ARC: The Buried Life (17 page)

Intending to at least cover her tracks, Malone tugged at the S bottle to pull it back into place. When she did, the wall moved with it. The rack containing the lettered bottles and the section of wall behind it swung open, and Malone found herself staring at a squat cabinet ensconced in an alcove about five feet tall, five feet wide, and three feet deep. Judging by the layer of dust covering it, she was the first person to find it since Hollens’s death. Malone began her search in the top compartment.

It was full of financial documents that were private but not immediately relevant. She passed over deeds, correspondence, and certificates that she felt foolish leaving but did not have the time to examine. As much as she would have liked to take everything, she did not want to make it overly obvious to the Council, if they found the safe, that someone had already searched it. Malone could only carry so much, and she was counting on the notion that she would know what she needed when she found it.

At last, her hands fell on a leather-bound folder marked with a single title: “Prometheus.” Malone recalled Jane’s mention of the name during their first meeting. She removed the leather straps and rifled through its contents to check her hunch.

Before she could inspect her prize, she heard footsteps and voices approaching from the stairs above the cellar. Quickly assessing her options, she considered for a split second hiding in the secret compartment itself. In even less time, she dismissed the idea of shutting herself in a confined space, which was probably not built to open from the inside, as beyond stupid.

In two rapid motions, she shut the compartment and pushed the folder into her overcoat. With a quiet snap, the bottles popped back into position behind her, and, replacing the torch, she dashed to the vent by which she had entered the cellar. As the footsteps outside the door grew louder, she got a better idea.

Huddled inside one of the crates below the vent, Malone blessed her luck when the door opened seconds later. She heard two pairs of feet and two new voices drawing near.

“What in the blazes are we doing down here?”

“After the alarm outside, we’re checkin’ every corner. You know the drill.” The second guard spoke with a slightly higher voice.

“Well I’m gonna have a drink while we’re in the neighborhood.”

“I’ve seen you nursing that hip flask of yours all night. You don’t need any more sauce in your system.”

“I’ve got three more hours doing basement shift, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna do them without a drop.”

“Just watch yerself.”

The first man shuffled down the same racks that Malone had examined minutes earlier, clearly taking his time. She could hear the other guard, whom she guessed was female, pacing the rows.

“So, what was the fuss all about, anyway?” asked the first, uncorking a bottle.

“Nothing, man. Some kid throwing rocks.”

“They catch ’im?”

“Naw, he got away. They lost him after a mile or so and gave up the chase.”

Inside her crate, Malone breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed the woman. “What’s that smell?”

“I don’t smell nothin’.”

“Take that bottle away from your nose and go over to the crates!” Malone had not noticed any unusual smells, but with so much attention now focused in her direction, she became aware of an unpleasant odor emanating from her clothes. Wincing, she recalled her frantic run through the sewage tunnel earlier. She could hear the boozing guard breathing loudly over the crate.

“What are you doing?” asked the second guard.

“I’m gonna open it.”

“Don’t do that!”

“Why not? I wanna see what’s inside.”

“Well I don’t wanna smell it! Keep it closed and let’s haul these boxes up to the trash.”

Malone had found her means of escape.

Chapter
11

Rumors and
Half-truths

Jane was surprised at how quickly she and Olivia were settling into a routine together. Olivia kept strange hours, but when she was around, Jane found her unfailingly pleasant and helpful around the apartment. Only a couple of days had passed since the commencement of their new living arrangement, but Jane was grateful for the good start.

This evening, Jane was preparing dinner for Olivia, Fredrick, and herself. Olivia was still out working, but Fredrick had insisted ever since passing her on the landing that he be invited to dinner to formally meet the new arrival. Jane could hardly object when the whole arrangement had been his idea in the first place.

It was 5 until 7 and Jane had just set potatoes to boil when she heard Fredrick at the door. He let himself in with his spare key and strolled into the kitchen, a look of anticipation in his eye.

“Don’t get too excited, she won’t be back for another hour or so,” said Jane. His expression fell. “But let’s pretend,” she said, “that we’re friends, and you just stopped by to visit.”

He smiled. “Need a hand?”

“I’m about done, but thanks. Everything just has to cook now.” Drying her hands on the dishtowel, she took a seat on the sofa next to the fireplace. “What’s the news today?”

“I’m afraid there isn’t any, my dear. You know the expression.”

“‘No news is good news?’”

“Try, ‘My head was pounding like a steam engine and I didn’t go to the office today.’”

She laughed. “Don’t wear yourself out. Olivia may not know what to do with all of that charm.”

“Well, if you’re not feeling up to the banter, you could always take the night off and leave me to entertain,” he said, sitting down and regarding her with a half-hopeful expression.

“Not a chance.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Nor me for having Olivia’s best interests at heart.”

“Ouch.”

