Feel the Fear

  ‘Yup, so the guy who owns the place, a Mr Norgaard, is away, but a neighbour noticed the door was unlocked; he comes by once a week to water the plants and check on the place while the owner’s out of town.’

  ‘Very neighbourly of him,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Isn’t it,’ agreed Blacker. ‘So coincidentally the neighbour calls the cops yesterday evening having popped in for plant-watering duty and spotted something was wrong – one of the windows was open, and he swears he left it shut.’

  ‘Anything missing?’

  ‘Nothing obvious, evidently.’

  ‘But did he find a card?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘That I don’t know, I spoke to the detectives but they didn’t mention anything. That’s what we need to check out next.’ Blacker paused before adding, ‘So what lesson were you planning on being late for?’

  ‘You’re asking me to cut class,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Rube, you know I’d never interfere with a kid’s education.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go find Hitch, he might wanna come along.’

  ‘He’s in with LB,’ said Blacker. ‘He’s been at Spectrum for most of the night.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ said Ruby.

  ‘Beats me,’ he said, ‘but something’s going down.’

  Ruby skateboarded downtown, skitching a ride from a yellow cab and then a garbage truck (which didn’t smell too pretty).

  She met Blacker on the sidewalk outside the apartment building.

  ‘Geez Redfort, did you switch perfumes or did you fall into something unmentionable?’

  ‘I skitched the wrong ride,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Mr Grint, she was pretty sure it had to be Mr Grint, was in the lobby watching folks come and go. He watched her and Blacker as they made their way to the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. The elevator was not in the first flush of youth and it made horrible groaning sighs as it climbed. They stepped out and walked along the corridor until they reached Mr Norgaard’s door. Blacker handed Ruby gloves and shoe covers; these looked ridiculous but served to preserve the crime scene from cross-contamination.

  For a while, the two agents simply surveyed the scene. It was not a disorganised apartment, not especially untidy either. There were piles of books on the floor, piles of scripts too, but they were not without order. It was clear that Norgaard wasn’t a big entertainer because most of the chairs were also occupied by books, notebooks and paper-stacks – the furniture was more of a filing system than somewhere to sit.

  There were a few papers strewn across the floor under the desk, but as Blacker suggested, perhaps the wind had caught these when the thief wrenched open the window. Apart from that it was all very orderly. It wasn’t at all obvious what had been removed from the apartment but it was safe to say something had been, for there on the desk was a little white calling card.

  ‘Bingo,’ said Blacker.

  ‘Only thing is,’ said Ruby scanning the desk, ‘what’s missing?’

  They both looked at the desk. On it was a spider plant, a cactus, a pen pot, a stapler, a hole punch, a reel of sticky-tape in a tape dispenser, five paperweights on top of five different piles of papers, some envelopes, some cheques, some A4 typewritten sheets. There was a tin of lip balm, an eraser, a glasses case and a sheet of stamps.

  ‘A telephone?’ suggested Blacker.

  ‘Seems unlikely a thief would steal the telephone,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Seems unlikely a thief would steal a not so valuable book,’ said Blacker.

  ‘True, but still, a telephone?’ said Ruby.

  ‘I agree, unlikely,’ said Blacker. He pressed the transmitter button on his watch, no answer, so he tried again and this time the call connected and he spoke into the tiny speaker. ‘Hi Buzz, I am trying to locate Froghorn – could you get him on the line? I appreciate it.’ A pause. ‘Froghorn, could we ask the neighbour about the phone, I mean just to be sure, did he have one and if so where?’

  They waited. After a few minutes they got their answer.

  ‘Mr Norgaard’s neighbour said Norgaard never had a phone on the desk,’ Blacker relayed, ‘because he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was writing.’

  ‘What does he write?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘He’s a scriptwriter,’ said Blacker.

  ‘No, I meant what does he write? TV? Film – anything I woulda heard of?’

  ‘Nothing I have ever heard of,’ said Blacker. ‘I’m not sure how successful he is, maybe not as successful as his father.’

  ‘His father is a scriptwriter?’

  ‘Was,’ said Blacker. ‘He wrote the screenplay for The Storm Snatcher and The Silent Scream.’

