The girl pulled her coat tighter around her and held her arms close. It was getting colder, winter was coming and she was missing the warmth of spring turning to summer, even in the oppressive heat of the city. The sky had be clouded all day, and as thanks the night cleared and the temperature dropped even more. She ran her gloved hands over her arms as she stepped around a corner.
She should be, but she wasn't used to walking home this late, and as always thoughts of ruffians and gang members filled her mind as she waded through the darkness between the relatively safe banks of light. Arendelle wasn't an overly dangerous place to live, but you still heard of crimes, violent and otherwise, in the papers and on the radio. At least it wasn't as bad as other places. Almost every month you'd read about people in Glasgow having their faces carved up, and just this year there was that mass shooting in Chicago on Valentine's Day. She shook her head hoping the images her imagination conjured up would leave her.
She should ask about being able to get off work sooner. Everyone knew it wasn't safe for a girl out at these hours, no matter where you were. But she knew she couldn't, the job wouldn't allow her. But it wasn't like she didn't enjoy what she did. Up there in the lights and the music, it was strangely freeing, but she hadn't intended for it to be like this. She was just supposed to be there for the extra money while she looked around but she'd been in the city for months now and she wasn't any closer to finding-
The girl absently glanced to the side and noticed someone stepping out from an alleyway. They looked around the street, but didn't seem to notice her. As they stepped into the pool of light the girl saw their face.
The girl had been doing her best to avoid him while she was at work, but she was sure he was following her around, and now this? What was he even doing out here? And… what is that?
The man tugged at something behind him, it looked almost like a chest? It was big whatever it was, and it had to be heavy, he pulled at it in jerks, dragging it along the sidewalk and making an awful din.
She backed against the wall of the building behind her, the rough uneven brick work scraping her coat and back underneath it. He hobbled and dragged and cursed his way a little further down the street, by the time he was a few yards away the girl nearly bolted in the opposite direction. She'd find a new route home, she decided. A new route home, and a pistol.
I've always found that the world was never really one to take notice of the things that happen in it. It should be pretty obvious, I mean, how many people actually want it to rain on their wedding day, or birthday? Today, for example, was bright and sunny, a wonderful day full of promise and joy.
Except for the dead man in the street.
"So what do we have, Jimmy?" I asked as I stepped under the rope. The young officer looked at me, brows knitted in confusion. He was about my height, and I always found Jimmy a little attractive in a boyish sort of way. Nice round face, bright eyes. Cute.
"Go away, Anna. You're not supposed to be here," he said. For having seen me at these things for months now you'd think they wouldn't be so surprised, "Where's your boss anyway?"
"Oh you know him, always mister punctual," I pulled out my note book and flashed the young James a smile, "So c'mon, you can tell me, what's up?"
Jimmy glanced around. The scene wasn't exactly grisly, I'd seen far worse in the few months I'd been working this job. The man, a big man, was laid out, but kind of contorted, like he was all stiff, and some detectives were poking around the body. Police officers in their blues and blacks were walking around, save for Jimmy, and the whole place was blocked off with yellow and black rope.
"Alright, fine. We don't know the vic's name but the big guy's frozen solid. Looks like he was stabbed though," James looked over his shoulder at the man on the ground as he spoke. He was a big guy, and I've known some tall and large customers, believe me, but this man took the cake and ran off with it.
"Anything else?" I asked as I wrote a description of the scene in my notebook.
"No, and you didn't get anything from me either, now get back behind the rope. What are you even doing here?"
"I told her to come around."
That would be my boss. If the guy on the street was a mountain range, than my boss would be one of the rocky cliffs in it. Kristoff Bjorgman. Tall and brawny, he was probably the most imposing person I'd even met. Alive anyway. He could be gruff but the man knew how to get things done. It's no wonder he became a private detective. He turned my way; he almost looked disinterested, shoulders hanging low in that frumpy coat of his. He hadn't even changed out of the clothes I was sure he slept in, those wrinkled trousers and shirt, and that red tie, always with the time. It was like this whole thing was a hassle. If he thought that why'd he send me down here after he got that tip?
"So what do we have?"
"Ah, well, frozen dead guy,"
"Hmph", Kristoff lifted the rope and slid under, like it was a natural thing to do, it was easy to see that he used to be with the police. A sergeant if how he bullied the officers around was any clue. He stared down Jimmy as he tried to protest and shouldered past him.
"I told you, punctual," I gave Jimmy a little wave as I followed my boss.
Kristoff was already by the body, leaning over it as the other two detectives seemed to have decided they'd learned enough. Probably just didn't want to risk us overhearing anything. I couldn't help but notice that they both always kept an ear towards us though.
