A Hard Rain Read online

  Dix looked around at his people. He couldn’t give up, not while there was even the slightest chance of finding that golden ball. It was their best and only hope, from everything he was being told.

  “We go over it one more time,” Dix said, making up his mind to move.

  Dix turned to Bell. “Would you grill Andrews one more time, and make sure that the ball isn’t in the evidence room, either in Andrews’ things, or anything brought in from any of the boss arrests?”

  “Good thinking,” Bell said, heading for his car. “I’ll call you if I have any luck.”

  “Immediately,” Dix said.

  Bell waved that he had heard and almost dove into his car. A moment later the big Dodge, spinning its tires on the wet pavement, turned and sped off downtown.

  “Mr. Data,” Dix said, “you and the rest except for Bev give Andrews’ apartment one more going-over. Make sure there are no hidden safes or loose floorboards, then come back to my office as fast as you can.”

  “Gotcha, boss,” Mr. Data said, turning and leading everyone down the street at a very fast walk.

  “What are we going to do?” Bev asked.

  “We’re going back to my office,” Dix said. “And see if there’s anyone else who might have been on those stairs. Anyone we might have missed.”

  He turned the collar of his coat up to keep the cold wind that had just kicked up from blowing on his neck and headed down the sidewalk.

  Their steps echoed in the forever night, bouncing off the buildings, dying in the alleys. The wind cut at them, trying to hold them back, but there was still time, so nothing was going to stop him now.

  There had to be something he had missed. He was not willing to fail.

  “Anyone else have an office, or live in your building?” Bev asked after twenty steps.

  Dix glanced at her and at the worried and tired look on her face. Clearly she wasn’t giving up hope yet either.

  “No,” Dix said. “The building is almost condemned. The two other offices on my floor have been boarded up for as long as I have been there, and the apartments on the two floors above are also empty and unsafe to even go into. Floors rotted out.”

  “So who owns the building?” Bev asked. “Maybe the owner decided to come by.”

  “I own it,” Dix said. He had never told anyone before, but the records of Dixon Hill showed that he had taken the old, condemned building in trade for a fee on a case a few years ago. He had fixed up the staircase and the one office on the second floor and boarded up all the rest.

  “Oh,” Bev said. “There’s no owner to come by.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Dix said.

  Silence again ruled their walk.

  The fog swirled past overhead, brushing the tops of the buildings like a light hand polishing fine works of art. In the distance a ship’s horn blew, mournful and sad, echoing its lost-sounding cry through the night.

  Dix, his collar up around his neck, his gaze focused ahead and on the details of this mystery, walked onward.

  Bev stayed with him, at his side. He felt comfort with her there.

  The seconds ticked past.

  It was almost over.

  Dixon Hill was going to fail for the first time on his biggest and most important case. And he wasn’t going to just fail himself, but every friend and sleeping person behind the windows in the buildings they walked past, and everyone beyond this city.

  He had failed. And failure was not something Dixon Hill took lightly.

  Again the ship’s foghorn echoed through the still city, crying for the night to end.

  In less than an hour, Dixon Hill knew the end would come.

  Section Two: No More Suspects

  It took Dix and Bev less than five minutes of hard walking through the cold night air to reach his office. On the way up, Dix stopped on the landing and stared up at the second floor, trying to imagine what someone would have thought coming around that corner and seeing the Adjuster and the golden Heart sitting there, with no one watching it.

  What kind of person would then sneak up the stairs, take the gold ball, and leave?

  Any thief would have sold it at once and the ball would have ended up with Redblock or Harvey Upstairs Benton or Benny the Banger. That hadn’t happened, so it hadn’t been a petty thief who had come up the stairs and run into the opportunity.

  But then who?

  Not Andrews, not Bell, not Barringer, it would seem. Dix was all out of suspects.

  Yet someone had taken that golden ball from the Adjuster, thinking it was worth something.

  “Who?”

  “I wish I knew,” Bev said, standing beside him on the landing and staring upward.