  ‘Two of Mrs Digby’s favourites,’ said Ruby, impressed. She looked again at the desk. ‘And the paperweights?’ she said. ‘What a lot of paperweights Mr Norgaard does have.’

  It was the papers under the desk that made her think of it. Everything about Norgaard’s room was ordered, cluttered with scripts and papers, but all in order, except for the sheets under the desk – just why were they there?

  ‘What did the detectives say about the window?’ asked Ruby.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just. . . did they say anything about it?’

  ‘Well, that’s an interesting thing. . .’ said Blacker. ‘They said that the intruder would have had no problem opening it because it was used regularly, slid up and down with no trouble at all. Unlike our friend Mr Baradi, it seems this guy liked fresh air, never had air-con installed.’

  ‘Which would explain why he used paperweights, not just decorative things but actually there to stop paper blowing around.’

  ‘That would be logical,’ agreed Blacker.

  ‘So. . . the papers under the desk don’t make sense – they don’t fit with the way Norgaard does things,’ Ruby said. ‘Look at the piles.’ Blacker looked. Every pile of papers was secured by a paperweight.

  Blacker smiled. ‘You think one of his paperweights is missing.’

  ‘I do,’ said Ruby, ‘but which one?’

  ‘No way to know,’ said Blacker, ‘not without talking to Norgaard and who knows when he’s going to resurface?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘it’s too bad.’ She took her Polaroid camera from her backpack and started snapping pictures of the desk.

  ‘You know the TCPD will pass on a complete set of photographs, they took about a zillion of the apartment,’ said Blacker.

  ‘I know,’ said Ruby. ‘But I’m only really interested in the desk and this way I can look and look until I see the answer; it’s probably staring me in the face.’

  She was right about this in a sense, but she was missing the big picture and without it she was never going to see what she needed to see. . .

  ‘So I see from reading

  my morning paper that

  you went shopping

  again. . .’

  ‘. . . a nice high-rise on Avenue Walk.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘No one saw you.’

  ‘People only see what they expect to see.’

  ‘People only see what they are able to see; you’re cheating.’

  ‘You are mistaken.’

  ‘Don’t mess with me Birdboy – we both know you’ve got it and I’m coming after you.’

  ‘You’re trying to scare me?’

  ‘No, I’m warning you. I would hope that you were scared already. I am the living dead after all.’

  ‘I don’t scare, I have nothing to lose.’

  ‘How about your life?’

  ‘I lost that a long time ago.’

  Chapter 30.

  IT WAS EARLY MORNING AND MRS DIGBY WAS READING ALL ABOUT IT. She had a cup of strong tea and a currant bun (in proper English style) and her copy of the Twinford Lark.

  Ruby had woken very early, perhaps due to the strange hours she was working and as a consequence her altered sleep
rhythms. She woke hungry and wandered into the kitchen looking for food.

  ‘Howdy Mrs Digby.’

  ‘Knock me down with a feather child, what are you doing walking at this hour?’

  ‘Beats me,’ said Ruby. ‘So what’s the story Mrs Digby?’

  ‘Another robbery,’ said the housekeeper, ‘this time on the thirty-seventh floor of the Warrington Apartments on Avenue Walk.’

  ‘Really? The same guy they think?’

  ‘Looks that way,’ said Mrs Digby, slurping on her tea. ‘Came in the window, left by the door.’

  ‘What did he steal?’ Ruby was wondering why Blacker hadn’t contacted her about this; it had to be connected.

  ‘Never mind what he took, those folks are lucky to be alive; could be dead in their beds.’

  ‘That’s not his M.O.,’ said Ruby, ‘he’s not a murderer.’

  ‘Not yet,’ warned Mrs Digby, ‘but just you wait until he gets the idea in his head, that could all change.’

  ‘Mrs Digby, you are getting carried away.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad we don’t live in a high-rise, is all I can say.’

  The sound of the doorbell interrupted their discussion. Ruby went down to answer it.

  ‘Hey Clance, what brings you to my doorstep?’

  ‘Why are you up so early?’ asked Clancy.

