Rook, page 17
“But they don’t just get carried off,” I said. “They leave behind Mrs. Finkin’s magical aura—because they weren’t grabbed, they were shipped. I found a fragment of burnt paper in Charlie’s room, and Jackaby has found matches at multiple crime scenes.”
“So we’re looking for someone who’s got it out for nonhumans,” said Jackaby. “Lovely. That narrows it down to about a third of the city. Why do you look so chipper, Rook?”
“Because she’s alive,” I said. “Mrs. Finkin is still alive. She must be, because she’s the only one who could have made the spell labels used at each of the crime scenes. She’s probably making them under duress. Or possibly she’s been mesmerized or mind-controlled, or . . . I don’t know. Maybe she is behind the whole dastardly plot. The point is—as long as her spell labels are working properly, then that means the other missing people have been taken alive, too. Which means Charlie is still alive!” The last word caught in my throat as a buried part of me finally admitted that I had not been sure he was alive until just now. Another part of me got to work fervently refusing to admit that I still wasn’t completely sure. Just because they needed Maeve Finkin alive didn’t mean they needed Charlie. But I had no time for that sort of thinking right now. We were finally making progress.
“So our Big Bad Wolf is making Little Red Riding Hood do his dirty work,” said Jackaby. “How do you propose we track down the villain before he snatches his next defenseless grandmother?”
“I don’t know where to find the wolf,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure we can catch a rat.”
“I hate metaphors,” said Dupin. “You two do know you can just say things, right? I mean, I get that the wolf is the kidnapper. Who’s the rat?”
I dusted off my jacket and squared my jaw. “I believe, Inspector, that he’s called Squiffy Rick.”
chapter twenty
Miss Lee was leaning on the side of the carriage as I neared. “Detective,” she said. “Ahem. You should know you’ve got a little guest.” She tilted her head meaningfully at the carriage.
“Not so little,” came a voice from within.
“I like this one,” Miss Lee added in a whisper.
I leaned my head into the cabin. Grim was sitting tight against the corner of the bench with her arms wrapped around her knees. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said. “Mr. Finkin?”
By the heavy weight of her aura, I could tell she knew the answer already.
“Just like Mr. Dibb?”
“He is,” I admitted. “But we have reason to believe your mother and many of the others are still very much alive.”
She nodded solemnly and wiped her damp cheek with the back of her arm. “You gonna find her?”
“That’s the plan,” I said. “Come to think of it, I could use some help. You’ve been making your way on the streets for a little while; you must have picked up a few things. I need to track down a rather unsavory fellow who frequents the Inkling District. He goes by the name of Squiffy Rick. You don’t happen to know him, do you?”
She shook her head. “But I know some people there. Not the best people.”
“Not the best people are exactly the sort of people I need to help me right now,” I said.
“Not with all the badges buzzing around,” she said.
I glanced behind me. Inspector Dupin had held back to issue a few instructions to his team about cataloging the papers and vials in the Finkins’ hidden room before moving the lot to the evidence locker. He was making his way across the front lawn toward us now.
“Our department horses are faster,” he said. “We should take my coach.”
Miss Lee raised an eyebrow. “Yours might be faster, but the Duke here is”—she glanced at the old gray workhorse—“older and more crotchety.” She crossed her arms defiantly.
“Touché?” said Dupin.
“With all due respect, Inspector,” I said, “riding a police wagon into the parts of town where we need to go will not make our job any easier.”
“Fine. We can take yours, but if that old nag dies on the way, it’s not my fault.”
I could sense Grim’s nervousness from behind the curtain as Dupin approached the step.
“Before we go,” I said, “why don’t you collect one of your men to come along? If we do happen into a dangerous situation, I’m sure we would be grateful for the support. How about Officer Schmitz? I like him, and he already knows a bit about Squiffy Rick.”