  Dix at first didn’t realize he had spoken the question aloud. “I wish you did, too.”

  She touched his arm and they turned and headed on up into the office. He took off his coat and hat, then picked up his appointment book, flipping to the day before, hoping that maybe someone had gotten the wrong day.

  There were no appointments at all on the day before, or the day after.

  He flipped the book back onto the desk and began pacing, back and forth, as Bev stood in front of the window looking out at the cold night and the street below.

  “Anyone else you talked to in the Marci case?” Bev asked. “Someone at the theater who might have come to give you a lead?”

  “No one,” Dix said. “I hadn’t gotten very far on that case when this problem came up. No one but Bell, Andrews, and Barringer even knew I was working it.”

  “Not working for a client?”

  “No,” Dix said. “I just liked her and her ability, so I thought I’d figure out who killed her.”

  Bev nodded and went back to silently staring out the window.

  Dix paced, letting the movement clear his mind. He went over it all again, slowly, carefully, not letting the ticking seconds push him to miss anything.

  But there just wasn’t anything to miss.

  “Do you think Redblock might have it in his pocket?” Bev asked, spinning around as the idea stuck her.

  “No,” Dix said. “Redblock was snatched by whoever did that hours before the Heart was taken from the hallway. He’d have no chance to have gotten it from one of his people.”

  Bev nodded and turned back to the window. In the reflection in the glass he could see the worry etched on her face. He wished he could comfort her, make it better, but at this point the only comfort they were going to get was in the shape of a small golden-looking ball.

  Dix headed out through the front office again and stopped in the doorway, staring at where the Adjuster had been. The empty space on the floor shouted failure at him.

  He glanced down the hall in both directions. Nothing, and no way out. Mr. Data and Mr. La Forge had been to the right, and to the left were only the other two offices boarded up around the corner.

  Behind him the phone rang. He moved back into the outer office and picked it up as Bev joined him.

  “Dix?” Bell’s voice came clearly over the line.

  “Any luck?” Dix asked.

  “Nothing,” Bell said. “I had six cops help me search every inch of the evidence room. Nothing gold and round has come in there in anything.”

  “Andrews?”

  “They’re cleaning him up and putting him back in his cell,” Bell said. “Trust me, he didn’t take it.”

  “Thanks,” Dix said. “It was worth the shot.”

  “It was at that,” Bell said. “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Go home and crawl in bed with that wife of yours,” Dix said. “Give her a hug for me. And if the sun comes up, celebrate.”

  “Will do,” Bell said, his voice soft. “You call me if you need help.”

  “I will do that, my friend,” Dix said.

  With that Bell hung up.

  Dix gently put the phone back in its cradle just as the sound of the door opening below filled the hallway and office. Dix knew it would be Mr. Data and the rest, co
ming back empty-handed as well.

  He moved past Bev and back into his office. There he sat down in his chair and looked at the wooden surface of his desk. There had to be something.

  There just had to be.

  But they had just over thirty minutes of time left.

  Through the open door Dix saw Mr. Whelan, Mr. Carter, and the others file in and spread out, some dropping into chairs, others just leaning against the wall. Mr. Data came in last holding Spot, his cat, scratching the cat’s ears.

  “No luck, boss,” Mr. Data said. “The place was as clean as they come.”

  “No old sayings, Mr. Data,” Dix asked.

  “It did seem appropriate,” he said.

  “Where did you find Spot?” Bev asked.

  “He must have gotten in here when the doors were stuck open,” Mr. Data said. “He was just in the hallway. He seems hungry and glad to see me.”

  Arnie Andrews’ words came flowing back into Dix’s mind.

  “Nothing but some stray cat,” Andrews had said when Dix asked him if there was anything in the hallway.

  Spot!

  There was one more suspect.

  Spot!

  Dix sprang out of his chair, knocking it over backward as he headed around his desk for the door.

  “What?” Bev asked. “What are you thinking?”