"So?"
"Hmm" he grunted.
Kristoff didn't tend to talk about a case we were on, at least not until he'd thought he'd figured everything out, or reached a dead end. Sometimes it was hard to get into that head of his. I looked over the body with him. The man wore a vest with matching pants and tie, from a suit I guess. I wrote that done, just in case. The vest was open and Kristoff tried to check the pockets, but just like Jimmy said, the man was frozen solid; I could even see some frost starting to melt on him. Couldn't have been out here for long.
I wrote down in my notebook 'Frozen' and circled it and drew a little line and wrote down 'Why?' and circled that. I'd forget all of this if I didn't write it down.
"So, anything, Mister Bjorgman?"
Kristoff looked up at the two detectives and made a sort of not committal rumble and got up and circled the body, looking at the man's face. He crouched down again and tried to move the head around, but it would barely budge.
"Hmm.. I think I-"
"Alright, Bjorgman move it along."
We both looked up at one of the detectives standing over us.
"Hey we just got-" the man shushed me with a wave of his hand
"Coroner's here, he's got a job to do. We've got a job to do," the way he said it put an edge on my nerves, "You two can get back behind the rope."
Kristoff got up without a protest, and I reluctantly followed him. With all the jobs he'd solved for these guys, and the ones I'd helped with? They just throw us out like garbage.
Kristoff didn't wait around after crossing the rope again; I told Jimmy to give me a call, off the books, if he heard anything and hurried after Kristoff. We were headed down the street, back to the office I assumed. His shoulders were set, a man on a mission.
"What were you going to say back there?"
"Huh?"
"Before detective snoops-a-lot came around you were saying something."
"Just that I might have known the man," he said back as he walked ahead of me.
"You do? Who is he?"
I watched him shrug, his large shoulders flapping his overcoat around him, "I'm not sure. I never did get a look at the guy before."
And that seemed to be that. We walked in silence, crossing streets and turning corners. There weren't many cars about this early in the morning, not that Kristoff ever really seemed to look for them. It was like he knew they weren't going to hit him. Or maybe he just didn't notice, but at one busy intersection between Main and Northeast we were waiting for the start of the morning rush to pass.
I looked up at the man and back across the street, then back to Kristoff. A thought had nagged at me since I first walked into the office and he was there to tell me to head down, 'there's been a murder, go check it out, I'll be there in a few minutes' he'd said.
"How'd you know that body was there, Mister Bjorgman?"
He looked along the street, anywhere but at me.
"Mister Bjorg-"
"Remember that guy from a few weeks ago? Barry?"
"Barry 'Locker' Gesalt?" I asked. He was a thug for one of the larger gangs in the city. The Hart Gang, if I remembered it right. They tended to keep to themselves, and the police were content to let them run whatever made them money so long as people weren't turning up dead. Barry was making people turn up dead.
"Well the guy that called us about him, he dropped me another line, handed me the tip."
I remembered, it was an anonymous tip, but we'd been paid for it all the same, Kristoff had figured it was another gang member, "We're doing favors for mobbies now?"
Again she shrugged, "Money is money. Their cash is just as green," he paused thinking for only a moment, "Once you wipe the dirt off, anyway."
Okay that was a good line, I should try to remember that.
"I need to go see someone, see if I'm right about who I think the dead man is. You can take the day off Anna," He started to cross the street, the lights hadn't even changed yet.
"But I want to go-"
"I'll see you tomorrow!" he shouted as a car raced by. He gave me a little backhanded wave.
He didn't come back to the office before I'd left and locked up, nor was he there the next morning. This wasn't exactly unusual but it would at least have been nice to get a call, a note. Something, anything. Instead I was just left at the office answering phone calls with no one to talk to except ladies that were sure their jewelry was missing, or that their husbands were skipping out on them. Kristoff wouldn't really be interested in these. I took their information down anyway.
Actually I suppose that's not true. There was that B and E he was hired for. Some wealthy heiress didn't believe the police could do the job well enough and picked Kristoff out of the phone book. The lady was a royal frump, but her home was practically a castle. I'd always wanted to live in a place like that. The carpets were plus, the ceilings high, the walls spotlessly painted. Not like this run down office. Creaky floorboards peeling wallpaper and so oppressively small you could practically touch all four walls if you laid out on the floor.
I practically jumped out of my chair when the phone rang again and thoughts of castles and plush beds vanished as I picked up.
"Kristoff Bjorgman, Private Investigations, how can I help you?"