Almost two hours had passed before the pair heard another key turning in the lock. Both perked up to see Olivia sweep through the door, as cheerful as ever but a little disheveled.

“So sorry! My appointment took longer than I expected.”

“Don’t think of it, Miss Saavedra,” said Fredrick, rising to his feet.

“Allow me to make introductions,” Jane said. “Fredrick, this is my new roommate, Olivia Saavedra. Olivia, this is my friend Fredrick Anders.”

“Charmed.”

“
Igualmente
.”

Fredrick was still standing, halfway between electrified and dumbstruck, when Olivia smiled politely and rushed off to her quarters. “If you will give me a minute to change clothes, I am ready.”

Against Jane’s whispered admonitions, Fredrick dragged the table closer to the fireplace, which he regarded as the most romantic corner of the apartment, while Jane arranged the plates on the moving table. Though unaccustomed to accommodating three, the solid cedar table fit the plates of chicken, potatoes, and greens with plenty of space still for the diners and their dishware. By the time Jane and Fredrick had everything ready, Olivia had changed out of her grey dress and waited by the kitchen, an eager smile on her face. “It smells wonderful.”

Jane handed her a plate. “Roasted chicken with vegetables. Please, help yourself.”

Seated around the fireplace and enjoying a hearty dinner, Jane was pleased to find her old friend and her new roommate getting along well. Fredrick was describing his work at the paper with characteristic exaggeration, and Olivia listened, leaning her chin on a fist.

“What a fascinating job. But how are things now that there is so much trouble in the city?” As Olivia blinked her large, round eyes, Fredrick puffed his chest and straightened his back.

“I shouldn’t say too much,” he said, lifting his eyebrows, “but it’s been quite a rush. Intrigue and investigative journalism at its best, all packed into long days and late nights.”

Jane froze mid-chew and frowned, reflecting that Fredrick’s recent late nights had been spent chasing a whiskey buzz. Olivia remained rapt.

“How thrilling to investigate these mysteries! And how bold to do it behind the Council’s back.” She smiled, one finger skating the rim of her glass, and Fredrick reddened. “How do you keep it a secret?”

“Keep what a secret?”

“That you’re looking into the murders.”

Fredrick glanced at Jane, who shot him a warning look. “Ah, well, I’m not so much investigating them myself…”

“So modest! But without your help, I’m sure your colleagues would not be able to.”

Thinking about the hidden list that Fredrick had almost burned, Jane continued to stare holes into his forehead. As much as he tried, he couldn’t ignore it.

“We’re not really investigating the murders at all. The Council’s had these scandals in lockdown since the first week and, as we all know, you don’t cross the Council.” Here he looked up at Jane, shooting her his own meaningful glare.

“Nonsense,” Olivia said. She patted his arm, seemingly oblivious to the staring contest between her companions. “The paper has run stories about the murders. I’ve read them.”

Deflated, Fredrick stirred the greens on his plate. “What you’ve read are the puffs authored by the Council. Since they can’t exactly hide the murder of a councilor, or any other whitenail, they write their sanitized version of events and send it to us to print.”

“So you do the best you can,” Jane said, trying to sound heartening.

“Selling out.”

Olivia cut back in. “But she’s right, Freddie. What can you do?” She paused, her perfect lips taking a ginger sip from her glass. “It can’t be all bad. Even if you can’t write about it, you must hear some interesting information.”

“We’ll always have our sources, if you understand me,” he said between bites, warming to the encouragement. “In fact, I’d venture to say that we have some of the better information outside of the Council. Better, even, than the Municipal Police.” Still stung, he glared at Jane.

“Bit of an exaggeration,” Jane mumbled.

“Hardly. They’re either incompetent or corrupt, and I don’t know which is worse.”

Between Jane and Fredrick, Olivia slapped the table. “Corrupt is worse, of course!” She looked pleased to contribute to the debate.

“Aha.” Fredrick dabbed at his mouth. “You might think so. But someone who is corrupt can at least be bought. You can’t do anything with a fool. Incompetence is useless.” Olivia nodded slowly, focusing on this wisdom with a furrowed brow. Reaching some mental conclusion, she turned to Fredrick with renewed interest.

“Do you have any idea who is behind the murders?”

“Nothing certain. However, there are a few newsroom theories, and I have my own suspicions,” he said, with another glance at Jane, who sawed furiously into her chicken.

Olivia prompted him with an indulgent smile. “And?”

“Well, one of the more popular theories attributes the murders to a gang of the dissatisfied and unemployed. As you know, a few of our neighbor territories are going through something of a recession, which is thought to have caused the recent immigration boom. The usual scapegoats and, not surprisingly, the Vineyard’s pet theory.” He paused to savor the attention. “Others among us, however, feel that the crimes are too methodical for a band of angry laborers. There are rumors of intrigue within the upper circles and backstabbing in their ranks.”