  Dix smiled. “Mr. Data, didn’t Sherlock Holmes once say to Watson, ‘The most difficult crime to track is the one that is purposeless.’?”

  “He did, boss,” Mr. Data said, “In The Adventure of the Naval Treaty.”

  “We’ve been assuming this theft of the golden Heart had a purpose,” Dix said, laughing. “We thought someone took the Heart because it looked like it was valuable. That’s where we went wrong. That was our false assumption.”

  “What else could it be?” Bev asked, staring at Dix.

  Dix stopped in front of Mr. Data and scratched Spot’s right ear, making the cat purr loudly.

  “A toy,” Dix said. “The Heart looked like a toy ball.”

  In both rooms everyone froze, silent. The sound of thinking had never had such energy.

  Dix smiled and strode through the outer office and into the hallway.

  “Spot?” Bev asked after a moment, running after him. “You think Spot took the Heart?”

  “When all other options have been eliminated, the remaining option must be the truth,” Dix said. “I heard that somewhere.” He held up his hand for Mr. Data to stop giving him the exact reference and wording. They had work to do.

  “So where would a cat, playing with a ball, take it?” Dix asked, looking both directions down the hallway, then down the stairs.

  “Back to its home,” Bev said as she and the others filed out into the hallway with him.

  “Possible,” Dix said. “Mr. Data, take Spot home and check anywhere Spot may have hidden a ball there. Have Mr. Riker start a full search as well of everything else, especially anything between here and there. Then, if you have no luck, come right back.”

  “Understood,” Mr. Data said, heading quickly for the door, Spot still purring in his arms.

  “Mr. Whelan, go get us a dozen flashlights.”

  “Will do, boss,” Mr. Whelan said and followed Mr. Data out the door.

  “Now, everyone else,” Dix said, “spread out, starting on this floor and working down and out around the front steps. Be quick, but don’t miss anything. Our lives depend on thinking like a cat right now.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible,” Bev said.

  “We have thirty minutes to make it possible,” Dix said.

  Section Three: Where Oh Where Has Spot’s Ball Gone?

  It took Mr. Whelan just a minute to come back with the flashlights, but in that time they had scoured the hallway carefully, checking all the corners and working down the staircase, looking for anywhere a cat might have knocked a ball it was playing with.

  Dix and Bev took two of the flashlights and went up to the next floor, stopping at the top. All the doors were boarded up and there was dust everywhere.

  “Careful,” Dix said, “the floors out here are still pretty solid, but step lightly and test your footing. I’ll go right, you go left.”

  “Will do,” Bev said.

  Using the flashlight to sweep the edges of the hallway and all the cracks, he moved slowly down the hall. The boards creaked under his feet, but remained fairly solid. If Spot had brought the Heart up here to play with, it would be in plain sight. Everything else was boarded up tight, too tight for the Heart or a cat to fit through.

  “Nothing this way,” Bev said just after Dix had checked to make sure the window leading to the fire escape outside was still locked and boarded. That fire escape was more dangerous than the floor in the hall.

  “Okay,” Dix said, turning to meet Bev. “We go back down. Nothing up here. No hole big enough for the Heart to go through.”

  Bev nodded and headed down, shining the light along the edges to make sure they hadn’t missed anything on the way up.

  “Anything?” Mr. Whelan asked as they met on the landing where the Adjuster had sat.

  “Nothing up there,” Dix said. “How about down here?”

  “Only one possibility on this floor,” Mr. Whelan said. He pointed with the beam of his flashlight down the hall toward the two boarded-up offices.

  “Show me,” Dix said.

  Whelan led the way, but instead of turning toward the two other offices, he turned and pointed toward the end of a short part of the hall. There was a crack at the base of the wall and a board had been knocked aside at one point in the past, leaving a triangle-shaped hole big enough for the Heart of the Adjuster and Mr. Data’s cat Spot to fit through.

  “I tried to shine my light in there,” Mr. Whelan said, “But I couldn’t see anything. You might want to try.”