“Mm. Wise. She might still be working out the visions, but she’s already better at this respectful collaboration thing than you ever were.” Dupin directed this last toward Jackaby.
“I’m taking avid notes,” Jackaby agreed.
Dupin nodded at me and then doubled back toward the house.
“Well now this just feels rude,” I said under my breath. “Oh well. Miss Lee? Quick as you can, yes?”
“Understood, Detective.” Miss Lee was in the driver’s box in a flash, the Duke stomping his hooves impatiently.
I hurried into the carriage with Jackaby close behind. “All right, Grim,” I said. “It’s just us. Why don’t you introduce us to a few of your not the best friends.”
Sebastian Gobsallow’s clothing was more river muck than fabric. The grime even seemed to bleed into his aura, which was otherwise a cheery golden orange. It was hard to tell under all the filth, but he looked to be no more than eight or nine years old.
“How’s the mud today, Gobby?” Grim asked the boy as he climbed up the embankment onto solid ground.
“Fifty-seven cents and a silver ring,” he answered. “And that’s just since sunup. Best stuff’s always in the morning. Or after a good rain.”
“Gobby found a whole cat’s skull once,” said Grim.
The boy nodded. “I cleaned it up real nice. I’ll show it to you, if you want.”
“Another time,” I said.
I carefully explained the situation and why we needed to find the man called Squiffy Rick. Gobby listened patiently. “We don’t want to get him into any trouble,” I concluded. “Frankly, we don’t particularly care about the necklace. We just need to ask him a few questions. So, do you know him?”
“Sure. Everybody knows Squiffy,” the boy said, shrugging. A wet clump of river clay sloughed off his leg and plopped onto the ground beside him. “I don’t know where to find him, though. You could talk to Fish.”
“Fish Pishdar,” Grim clarified. “He’s a big kid from upriver. Really good at card tricks.”
“That’s the one,” said Gobby. “Some of the grown-ups use him when they need a middleman or a shill, on account of he looks so innocent. Pretty sure he and Squiffy done a few jobs together.”
“Why do they call him Fish?” I asked.
“Because,” said Gobby, “he’s slippery.”
Amir Pishdar was selling newspapers on the corner of Bollinger when we found him. He was all of fifteen or sixteen years old with a bit of a baby face, but his eyes and aura belied a weathered and road-weary soul within.
“Buy my last paper?” he called as we approached. “Lotta hot stories this morning that you don’t want to miss. Farmer’s prize pig went missing—you won’t believe where he turned up. Page five. Steam pumper blew half the wall off a fire station downtown. Page two. And the big doozy: Mayor Spade implicated in a torrid scandal with the queen of the Om Caini. Just five cents to read all about it.”
“Those stories are made-up,” I said. “You lie beautifully, though. It’s almost poetic. You should be proud. Or ashamed? Definitely one of those. Also, that appears to be yesterday’s paper.”
“The pig one’s real,” Fish mumbled.
“Is it?” asked Jackaby. “Where did it turn up in the end?”
“On top of a church roof,” said Fish.
“Was it okay?” asked Jackaby.
“Nickel to find out,” said Fish.
“I’ve got a dime for you if you help me find out something else,” I said. “A friend of ours is looking for her missing mother, and we have reason to think a man you know called Squiffy Rick might have some information that we need. Do you have any idea where we could find him?”
“Squiffy? Haven’t seen Squiffy in weeks,” said Fish. “Could be anywhere.”
“That’s a lie,” I translated for Jackaby. “Which means he’s seen the gentleman. And recently, I would wager.”
“Okay, okay,” Fish said. “Yeah, I might have seen him around, but it isn’t like I know where he’s staying these days.”
“Oh! Lovely,” I said. “He definitely knows where Squiffy Rick is staying. You’re being very helpful so far, Mr. Fish. Please continue.”
“Hang on, now!” Fish protested. “How’re you doing that? That’s not fair!”