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Ruby, ‘why are you even here?’

  ‘Oh, I was trying to avoid taking Olive to kindergarten, so I told my mom that I had to leave home super early because I had to pick something up from your place.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just, you know, like say you were coming here but hang out in the diner,’ asked Ruby.

  ‘Because she will probably call you in a minute to check I wasn’t lying.’

  At that moment the telephone began to ring. Ruby picked up the receiver.

  ‘Hello Mrs Crew, yes, he’s here. . . OK, I will, yes, bye, bye.’

  ‘What did she say?’ asked Clancy.

  ‘Be sure to come straight home after school, Olive wants you to play hopscotch with her.’

  ‘Oh brother!’

  ‘Well come on in, Mrs Digby and I were just discussing the latest high-rise robbery.’

  Clancy followed Ruby back up to the kitchen.

  ‘Who did the place belong to?’ he asked.

  ‘It says here,’ said Ruby, reading from the Echo, ‘that it was a couple, Pamela and Fabian Thompson, and their fifteen-month-old son, Nileston.’

  ‘Nileston?’ repeated Clancy, screwing up his nose. ‘Nileston? What kind of name is that for a kid?’

  ‘Apparently it’s a family name,’ answered Ruby. The Echo was the sort of paper that gave out useless information like this.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘Pamela Thompson says, the only thing that we have noticed missing is my husband’s tie-clip.’

  ‘How does that fit in to any theory you might have?’ asked Clancy.

  ‘Mrs Digby thinks the guy’s a wannabe murderer, but I don’t have a theory, at least not one that involves a suspect. Sure, everyone knows this thief can climb and that he can open windows and climb in through small spaces, but no one seems to have a clue about who this bozo is.’

  ‘A dangerous man, is who this bozo is,’ said Mrs Digby, hopping off her seat and clearing her teacup. ‘If you want a cookie, there’s fresh ones in the tin, I have to get back on with my chores.’ She left them alone.

  Ruby picked up a pencil and wrote down the objects that had so far been stolen.

  ‘You see, the shoes, yes, they are valuable all right. I mean, maybe not in themselves but to a collector, to someone interested in the movies.’

  ‘Or someone who’s a real devoted fan of Margo Bardem,’ said Clancy. ‘I mean maybe this guy is collecting famous people memorabilia.’

  ‘That’s a good point Clance,’ said Ruby, ‘I guess it’s possible.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Clancy, warming to the idea, ‘I heard them saying on the radio that the tie-clip once belonged to the king of the UK.’

  ‘England,’ corrected Ruby, ‘kings of the UK are generally referred to as the king of England.’

  ‘It must be pretty valuable right?’ said Clancy. ‘They said it was inscribed with the guy’s initials? This window thief could be like a king of England fan.’

  Ruby smiled, Clance really made her see the funny side. ‘Yep it was the king’s all right, it was engraved, and see here – there’s even a photograph of him wearing it back in the day.’

  ‘So,’ Clancy asked, ‘did this king of England lose it or something because what I want to know is how it ended up pinned on a Twinford car salesman.’

  ‘Advertising man,’ corrected Ruby.

  ‘Car advertiser, whatever,’ said Clancy. ‘Why is it not back home in the Tower of London?’ He caught Ruby’s expression, ‘Or wherever the royal people keep their stuff now.’

  ‘You are asking all the right questions, my friend. Thinking like a detective.’ Ruby gave Clancy a pinch to his cheek.

  ‘Cut it out Rube.’

  ‘I guess we gotta assume maybe this king gave it away, it’s the sorta thing kings do, but it could have changed hands many times before Mr Thompson got his mits on it. If Mrs Thompson bought it at auction or some antique store, then who did it belong to before that and what are they doing selling it?’

  ‘Perhaps the original owner decided to cash it in; it’s the kind of piece someone might pay a few thou for – I mean, I would,’ said Clancy. ‘I think it would look pretty stylish but I wouldn’t wear it on a tie – maybe on a hat but not a tie.’

  ‘What else do we have?’ said Ruby running her pencil down the list.