"Anna? It's James."
"Jimmy! To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Listen, it's about that murder, with the frozen guy? Is there any place we could meet?"
Hah. Kristoff always yelled at me if he saw me talking to the police, but I knew it would pan out, I tapped on the desk and I could feel a smile play over my face, "How about the coffee shop down at Third and Maple? You can by me lunch."
"Alright, but listen-"
"It's a date!" I was so excited I didn't even hear him try to tell me anything else. I slammed the receiver down and hopped up from my little desk.
I hadn't had a date in ages. I gathered up my purse, shoving my notebook inside. It'd be good to go out. Jimmy was cute, and very nice.
I was halfway to the door when I thought of Kristoff.
I looked at the door to his actual office, frosted glass blurring the darkness beyond it.
Okay I guess it wasn't really a date. A work lunch. Yeah, that could work.
He'd get mad if he came in and I wasn't around… He'd get even madder if he heard I was on date on his time. I jotted down a note and stuck it onto the paper spike on the corner of my desk.
'Following a lead - A'
It was a small shop, Kristoff would sometimes have me get coffee from here when he'd had too much to drink the night before. I'd never really stuck around in it before, but now that I was just sitting here, it was nice; tiled floor, wallpaper only barely fraying. The people are alright too, always asking if I needed anything, some muffins or anything to munch on. I refused of course. I'd been there for nearly twenty minutes by the time Jimmy arrived, face flustered and out of breath, he walked over to my little table panting like a puppy.
"Hey" he said, sitting down.
"Hey yourself," I said back with a smile.
"Er.. you uh, you said to me t tell you if anything came up? And uh, well the coroner, didn't have anything else so uhm…" he stumbled over his words as he reverently placed a folder onto the little table, "This, uh., this is all we've got…"
I reached for the folder, "Is this.. your case file? Oh my God Jimmy!" I pulled it open and a small pile of papers greeted me. Most of it just looked like notes of the crime scene, but one was a profile, it even had a mug shot on it. As I pulled it out, Jimmy started talking, he must have gone over the whole thing.
"The victim's name is Marco Finnigan, but he also went by the name Marshmallow, though it seems he didn't like it. "
"Marshmallow? You only get a name like that if you're with the police or-"
"A gang, yeah. Name a gang and Marco's worked for them, though it doesn't seem like he was really part of any of them. He got the name from always eating the things it seems."
I wondered if maybe I could get a hot chocolate instead of coffee…
"Anyway it's probably just gang violence we're probably going to leave it alone at this point. Who really cares if those mobbies start killing each other, so long as it's not bystanders"
I didn't like the sound of that. Shouldn't the police want to catch a killer, no matter who they killed? Still, I guess if it was only each other…
I flipped through the papers some more, it really was just mostly notes, a lot of notes. Way more than my little words and circles. They even had the time of day, the temperature, descriptions of the buildings in the area. Did I really need all of that? I patted my little notebook. Maybe I should do a little more in you next time-
"Wait what's this?" I pulled out a photo, looked like it was a man's arm with black all over it. It looked always like it was smudged, like something was on the lens, but everything else in the picture was clear. Some kind of squiggling smudges with what looked almost like an arrow over it. Jimmy craned his head over to see.
"Oh that, it was on Marco's arm, a tattoo. Kind of strange though, Marco never had one before. Must have been recent."
"Huh.." I opened my note book and started to draw the tattoo. The photo was pretty good, they must have good light in that meat locker they have. For a few moments me and Jimmy sat in silence, the scratching of my pencil the only sound between us.
"And… that looks… nothing like this," I sighed. I wasn't an artist that's for sure, "Er.. Jimmy. James. Can I take this photo?"
"You can take the whole thing it you want, they're all copies. I mean I'm not going to bring the real file here, am I?" he laughed, or I guess he thought it was a laugh. Sounded more nervous to me.
"Oh you're such a doll, Jimmy!" I said patting his hand.
"Ah, thanks. Hahah. Uhm. Say, Anna, do you think we could… you know, find a better spot for this?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Oh well, you know, maybe The Kuranda, or maybe the Queensinn?"
I was surprised. Those were expensive places. Five star restaurants wait staff all in white and black tuxedoes, expensive meals in small portions. There was no way James could afford a place like that, not on a police officer's salary. They were also the, both of them, hotels… Oh Jimmy, don't try to impress a girl with money she knows you don't have.
"Maybe next time, Jimmy," I gave him another smile, "I've got to get going. I'm sure Mister Bjorgman would love to see this," I scooped up the file and stuffed it into my notebook and purse, "Thank you so much!"