“Not remotely,” I agreed. “But neither is having your loved ones snatched away from you without any explanation. Now, where can we find Squiffy?”
“Well, the thing about that . . .” Fish tossed the newspaper at us and spun around to bolt into the night.
To his credit, it was a slick bit of maneuvering. Simple, but effective—or at least it would have been had Grim not been standing directly behind him. He skidded to a stop to avoid colliding with her, and in the half a second that he paused, Grim’s leg swung up sharply. Fish clutched his groin and toppled over sideways, making a rasping, squeaky sound.
“It’s me,” said Grim. “I’m the friend who’s missing her mother.”
“Right,” Fish croaked weakly. “And I am suddenly very interested in helping you all with that.”
“That’s true,” I said. “You are.”
“Good news,” said Jackaby, finally tossing the mess of newspapers aside. “The pig got down okay in the end.”
I asked Grim to stay with Miss Lee as we approached the last place Fish had seen Squiffy Rick. It did not take long to find the man himself. His hideaway was the basement of an old textile factory, bottles and pieces of rubbish lining the approach. He was sprawled out on a pile of dusty, moth-eaten fabric, snoring gently, when we arrived. I kicked his boot and he started, grunting.
“Mm? Who’s that?”
“Hello, Squiffy Rick,” I said. “We’re here to talk to you about a necklace.”
Squiffy sat up abruptly, rubbing his face.
“I know who you are,” he said, eyes darting between us. “I haven’t got it,” he added. “You can’t pin it on me. Never even touched the thing. Technically.”
His aura was a kaleidoscope of deceptive facts and earnest falsehoods. “You’re telling the truth,” I said. “But nevertheless, you did steal it. Or at least you helped someone else steal it.”
Squiffy hesitated. “Can’t prove that.”
“I’m not trying to,” I said. “Because, frankly, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the necklace. I do care about finding whoever put you up to stealing it.”
“Well, I don’t care what you care about,” said Squiffy, puffing up his chest as his eyes darted around, scanning for exit routes. “You’re not cops. You can’t do anything to me.”
Jackaby flipped open his satchel, not taking his eyes off Squiffy. “You’re sure about that?”
Squiffy sneered. “I’m not scared of you.”
“I’m not scared of geese,” said Jackaby.
“What?” Squiffy’s brow wrinkled.
“Now that we’re both done lying to each other,” Jackaby said, “perhaps we can get on to the facts.”
“I’ll start,” I said. “Your silent partner is a killer.”
Squiffy narrowed his eyes.
“That’s a fact. Did you know? Three bodies in as many days. Reasonable to expect more to come. That’s not to mention all the kidnappings.”
“I—I don’t know anything about any of that,” said Squiffy.
“They’ve also taken my fiancé,” I said.
Squiffy’s expression softened. “Charlie?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Knew your boy back when he was a copper,” said Squiffy. “One of the decent ones. Caught me fair and square once, pulling a little confidence job. Made me give the pocket watches back, but instead of booking me, he bought me a hot meal and gave me a good talk about morals.”
“Clearly it didn’t take,” I said.
“Hey—I don’t steal from anybody who can’t afford it. That’s better morals than most of the people who live in fancy houses and look down their noses at me.” Squiffy let out a breath. “Look, I didn’t know about Charlie, and I don’t know about any killing or kidnapping. That’s the truth. I didn’t want nobody to get hurt.” His aura still spun with nervous energy, but he was not lying.
“Where did you get the magic spell paper?” I asked.
“Never saw the guy’s face,” said Squiffy. “But he said he would pay me good money to pull an easy job. All I had to do was find the most expensive thing I could get close to, paste this funny-looking symbol onto it, and light the paper on fire. Figured it was just to scare the rich, stick up for the working folk, that sorta thing. Like what’s-his-name. German fellow with the manifesto. Anyway, the guy gave me ten percent and the piece of paper, then told me to meet him for the rest when the job was done. Said he’d know if I had pulled it off or not.”
