A Hard Rain Part 19

Dix's people, except for Mr. Data and Bev, had all filed out and were waiting downstairs. Outside, it looked like it was still clear; the rain was holding off, at least on this block. Who knew what the weather might be like back at Dix's office.

"Looks just like it did when we came in, doesn't it, Dix?" Bell asked, pretending to look around the apartment and the mess they had just created.

"Yeah," Dix said, glancing around hoping for something they had missed. He picked up Marci's letters to Brad from the corner of the table. They smelled faintly of a woman's perfume. A light perfume, not like the stuff Jessica Daniels must have poured over her entire body.

He handed the letters to Detective Bell. "I just bet these are enough to put Andrews away for a very long time. You want to make sure the cops doing the case get them."

Dix wanted to add If there is a tomorrow. But he didn't.

Bell took the letters, glanced at the top envelope and slipped them into his coat pocket.

"Can I get those back some time?" Barringer asked, looking slightly panicked. "They're all I got left to remember her by."

Bell nodded. "Sure, you don't mention our little visit tonight and you'll get these back right after they slam the lockup on Andrews. Deal?"

Barringer frowned, then nodded. "Deal."

"Let's go," Dix said to Bev. He headed out into the urine-smelling hall. It seemed darker than when they had come up, but more than likely that was just his mood.

They had less than an hour until everything was destroyed.

An hour and no leads.

No real chance of finding that gold ball that would save this world, and all the rest of the world and the people he loved.

Outside he moved up to the group of his people waiting for him on the sidewalk. None of them were talking. They all knew what failure meant. They were all dealing with the coming destruction and death in their own way.

Bev, Mr. Data, and Detective Bell joined them. "What's next?" Bell asked.

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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 gla.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce 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, coming 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."