The Authorities, page 6
Terri glanced over and saw him signing. “Is that a fountain pen?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s not real, though.”
She looked confused.
“I mean, it’s a real fountain pen,” he explained. “But it’s a knockoff of a much better pen.” He glanced forward, trying to say please look at the road without actually having to say it.
Terri returned her attention to the road and said nothing.
“See,” Rutherford explained, “I’ve always wanted a Parker 51. Many collectors consider it the best fountain pen ever made. I can’t justify spending that kind of money on a pen, so I got this Hero 329. It’s made in China. It’s not as good as a real Parker, but it’s closer than you’d think. Really, the biggest difference is the nib. A real Parker has a gold nib. The Hero doesn’t.”
Terri kept driving and said nothing.
“Terri,” Rutherford said, “please open your eyes.”
She opened her eyes and immediately applied the brakes, then muttered an embarrassed apology.
Rutherford decided to change the subject.
“I should probably call my captain to tell him what’s happened.”
“No need,” Terri said. “You’re on a leave of absence until your employment paperwork goes through, then you’ll officially leave the force with all need for advance notice waived. Mr. Capp had that arranged before you got into his truck.”
“That’s presumptuous,” Rutherford said.
Terri chuckled to herself. “He’d call it confident. Knowing what he intended to offer you, do you really think there was a chance you would turn him down?”
Rutherford thought for a moment. “I guess not.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t have to guess.”
They rode in silence for a while before Rutherford thought of a good enough question to justify breaking the silence.
“What did you do before you came to work with the Authorities?”
“I was in upper management at one of Mr. Capp’s other companies.”
“A security company?”
“No. Software.”
“Security software?”
“Back-end software for retail point-of-sale systems.”
“Really?” Rutherford said, not attempting to keep the surprise out of his voice.
Terri glanced at him, and for a moment her amazing smile reappeared. “Yeah,” she said. “I know it seems weird, but my job’s pretty much the same here as it was there. I give my team the things they need, including direction, to achieve whatever impossible task our employer is demanding of us that week.”
“Well, I’m happy to be on your team,” he said.
“Glad to hear it,” Terri said. “Because, no offense, but right now the impossible thing he’s demanding is for me to get you settled gracefully into your new job.”
“But no offense,” Rutherford sniffed.
“I, look, Rutherford . . . Sinclair . . .” Terri stammered. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t mean it as an insult. I’m betting Mr. Capp didn’t really tell you much about your role in the team, did he?”
Rutherford thought about it.
“He said that the team has some gaps I can fill, and that I’ll be able to detain and apprehend suspects because I’m the only sworn law officer. Is there more to it than that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so, what else will I be doing?”
“I could tell you, but it’ll be easier for me to show you. All of your questions will be answered in the next half hour,” Terri said. “We’re here.”
They had returned downtown, and were driving along a narrow road one block inland from the waterfront. Rutherford could smell salt in the air. As they rolled through an intersection, he caught occasional glimpses of the gaps between the buildings. Tourists were exploring a garish gift shop that took up an entire pier, totally blocking any view of Puget Sound or the Olympic Mountains beyond.
Terri steered the car into a multistory parking garage that had been retrofitted into an old brick building. A valet rushed forward to open her door, but instead of exiting, she held a plastic tag about the size of a credit card up to the window. The valet immediately backed off and Terri drove the car up the ramp into the guts of the garage.
Despite the sunny weather, there was very little light inside the parking structure, just enough that a driver would have to think about whether or not she needed headlights. The ceilings were lower and the lanes tighter than Rutherford would have thought sensible. Judging from the look of concentration on her face and the death grip she had on the wheel, Terri seemed to agree.
They worked their way to the top floor and pulled into an empty space that under normal circumstances could have held three cars. The valets probably could have squeezed in four. The ancient brick wall was interrupted by a dull patch of gray concrete. Terri pressed a button on her key fob. A rectangular chunk of the concrete patch receded and slid off to the side, opening a hole more than large enough for the car.
Terri drove through the opening, into a room with polished concrete floors, white painted concrete walls, and space for at least three large SUVs.
Theirs was the only car present, but Terri parked to the side, leaving room for later arrivals. As they got out of the car, Rutherford saw the hidden door slide shut behind them. He spun around, taking in the room. He stopped when his gaze fell on Terri, who was standing next to a frosted glass door, waiting.
Terri held the door open as Rutherford walked through.
“Welcome to the Authorities HQ,” she said.
Rutherford emerged into a large office space, at least six thousand square feet. It was surprisingly empty. Cubicles with low, built-in partitions were amply stocked with computers and electronic equipment, and a conference table and chairs sat in the middle of the room, with rolling whiteboards at one end of the table and a large flat screen slung from the ceiling at the other. Everything you’d expect in a modern office space. There just wasn’t nearly as much of it as you’d expect.