I got up from my seat and swung around the table and gave James a little kiss on the cheek and said my good-bye's. He was a little stunned by my exit and called out as I left, but this was too good to wait on. I had to be back in the office in case Kristoff came back. He'd want to see this.
It was well passed noon by the time Kristoff showed up again, I was just glad he hadn't been beaten up again, though he still smelled faintly of booze.
"Afternoon, Mister Bjorgman," I said, doing my best to contain myself. Kristoff just gave me a little wave and started to walk for his office. Each step eroded what little bit of a lid I had on my excitement. He didn't even get a fourth step in, "I have something! For the case I mean. A file! The police file!"
"You what?"
I jumped out of my chair and was practically a whirlwind to the man, pushing the folder into his hands, "The man, the body, his name is- was, Marco Finniagan. He-"
"'Worked for various gangs'" Kristoff read, flipping through the file. He mumbled to himself now and then while I waited, nearly vibrating, waiting for my little bit of praise. Kristoff wasn't really an affectionate person. I'd never seen him do anything more than a handshake with an old friend. But when he said I'd done a good job? He practically lit up. It was like there was a whole other person under that frumpy suit and old coat.
"What's this?" he held up the photo.
"Oh it's a tattoo, they think. It's on his arm. Can't really make out what it's supposed to be. I read the notes, the doctor thinks that the freezing may have done something to it. I think maybe he just got a bad tattoo."
"Hmm.." was all he said back. His brows came close together as he continued reading. He put the photo back and closed the file, looking at me, "Good work, Anna." And he smiled.
Oh, that smile.
"So what now? The police think it's just two gangs going at it. They won't do anything."
Kristoff shrugged, "I went to see a man about that tip. Turns out it came down from Hart himself."
"You think Marco was working for Hart?"
"Or against him, either way Hart wants to know who killed him," Kristoff said, walking over to my desk and putting the file down, "Maybe now… I've got something to impress the guy with, might be able to get something out of him…"
"We're going to go see a crime boss?" I probably shouldn't have squealed as much as I did.
"No." Kristoff said flatly.
"Wait, what?"
"I'm going to go see him. You're staying here."
"But you never let me do anything fun."
Kristoff pulled on his coat, "The guy as people killed, Anna. You really want to say something that'll make him mad? You're staying here. It's for your own good."
"But-"
"Stay, Anna."
I pouted, watching him go out the door, closing it behind him. It'd take him ten seconds to get to the stairs, another thirty to get down to the first floor and out the door. I was at the window when he walked out. He looked behind him, and then up right at me. I gave him a little wave.
The moment he turned around and started walking down the street I grabbed my notebook and flew out the door. Kristoff might know what's for my own good, but I sure don't. This was just the kind of thing you read in all those mystery books, and I wanted to be part of it.
Kristoff once told me that the warehouses and factories used to be away from the city, but as it grew, the sprawl eventually overtook the district, now it was mostly slums. Places worse off than his office. It was only late afternoon and the sky was still bright and awake, but here it seemed so much bleaker. Housing apartments rose high into the sky, plain brick and barred windows everywhere.
I tailed my boss as best I could, though I didn't really need to, everyone knew where Hart's place was. Most of the gang runners and crime bosses have their own businesses, and Hart wasn't any different. Gregory Hart ran a warehouse business on the east side of town, it was pretty well known that he ran is gang out of it too, but since it was completely on the up and up the police could never get anything on it to raid the place.
Kristoff stopped in front of the chain link gates that blocked 'Hart and Hart Warehouses' off from the rest of the residents of the area, talking with the guard there. I squeezed myself as close to the brickwork behind me as I peeked out from the corner. They were talking, Kristoff waving his arms about and pointing at the guard. I chuckled as the guard nearly jumped out of his skin, and shoulders slumped, said something back to Kristoff before the two of them started to walk inside.
Leaving the gate wide open.
Maybe Hart didn't hire the best employees.
I waited, and waited, I wanted to make sure no one else was coming to cover for him. After it seemed like long enough I scurried along the fencing to the gate and slipped inside, doing my best to keep to the sides of the sheds and piles of crates and barrels and boxes about the place. I'd lost sight of Kristoff and the guard as I was bolting for the gate, but I figure I could find my way around easily enough. And besides who doesn't like to help a pretty girl? All I'd have to do is-
"Miss?"
Uh oh.
I spun around, palm out, ready to smack whoever was behind me, and it would have worked too if he hadn't grabbed my hand. The man was solid, and looked like he was as wide as I was tall. Black suit and black tie and all kinds of mean.