“Where did he say to meet?” I asked.
“Funny thing,” Squiffy said.
“You don’t remember?” I said.
Squiffy nodded. “I know that sounds shady, but it’s the god’s honest truth.”
“I know it is,” I sighed.
“I got a feeling it was in a sketchy part of town,” he added. “But in a town like this one, ‘sketchy’ don’t narrow it down much. Anyway, after I did my part, the whole cabinet just sort of went poof. I didn’t know it would do that!”
“Would you have gone through with it if you did?”
“I mean. Sure, probably. But I wouldn’t have frozen up and let security rough me up like they did. I got out of there before the cops could nab me, though. It all gets sort of hazy from there. Next thing I remember, I’m sitting in an alley and the sun’s going down. I can’t remember the rendezvous point. At first I figured I’d been conned, but I had a wad of banknotes in my pocket telling me I got paid, so I figured I must have just had one too many pints of celebration.”
“Do you know where the necklace was transported?”
“The necklace was transported?” said Squiffy.
“That’s what the magic spell was for,” Jackaby explained. “Those papers take whatever is touching them back to a predetermined location.”
“Huh,” said Squiffy. “I suppose that would explain how he would know if I had done it or not. Giant cabinet with priceless jewelry showing up in his front room would be a good marker for a completed job.”
“Which means,” I said, “the delivery point must have been near the rendezvous.”
Squiffy shrugged. “I promise, I’d tell you if I remembered.”
“I don’t need you to remember everything,” I said. “Just tell us where you were when you snapped out of it. We’ll find your trail from there.”
chapter twenty-one
Squiffy Rick’s fragmented memory brought us to a run-down neighborhood a mile or two west of his hideaway. I started picking up on his trail even before we pinpointed the alley where he remembered stopping for a rest. It had been two days, but the man left a distinctive olive drab and mustard aura, laced with residue from the spell he had activated. The path was now weak, and it wove up and down the narrow streets in a seemingly random pattern. Whenever it grew too faint to follow, we simply looked around for the darkest, seediest route—and nine times out of ten it brought us straight back onto the trail. The tenth time proved a little trickier.
“Look. I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.” Squiffy Rick shrugged, spinning around on his heel. “Lots of good spots around here for a clandestine and legally questionable meeting.”
“Maybe we should circle back to that last intersection,” said Jackaby. “We could try the path to the left this time?”
“No need,” I said, coming to an abrupt stop. My eyes fixed on a wide, ominous building in a weedy lot across the street. “We’re here.”
The structure was the least enticing sight we had come across all evening. It was three stories of crumbling bricks and climbing ivy. A portion of the roof had collapsed, the door had been boarded up, and most of the windows were broken—but these gloomy details were downright inviting compared to the building’s energy. Misery and pain saturated the ground and clung to the walls more densely than the climbing vines. Flickers of movement darted past the window, and a shiver ran up my spine.
“The old hospital?” Squiffy Rick paled. “Nope. Not on your life. That’s not it.”
“How can you be sure?” I said. “I thought you couldn’t remember.”
“That place has given me the willies since I was a kid. I’d need to get paid a lot more before I’d set one foot in there.” He glanced up at Lydia Lee, still perched atop the carriage. “You grew up here. Tell her.”
Lydia nodded in confirmation. “We used to dare each other to get close enough to touch the front door,” she said. “You hear voices on the wind when you get close. Screams.”
“Lefty Higgins broke his ankle stumbling over himself to get out of there one time,” added Squiffy Rick. “Swore he felt icy hands on his neck. Place is evil.”
“Fair to assume that the locals all know to steer clear of here?” I asked.
“Darn right,” he replied.
“Then it seems like an ideal spot to hide out if you don’t want to be discovered,” I said. “We’re going in.”
“By we you mean you, right?” Squiffy Rick said. “Because if by we you mean me, then we are not.”