  Dix nodded and got down on his hands and knees and directed his light in through the hole, squinting to make out anything golden in there. The light was blocked by something that was about arm’s-length inside the hole. Spot could easily have rolled the ball down the hall while playing with it, and knocked it in there, then sideways.

  Dix stood and stepped back, staring at the dead end in the corridor. “I wonder what this used to be?”

  “Maybe a walled-over dumbwaiter shaft,” Bev said. “Or a closet? Or a service elevator.”

  “Or a regular elevator that someone in the past gave up on,” Mr. Whelan said.

  Dix nodded. All of that made sense. He shined his light over the wall. It clearly had been boarded up and patched to make it look like the other walls, but time had broken some of the plaster and warped a few of the boards to show where the fix had been made.

  “I wonder why anyone would do that?” Mr. Whelan asked.

  “I have no idea,” Dix said, “There’s nothing in the records of the building about anything here, but we need to get in there to make sure the Heart isn’t back there.”

  “Mr. Data,” Bev said, calling down the hall. “We’re here. We could use your help.”

  Dix stepped back so that he could see down the hallway as Mr. Data, without Spot, walked toward them. “Any luck?”

  “No, boss,” Mr. Data said. “But the search is continuing.”

  Dix pointed at the walled-over end of the short corridor. “Can you pull enough of those boards off so we can see and get in there?”

  “I can,” Mr. Data said.

  He moved forward and then, his fingers pointed, jammed his hand into the wall, sending plaster dust and wood flying.

  Bev coughed and stepped back as Mr. Data pulled on the board, ripping it free and setting it aside.

  Then he pulled on the next one and the next one, until there was an opening in the wall large enough for a man to step easily through.

  Dix, his flashlight in hand, moved up through the plaster dust and stuck his head inside the wall. What greeted him wasn’t at all what he expected.

  The space was small, no more than two steps
deep. On the back wall were some coat hooks. This had been an old closet, that was clear.

  And sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, was the skeleton of a man wearing a black suit and a black hat and matching black shoes.

  “Fascinating,” Dix said, shining his light over the skeleton. The white of the skull seemed to glow and grin at Dix, like an actor in the spotlight.

  “It seems that if we find the Heart, I might have a new case,” Dix said.

  “What?” Bev asked.

  Dix backed up a moment to let Bev and Mr. Data glance through the opening, then he went back, crouching down so he could shine his light easier through the dust and search the floor area of the hole.

  Around the skeleton’s chest hung what looked like a sign, but it was so covered in dust, Dix couldn’t read it. Clearly this body had been here a very, very long time.

  He shone the light along the base of the left side wall, then the back wall, and finally along the skeleton’s old suit, looking for anyplace a cat might have shoved a ball.

  Something glinted near the skeleton’s knee, just under the edge of his pants.

  Dix reached in and pulled up the old cloth. It came apart in his hand, exposing bone.

  Beside the skeleton’s upper leg bone was a golden ball.

  The Heart of the Adjuster!

  “Found it!” Dix shouted.

  The cheer behind him sounded like a much larger crowd than the few people helping him.

  Dix eased through the hole Mr. Data had created and picked up the Heart, then eased back and stood. He held the Heart of the Adjuster up for everyone to see, shining his light on it.

  Then he handed it to Mr. Data.

  “Oh, thank heaven,” Bev said, the weariness in her voice very clear.

  “We found it!” Whelan shouted, then ran to the stairs and called down to the others still searching. “We found it!”

  “Get this in the Adjuster and get it working,” Dix said to Mr. Data. “Quickly. There can’t be much time left.”

  Mr. Data held up the Heart. “So this is what a McGuffin looks like.”

  He turned with the golden ball and trotted down the hallway toward the doorway. It was one of the first times Dix had seen Mr. Data run.

  “So Spot really was our criminal,” Bev said, leaning against the wall. The dust and the relief on her face made her seem pale and weak, far from what Dix knew she really was.