The wall behind him was made of brick, which had been carefully selected to match the look and character of the bricks the building had been made from over a hundred years before. A second wall was obscured by a bank of sealed offices with frosted glass façades and names printed on the doors. In the middle of the open space, there was the predictable elevator and stairwell that defined the building’s spine. The other two outer walls were mostly glass, and provided a panoramic view of Puget Sound, West Seattle, the waterfront, the ferry terminal, and the equally antique building across the street.
“This is all yours?” Rutherford asked.
“It’s ours. You’re one of us now,” Terri said.
“How many people work here?”
“Including you? Six.”
“All this, for six people?”
Terri pointed at the ceiling. “We also own the roof deck.”
“Why do we need all this space?”
“We don’t. But we have it. Mr. Capp owned it already. Got it when he bought one of the Internet video companies that was competing to be the last company put out of business by YouTube.”
“Hmm. Tough luck,” Rutherford said.
“Not really. I think he just bought it to get this office. They had this crazy long-term lease in return for pre-IPO stock, which turned out to be worthless for the building’s owner, but Capp gets to keep the top floor as long as the company name remains incorporated. He was going to make an apartment for himself out of it. The garage was part of that plan.”
“But he didn’t make an apartment.”
“No,” Terri said.
“Why not?”
Terri shrugged. “He changed his mind.”
One of the frosted glass office doors opened, and a man poked his head out. Despite the fact that the guy now had a magnifying visor clamped to his head, Rutherford immediately recognized him as the operator of the drones.
“Ah, I thought I heard voices,” he said as he emerged from his office. He rotated the visor upward. A pair of large black headphones was resting around his neck. He was wearing the pants and vest of another three-piece suit. His tie was loosened, his top button was undone, and his sleeves were rolled up.
Terri said, “Rutherford, I know you already met Albert Mok yesterday. Albert builds, procures, and maintains most of our equipment.”
Albert stepped forward to shake Rutherford’s hand. “Good to see you again, Officer Rutherford. Or is it Detective Rutherford now?”
Before Rutherford could answer, Terri said, “It’s just Rutherford. That comes straight from Mr. Capp.”
“Ah,” Albert said. “Figures. Well, welcome aboard, Rutherford. Terri, Mr. Ivanov arrived about fifteen minutes ago. I gave him some tea and stuck him in your office. The others are all out, running some tests with Sherwood’s apparatus.”
“Great,” Terri said. “When Peter and I are done with Rutherford, I’ll hand him over to you so you can get him set up.”
“Works for me. Also, I got an e-mail. The van will be here tomorrow morning.”
Rutherford heard the entire exchange, but while he knew what all of the words meant, without context, little of it made any sense to him.
Terri said, “When things happen, they happen all at once.”
Rutherford understood that statement, and agreed with it wholeheartedly.
“Always,” Albert agreed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my soldering iron is calling to me.”
Albert went back into his office and Terri ushered Rutherford into the corner office. A portly man in his late fifties was waiting there, looking out of the large windows at the intersection four floors below.
“Peter!” Terri said. “Thanks so much for coming. I’m sorry you had to wait.”
The man stood. He was wearing low-top hiking shoes, jeans, a paisley shirt, and a red velvet jacket. He had long, wavy hair that he probably thought was silver, but was closer to the color of tin. He grasped Terri by the shoulders and mimed kissing her on both cheeks.
“Terri, my pet, it’s always a pleasure to see your smiling face!” The man’s voice didn’t have any particular accent, but dripped with affected smarm, as if he was trying to give the impression of being a smooth-talking scoundrel, but wasn’t quite a good enough actor to pull it off. He turned to Rutherford.
“And you must be the new hire! I would love to say that you are exactly as I pictured you, but I cannot.”
Terri smirked. “Rutherford, this is Peter Ivanov. He’s the head of the costume department at the Pacific Northwest Opera. Mr. Capp is a patron, so they occasionally loan us Peter.”
Rutherford shook his hand and said, “Good to meet you.”
Peter said, “Yes. Now please take off your jacket.”
Rutherford raised his eyebrows at Terri, who nodded once. Not wanting to be labeled uncooperative on his first day, he took off his jacket and handed it to Peter, who felt the fabric, smiled at Rutherford as if slightly impressed, and placed the jacket gently on a chair. He produced a tailor’s tape measure and started moving Rutherford’s limbs around like a giant action figure, measuring his various dimensions.
“Tell me, Mr. Rutherford, where did you procure this suit?”
“Oh, at a thrift store. I can’t afford to buy anything really good new, but you can find some great stuff used if you’re patient, and you’re not afraid to have things dry-cleaned and tailored.”
Yes,” Peter said, “And if you don’t mind the melancholy of knowing that you’re wearing a dead man’s clothes.”
Rutherford spent a moment trying to decide if he’d just been insulted, then turned to Terri and asked, “What’s this for?”
“Your uniform.”
“Please,” Peter said. “It’s a costume.”
Rutherford said, “I was told I wouldn’t be wearing a uniform.”
“You won’t,” Peter said. “You’ll be wearing a costume.”
“Mr. Capp told me I’d be in plain clothes,” Rutherford insisted.
