“And the union investigation?” asked Hayes. “What about that? Are we still worried they’ll throw off your… production time on your big projects?”
“Forget the other nonsense,” Brightly snapped. “Forget rooting out unioners. People are starting to think we’ve killed a dozen people, and they will think it by the time word gets out. Most of the city still doesn’t know. We need to act fast.”
“Right. And this time if we do find something, we’ll do something about it, right? Or will we wait to see if we can find out more?”
Brightly eyed him coldly. “That was a strategic tactic. You know that.”
“Yes. Very strategic and very effective. If we’d done otherwise, why, all those boys would be safely locked away in cells, and we’d still be in the clear. Thank goodness we didn’t.”
“If you think I don’t regret that decision, you’re wrong,” said Brightly. “Dead wrong. It’s for that very reason we need to be even more vigilant in this new investigation.”
“Please, Cyril, just keep doing what we tell you to,” Evans said. “Especially now, in this emergency.”
“Oh, I will. I will,” Hayes said. He took out a cigarette and began walking it along his knuckles, the cigarette disappearing below his pinky at the end and reappearing on his thumb to start again.
Brightly got off his perch and squatted before Hayes. He was still taller than Hayes by an inch. Brightly reached forward and plucked the cigarette from his hands and crushed it into dust. Hayes watched the tobacco rain onto the carpet around his feet.
“Look at me, Cyril,” Brightly said softly. “Listen to me, please. I know I made mistakes. I admit that. But we need you to be on your best behavior now. We need you to do everything you can. Everything else, everything else that’s happened before, that’s in the past. We need your help. Will you give it to us?”
Hayes frowned. “All right. I’ll do what I can.”
Brightly nodded and stood up and took a breath. “Good,” he said. “Good then.” Then he reached into his pocket again, checked his watch, and walked to the far corner of the room, where he looked out the window with his hands behind his back.
Evans jumped in, taking up some unseen cue. “A list of tasks is being compiled at the moment. You’ll get them in the morning. You’ll follow them up and report to me. Based on this information another set of tasks will be compiled. And so on, until we’re satisfied. We’ll relate your findings to our Public Affairs Division and, in due time, release them to the public. This is all happening independent of the police, mind.”
“Independent?” said Hayes.
“Oh, yes,” said Brightly calmly, returning. “People already suspect we’re somehow puppeteering the Department around. Like anyone could gain control of something so corrupt and disorganized. But this is all going to be about appearances. I don’t want to see anyone with a badge coming near us for a while.”
“That means Garvey, Hayes,” said Evans.
“I know what it means,” he said.
“Naturally, neither of you will be named,” continued Brightly. “The information will be credited to a variety of sources. But your efforts will be greatly appreciated, and you’ll be compensated in your own way. Clear?”
Hayes nodded wearily. “Clear.”
“And you, Miss Fairbanks?”
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Now, girls and boys, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you all to leave. Evans and I have more appointments today. Many, many more.” Then Brightly went and looked out the far window again, hands behind his back and face carefully kept clear of them both, and did not look at them again until they left.
“God, who could envy us now?” said Hayes as they rode down the elevator together. “If you thought our old work was dull as dirt, this one’s going to be worse.”
“I didn’t think it was too dull,” said Samantha. “It was mostly records work, which I did all the time before. It’s not that bad.”
Hayes studied her with a disbelieving eye, as if she were a strange breed of creature he’d never seen before. “Every once in a while I think you’re pretty smart,” he said, “but then you go and say something like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Exactly what do you think is going to make this new work so terrible, Mr. Hayes? Everyone on the board will be paying attention to us. This is our chance to prove ourselves.”
“But we won’t actually be proving anything,” said Hayes as the doors opened. “Sure, we’re supposed to be looking for any connection, but what would happen if we actually found something that implicates the company in what happened on that trolley? It’s the last thing they want.”
“So what do you think we’ll be doing?” Samantha asked. They crossed the lobby to exit through a side entrance.
“Putting on a show,” Hayes said. “A real song-and-dance routine where we talk and talk and report all day, and find nothing. Just something to make the newspapers feel safe. But it won’t work. They’ll panic anyway. Personally, I’m looking forward to hearing what Tazz has to say about this.”
“Tazz? Why?”
“Because a lot of his problems just got solved, I should think. Several violent undesirables acting in his name just got eliminated, and now they look like martyrs for his union. With blood on McNaughton’s hands and everything. His reaction will be very telling, I’d say.”
Samantha considered this. “Well, for whatever it’s worth, I very much doubt if the company could have ever been involved in something like this.”
“Your loyalty is almost charming,” said Hayes. “But for once I agree with you.”
“You do?”
“Oh, yes. McNaughton’s powerful enough that they don’t need to kill anybody. And Brightly was afraid back there. Terrified. Him and Evans. Neither of them has any idea what’s going on. They’re innocent. Or ignorant, at least.”
As they walked through the hallway they were forced to the side by a crew of men maneuvering an enormous painting up onto the wall. Several of the workers climbed up and stood on ladders to help guide the painting onto the hooks in the wall. Samantha and Hayes stopped to watch, caught up in the stress of the moment.
The picture was a strange one. It showed two men standing in a cave, one off to the side with his arms crossed and his face serenely satisfied. He was short and dumpy, dressed in furs and shabby clothes. Samantha got the impression that the painter had been directly told to make him “rustic.” The other man, who was the primary subject of the painting, was much more civilized, wearing a gentleman’s idea of outdoor clothing and sporting a patrician mustache and sideburns. She immediately recognized him as William McNaughton. He was cradling something in his hands, a delicate device made of frail, silver gears. It seemed to be giving off a faint sheen of light, like it was a holy relic.
“That’s McNaughton,” said Samantha. “And that’s Kulahee there? On the side?”
“It would be, yes,” said Hayes. “They took this one out for touch-ups the other day. Looks like they’re done.”
“What’s that in his hands?”
“Oh, some machine,” sighed Hayes. “I suppose they told the painter just to paint ‘an invention’ and he did the best he could. Or maybe it’s symbolic. McNaughton offering Kulahee’s creation to the world.”
“Why are they in a cave?”
“Kulahee spent a lot of time in the caves around his home,” said Hayes. He grunted, then squeezed his eyes shut and pinched his nose. “He… he kept some things down in there. Spent a lot of time digging around in them. Famous local myth, the caves of Kulahee.”