  ‘Oh yeah, the poetry book. This messes up your famous person theory, because the poet JJ Calkin was not a famous poet and the book is not valuable – not enough to make it worth the steal, to risk the chance of getting caught.’

  ‘Or splatted,’ remarked Clancy who was thinking about the nine floors he had to climb to reach it. ‘But it might be sentimental? I mean, it has to mean something to someone.’

  Neither of them said anything for a minute or two and then Clancy said, ‘Perhaps it was a commission – to steal these four things. I mean, perhaps the thief was contracted to grab the items and the money he gets paid makes it all worthwhile?’

  ‘Possible,’ agreed Ruby, ‘the thief could have a steal and deal business, or as you say, he could have a steal to order business, unless of course. . .’ She paused.

  ‘What?’ said Clancy.

  ‘Unless he’s planning on keeping everything for himself.’

  ‘Like trophies for his trouble you mean, like he is saying look how good I am? Like one of those rich gentleman thieves who does it for kicks?’

  ‘Raffles,’ said Mrs Digby re-entering the room.

  ‘Who’s Raffles?’ said Clancy wrinkling his nose.

  ‘A rich gentleman thief who steals for kicks,’ replied Ruby.

  Ruby tapped her pencil on her desk, tap, tap, tap, tap, she was thinking about the loyalty cards now. Why hasn’t Blacker called?

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘This guy is not showing off, this guy is tapping us on the shoulder trying to get us to turn round and look.’

  The transmitter was

  buzzing again, he walked over

  to where it sat, taking his

  time about it. . .

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t give me “hello” like we are on genteel speaking terms.’ The woman spat the words angrily into his ear and he instinctively pulled the receiver device away from him as if she might perhaps reach into it and grab him. ‘How long are you going to make me wait?’

  ‘Not much longer.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she said.

  ‘I have it,’ he said calmly.

  ‘You have the 8 key?’ She took a deep breath. ‘At last – when will you deliver?’

  ‘Be patient, I just have two small tasks to complete and then both items
will be yours.’

  ‘Be patient? You are telling me to be patient? You dare to suggest I wait a moment longer Birdboy? You better count the hours because the end is nigh. . .’

  He smiled and cut her off, he felt very secure, safe, out of reach; she could threaten him but she could not find him. All she could do was call and beg and bully, but that was only because he allowed her this luxury of contact. If he chose to, he could disappear entirely, and as soon as he had executed his plan that’s exactly what he would do.

  Wait until it has all played out, he told himself, wait for the money and the big finale and then be gone.

  Chapter 31.

  AFTER SCHOOL, Ruby took her skateboard and skitched her way to the Schroeder Building and down to Spectrum.

  She found Blacker in his office, going through some files.

  ‘So have you picked up the card from the latest robbery,’ she asked, ‘the tie-clip theft I mean? Why haven’t you called me?’

  ‘No, there was no card,’ said Blacker.

  Ruby looked at him. ‘But there has to be.’

  ‘I’m telling you Ruby, there wasn’t. Our guys were all over the joint, they didn’t find a thing. So I’m thinking maybe it’s not our guy.’

  ‘But it should have been, I mean, it would have been next to the tie, the tie Mr Thompson hung up in his closet.’

  ‘On the floor you mean,’ said Blacker. ‘Mrs Thompson was real clear about that, they were having quite a marital.’ Blacker raised his eyebrows. ‘Mrs T is not happy about it, claims he never picks up after himself, just walks in the door, kicks off his shoes, drops his jacket, pulls off his tie and wherever it lands is where it stays.’

  ‘Sounds like Mrs Thompson is pretty strung out about it,’ said Ruby.

  Blacker nodded. ‘Is she ever.’

  ‘So where did Mr Thompson discard his tie last night?’

  ‘In the dog bowl, according to Mrs Thompson. She was very upset about it.’

  ‘I’m guessing the dog’s got something to say about it too,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Mr Thompson doesn’t remember anything about that, swears it couldn’t have got there because when he arrived home the baby was crying and he went straight to the kid’s room. Mrs T was supervising the nanny while she made it a bottle of whatever it is those little guys drink.’