Hm. That’s good.”
“Anything else?” asked Hayes.
Evans checked his watch. “Give me two minutes.”
“Why?”
“Because Brightly’s on his way here now.”
“Oh, goodness,” said Hayes drily. “He’ll be in a right state, won’t he.”
Evans nodded. Then they all sat in silence, thinking.
The doors opened and Brightly himself rushed in, moving at top speed. Samantha was surprised to find he was a giant of a man, sporting a strained smile. The smile vanished as Evans stood up. Brightly said, “Oh, no no. No, that’s fine. Sit right there, Jim. I’m fine. Hayes,” he said, nodding to him. “And you must be Miss Fairbanks, how nice to finally meet you. Jim here has nothing but good things to say about you.”
“Why, thank you. It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Yes, yes. Pity we have to meet under such circumstances. The work you’re doing is fantastic, simply fantastic. You’re invaluable, my girl.” He came and delicately sat on the edge of Evans’s desk, close to her, casual but domineering. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his watch, and checked it before replacing it. Then he put his hands in his lap, bowed his head as though in prayer, and said, “Well. We all know why I’m here. You were at the scene today, correct?”
“Right,” said Hayes.
“How was it? In there, in the tunnels?”
Hayes thought for a while. Then he said, “Do you remember that October at the vulcanization plant?”
Brightly looked surprised. “What? Yes, of course I do. How could I forget?”
“It was worse than that. Far worse.”
His eyes grew wide. “Dear God… Worse than that, even?”
“Yes. We’re lucky the police sent everyone packing,” Hayes said. “I was in that damn trolley car. If the press had gotten a snap of it we’d have panic in the streets, I’m sure of it.”
“Christ almighty,” said Brightly. He exhaled hugely, then gathered himself. “All right. And people saw you there?”
“Well. Yes.”
“Good. All right. Now, your previous investigation was highly classified, which is good. But Shroff, well, Shroff got word that you identified all the bodies at the scene. Is that correct?”
“Somewhat. I only identified a few.”
“Hm. And they were all from your recent investigation?”
“Pretty much.”
“I want names,” said Brightly. “All of them. And what you’ve got about them. Every little thing.”
Hayes gestured to Samantha. She said, “I’ll have them to you by the end of the day, sir.”
“Yes. Good. Give them to Evans here. Yes?”
“Certainly,” said Evans.
“All right,” said Brightly. He took another deep breath. “Now. As your inquiry was so classified, Hayes, I don’t think too many people know that, well, we had a list of all the people who died, not to mention good and documented reason to dislike them. So thankfully that pretty concrete association is still not public. But listen: to counteract the bad press, we’re going to have to do something. I’m launching a full public inquiry into anything we might have on what happened in that trolley. Anything that McNaughton might have had to do with it. Extremists, malcontents, anyone with any connection. I’m going to announce it later today with the board. Make sure it gets into the right papers. We hope to have something solid for them by Christmas. And, naturally, you’ll spearhead, Hayes.”