“What kind of intrigue?”

“Dunno. That’s what makes it intriguing.”

“They may be ‘backstabbers’, but none of the whitenails would actually want a blood feud,” Jane said. Fredrick leveled a skeptical stare at her. “Come on, it’s common sense. They have too much to lose to squabble violently. No one at the top is going to threaten the whole structure by knocking out a few loose bricks.”

Fredrick twirled his fork over the vegetables. “Not everyone enjoys quite the same benefits. Besides, as they say, power corrupts.”

“And who in the Council would want to do this?”

“Not necessarily within the Council itself.” Fredrick turned from Jane to Olivia. “As you may know, there are quite a few cronies and underlings that exist barely outside the absolute power of the Council and that enjoy more freedom for it.”

“Don’t be such a conspiracy theorist,” said Jane.

“Conspiracy theorist? Jane, we’re in the middle of a crisis. I’ve got my suspicions about who caused it, and I know I’m not the only one.”

Olivia watched them both intently now. “Who?”

Fredrick ignored Jane’s steely glare. “Roman Arnault.”

Jane let her fork clatter to her plate. “Oh really, Fredrick.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him,” said Olivia.

Fredrick appeared surprised. “You have?”

“You forget that Olivia and I cater to much of the same clientele,” Jane said.

“Besides, it’s impossible to spend three weeks in the factory district without hearing something,” Olivia added.

Jane shook her head. “Fredrick loves a good scandal. Me, I just can’t see it.”

“That’s because you’ve put on blinders where this one’s concerned,” Fredrick said. “Your detective friend feels the same way I do.”

“Fredrick!”

“Wha-at? Oh, don’t be silly, Jane, we’re among friends.”

It was Olivia’s turn to interject. “Then this Roman Arnault is the prime suspect?”

Fredrick answered before Jane could protest. “It’s not as simple as that. See, the investigation is being handled by the Council’s own agents, and there’s no telling what they think. As of last week, they certainly weren’t giving him a curfew,” he said, scowling. Fredrick continued too fast for Jane to add that no one at the gala, themselves included, had faced curfew. “Investigations aside, I will say this: I’ve worked for the news for over ten years now, and it’s my job to know the climate in Recoletta. People are talking, and among those who would know, the name is Roman Arnault.” He concluded with a fierce stab at a chunk of potato.

Jane found her opening. “Roman Arnault has a suspicious reputation, but he’s not the only possibility. Fredrick has his ‘sources’,” Jane said, pronouncing the word as if it were a polite term for something less reputable, “but it’s all speculation. The fact is, no one knows, so people are eager to assign the blame anywhere they can, and Roman Arnault is also a convenient scapegoat,” she added, watching Fredrick’s expression.

Olivia smiled and patted Jane’s arm. “Jane, I thank you for your assurances, but don’t worry that I take rumors too seriously! I know that Mr Anders is only looking out for us. You should be grateful for such a friend, so interested in your well-being.” Fredrick did not attempt to conceal his satisfaction.

Jane softened and could not help grinning herself. “I guess you’re right. But here we’ve been going on about our work without even asking you about yours.”

Olivia smiled again. “Never mind that! Just another day of soap and polish.”

“You work in the Vineyard too, am I right?” asked Fredrick.

“Mostly.” She stirred her meal with a fork.

“And what exactly do you do?”

“I clean house, Mr Anders. I’m afraid it’s not that interesting.”

“Nonsense! You must come across all kinds of mysterious stains and scandalous messes.”

Olivia laughed. “But none of it’s nice to mention at dinner.”

Fredrick held out his hands and dropped them onto his thighs. “And here, after you’ve gotten all of my secrets out of me.”

Jane stared at the bottom of her glass as she drained it. “Wasn’t exactly hard,” she muttered.

Fredrick smiled at Olivia. “Well, if you can’t tell us about your day-to-day now, how about something from your previous life abroad? Can’t be any harm in spilling the goods on some whitenails from Bremmly, Belmond–”

“Bremmond,” Jane said.

“–or wherever.”

Again, Olivia laughed. “I’ve had some scandalous clients, but nothing that would shock a reporter. In fact, I’m eager to hear more about the scandals here.”

Needing no more encouragement, Fredrick spun stories from the rumor mill as the three picked at the scraps on their plates. Dinner ended with the stretches and yawns that signify tired bodies and full stomachs. Olivia disappeared while Jane and Fredrick were clearing the table, and when she returned moments later, they were surprised to see her again decked out in her plain gray dress.

“Leaving so soon?” Fredrick asked.

“I’m afraid so. I have one more appointment tonight, and I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“You really do keep odd hours.”

“So do my clients,” she said. “Jane, I’m sorry to go now, but I can help tomorrow night with dinner.”