“Plain clothes,” Peter muttered. “My clothes are never plain.”
“Yes, I’m sure he did,” Terri said, “but did he ever tell you that you’d get to pick those clothes yourself?”
“Well, no, but I naturally assumed I would.”
“Yes. Of course you did,” Terri said, “and Mr. Capp knew you would.”
Rutherford spent several seconds feeling foolish. There was no point in getting mad at Terri. He could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t thrilled about the situation. She was neither the one who had misled him nor the one who had been misled. She was just the person who got to break the news. Besides, she was now his immediate supervisor. Getting angry with her would be a terrible way to start their relationship.
After a long silence Rutherford said, “Well, it’s not so bad. The costume will look like plain clothes, and it’ll be bespoke, which is amazing.”
“All true,” Peter said, still measuring Rutherford’s various parts. “The custom garments won’t be ready for a week or so, but I have a full off-the-rack ensemble for you to wear until then. It’s waiting in the dressing room.”
“In his case, wouldn’t off-the-rack be better anyway?” Terri asked.
“Please,” Peter said, rolling his eyes at Rutherford. “Off-the-rack is never better.”
“Look,” Rutherford said. “If I’m going to be wearing suits, I have a few that are tailored to fit me already. I could wear them until the new ones are ready.”
Terri and Peter exchanged an uncomfortable look, and the designer stood up and started rolling up his measuring tape.
“What?” Rutherford asked. “I won’t be wearing suits?”
He remembered how Capp had reacted to his attire earlier. Feel free to dress more casually in the future, okay? No suits required.
Rutherford said, “Look, I know that business casual is pretty much the norm these days, but a detective shouldn’t show up at a crime scene in Dockers and a button-down.”
Peter snorted. “The victim shouldn’t show up at a crime scene in Dockers and a button-down.”
Rutherford said, “I know, right? A good detective should look like a professional.”
Peter said, “On the police force, perhaps, but—”
“I think,” Terri cut him off, “it might be best if we just show him and give him a moment to think it through himself.”
Peter looked dubious, but said, “Of course.”
They guided Rutherford to the corner of the office space, where a windowless hallway led to the restrooms. Terri pointed him toward the men’s room. “There’s a full shower and changing room in there.”
Peter said, “Your costume is hanging in a bag marked Pacific Northwest Opera. The shoes are in the box beneath it.”
Rutherford went into the men’s room. He was in there for less than thirty seconds before he emerged, still dressed in his own clothes.
“I’m sorry. I think there’s been a mistake. I found the bag, but it’s full of—”
“There’s no mistake, Rutherford,” Terri said, wearily. “Please just put it on. That way we can tell the very busy Mr. Ivanov if the costume fits or not, and once he’s gone on his way, we can discuss it further.”
Rutherford returned to the men’s room, and this time he emerged in full costume. Without saying a word, he lifted his arms and spun around once.
“Good,” Peter said, approaching to check the fit by tugging at various corners of the garments. “Let’s take a closer look.”
“The jeans are a touch loose,” Terri said.
“That’s by design. A character choice, if you will. We didn’t want a skinny-jean look. We wanted to give the impression that he buys his clothes carelessly and infrequently.”
“That’s why the knee is blown out,” Terri said.
“Exactly. One of my seamstresses spent quite a bit of time distressing the jeans with a belt sander. How do the sneakers fit?” Peter asked Rutherford.
“Fine,” Rutherford said.
“We got your size from your uniform vendor, Blumenthal’s, but you know how it is. These things are never exact.”
“Where did you find a vintage ZZ Top tour shirt?” Terri asked.
“One of our set carpenters was wearing it. It has a patina that you just can’t fake, and the carpenter got an extra fifty bucks for a shirt he was wearing to paint in anyway.”
“I bet this is one of the least expensive costumes your shop has ever produced,” Terri said.
“True, for the most part. The leather jacket is a designer piece, though. I thought the car-coat length would add some visual interest. We got one that’s a bit large so that it will accommodate the shoulder holster. Also, it will flap nicely when he runs. Everything else was fairly inexpensive. How do the fingerless driving gloves feel?”
“Like I’m a break dancer,” Rutherford said.
“Great,” Peter said. “We were hoping for an urban vibe. So tell me, what do you think?”
Rutherford came very close to answering in no small detail, but Terri cut in before he could speak. “Rutherford, Peter here is an important man, whose work has won numerous awards. He has Mr. Capp’s full confidence, so please, tell him how everything fits, if your range of motion is limited, that kind of thing.”
Rutherford swung his arms around, touched his toes, ran a quick lap of the room, and told Peter that the clothes fit fine. Peter said his good-byes. As soon as the elevator doors closed, Rutherford turned to Terri, ready to bombard her with a mix of questions and recriminations, but she was already holding up a hand to stop him. Her eyes were sympathetic as she said, “We definitely need to have a talk, but it’ll be better for both of us if we do it calmly. If you’ll go have a seat in my office, I’ll get us each a cup of coffee and we can discuss the situation like adults.”