“Don’t worry about it. Look, it’s nearly eleven, and you know there’s a curfew…”

“It’s OK. My client gave me a note to get me past the guards.” Olivia patted a pocket. “I have my key, so I can let myself in later tonight.” She buttoned her jacket and tugged at her sleeves. “Don’t wait for me.” She nodded to Fredrick. “Wonderful to have met you, Mr Anders.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” She was out the door before he finished. “Well, Jane, it’s official,” he said.

“Is she your next future ex?”

“Your new roommate is a lady of the night.”

#

Two days after Malone’s adventure in the wine cellar, she and Sundar were still deciphering the Prometheus report. Everything they read confirmed that she had grabbed the correct file from Hollens’s safe.

The report itself contained an odd network of connections and gaps, raising at least as many questions as it answered, but it fit with the list that Jane had provided. With the exception of “R Arnault,” each name on Jane’s list was accompanied by a number, and each number had an assignment in a sister list of the Prometheus file. For instance, 1 (“A Ruthers”) was cross-listed as “Project Director”. If “A Ruthers” did indeed refer to Councilor Augustus Ruthers, Malone had no doubt that they were on the right track. Number 2 was “A Hollens” on Jane’s list and “Assistant Project Director” in Prometheus. After the first two numbers, the list got more interesting.

“C Hask” held the position of “Chief Historian”. Studying the rest of the assignments, Malone saw a fair variety, from “3rd Historian” and “Records Specialist” to the last twenty names, all of which were classified as “Security”. The most intriguing was still the number 3 position: “Director of Excavation”.

This slot matched “L Fitzhugh” on the first list but would now be “P Dominguez,” she recalled crossly. Scattered throughout the list were quite a few other slots labeled “Excavation Team.” Here lay one information gap: a team devoted to digging, but no evidence or record of the bounty.

“Probably to prevent someone from doing what we’re doing now,” Sundar said, his boots resting on the edge of Malone’s desk.

Malone snorted.

“We wouldn’t even know who this involved if it weren’t for the laundress’s list,” he said. “I’d do it that way, and I bet you would too if you needed to keep records but wanted to preserve secrecy – split ’em up.” He gnawed on the end of a pen. “It’s smart.”

“Only if you can trust the people holding the pieces, and I don’t think the Council can.” She did not have to remind Sundar of her theory that someone in the inner circle had given the murderer access to the victims’ homes. “Besides, there’s a hole.”

“In my theory? Never.” He kicked his feet off of the desk and brought them down with a small thud. “What is it?”

“If this is about segmentation, why did Hollens have this portion of the report and the list of names?”

“The list was in his jacket. Maybe he was passing it along to someone else.”

A log from the Prometheus folder displayed the times and dates that certain members of the team had worked, though the inspectors could only guess at what. The log also included information on changes in the team, but no names were given, only the numbers that corresponded.

“They really do know how to keep a lid on things, don’t they?” Sundar said.

“No telling how many other files there are.” Flipping to the first page of the log, Malone checked the date of the first entry. It was fourteen years old.

“How could they take fourteen years on this?” Sundar asked.

“They don’t exactly have a lot of people working on it, and I’ll bet that’s intentional.”

“I love a private party.”

Malone sighed. “Diggers, politicians, and historians.”

“Don’t forget security.”

“And this somehow ties in with the Sato case… also fourteen years ago.”

“Well, we know the who and the when,” Sundar said.

“But not the what, where, or why.”

He shrugged. “Someone’s got to be the optimist.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Malone’s lips. She paused. “We know they’re digging. So what are they recovering?”

“Or storing,” Sundar said.

“True.” She turned back to the page. “Well, how did we miss this before?”

“What?”

“The log. Take a look.” Malone passed the flimsy book to Sundar. Opened to the first entry, he could see that several pages had been ripped out of the front.

“So much for the when,” Sundar said.

“And we still don’t know how Roman Arnault fits into this.”

“Ah, but that’s no surprise.”

Malone paused again, thinking. “Did you ever look up ‘Prometheus’?”

He brightened, tapping the air with an index finger. “As a matter of fact, I did. A mythological figure: the fire-bringer. Not sure what to think of that.”

“And Edmund Wickery?”

“A better success. His office still exists, but as to whether or not he does, I haven’t a clue.”

Malone checked her watch. “It’s past curfew already, but at least we’ve got something.”

“Yep, a handful of loose ends.”

Malone gathered the papers from Prometheus and slid them into a desk drawer. “Meet me here tomorrow morning, and we’ll see about visiting Edmund Wickery.”

“Or at least his files.”

She nodded. “Since we don’t have a contract, we won’t be able to do an official interview, but if he worked closely with the Council before, something tells me he’ll be cooperative.”

“Yeah, but the Council wouldn’t want us looking into the old Sato murder.”

Malone locked the desk drawer with a gentle snick. “He won’t know that.”