"Er… ah, Hello! I uhm. I'm well, I'm lost you see.. and…"
"Mister Hart doesn't like people sneaking around," he said. From the look of him he could probably lift me up by the arm. I could only hope my body could keep up with it. He tugged at me and pulled me into the largest of the warehouses.
Inside men were moving and packing boxes, each one working faster and faster. I'd seen looms and such, other kinds of factories, and these guys looked like they could probably beat out those machines. The brute tugged at me if I started to slow down, and soon enough we were both in a long hallway, wooden floors creaking under the large man's weight. A left and another left, and a small room greeted us. Plain and wood floored like the rest of the place, but two chairs were against the wall and a lonesome door sat at the far end. There hadn't been any windows anywhere since we came into the hall.
A small room, away from all the workers, no windows. I was starting to get a bad feeling about this. I'd gone down the winding throat of some great beast and I was about to step into the gullet.
"I hum, I don't suppose you could just, you know, let Mister Hart know I was here? I was just lost I didn't mean-"
"Quiet" He tugged my forward and knocked on the door.
"What is it now?" came a muffled reply, "I'm busy"
"It's Ross, boss. I found someone sneaking around."
"Sneaking? You got someone else with you here, boyo?"
There was some kind of muffled reply, and maybe a groan? The first voice laughed.
"Alright, alright, bring her in"
Wait how-
The thug opened the door and inside was a large desk, twice the size of mine back at the office. Behind it was a man, light brown hair coiffed over his head and a cigar in his hand. He had a wide square face with cheekbones that seemed to stick out a little too far. A smattering of freckles covered his nose, cheeks and face, almost the same color as his hair. A jaw as wide as his face, and cleft chin to match, both covered with two days worth of stubble completed the picture of a man in charge. Behind him was a man that looked much like the brute dragging me in here. In front of the desk though, looking angrier than I could remember, was Kristoff.
The man pushed me into the room, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.
"Ouff! Er.. Ah'm, Hello..."
"What the hell, Anna? I told you to stay at the office." Kristoff said before the man behind the desk waved at him.
"Now now, Bjorgman, I'm not gonna hurt the gel. She's your assistant eh?" he grinned at me, "Take a seat, Anna? Right. Take a seat, no reason we can't all be friends."
A chair was pulled out from the side of the room and I cautiously sat down next to Kristoff, doing my best not to look at him. The man, who must have been Hart, was smiling like a wolf to a lamb.
"Your boss 'ere was just telling me about how I've hired him to find out who killed some goon I don't know."
"You know damn well who-"
"So what do you think, Miss? You think I shouldn't just have Ross and Mark here show him some manners for barging in here?" he said, and the smile faded, "Kinnae like what you did, innit?"
"Er… ahh, uhm well, No. Don'- don'tt do that. It's well, uh.."
Maybe it was all in my head, but the room seemed to get darker, colder, larger and smaller all at the same time. I was so small, but the walls were closing in on me. I don't know how long I blabbered on until Hart finally broke out into a laugh.
"Oh calm down girlie, no one's going to bite ye 'ere. I'm just puttin' the screw to ye," Hart had a sort of wheezing laugh, like air escaping a steam pipe, he waved at the man by the door, "Go get her something to drink Ross, I don't think our little secretary's going to be a problem."
I could hear the door behind me open and close, but I couldn't turn even if I wanted to. Hart knocked on his desk.
"Now let's see… Yeah right. Marco, wannit?"
"Yeah" Kristoff said.
"I remember him, he did a few 'odd jobs' for me a while back. He hasn't been around here in months."
"Hart, I know you were the one that had me called in on it. You wouldn't do that if it was just some thug you didn't care about."
"Who says I care about Marco, boyo?" Hart shot back, "Nah, one of my boys was talkin' with him."
"Who?" I asked.
"Don't rightly remember missy," Hart was grinning ear to ear. I didn't think people had so many teeth, "Anyway, one of my boy's tells me that Marco's getting into some new job, putting the press on some girl."
Kristoff shifted in his chair, "Extortion for just a girl? Seems a little low for you, Hart. You're usually a banker's man."
Hart glared at Kristoff before his face softened again, "Like I said, he doesn't work for me. Marco's doin' his own bit."
"Who's the girl?"
Hart waved Kristoff off again, "Some singer in a club, I don't know. Mark waddid he say the club was?"
The silent man behind Hart spoke up for the first time since I'd entered. I'd practically forgotten he was there.
"Pabbie's boss. Said it was Pabbie's"
"There you go then." He sat back in his chair a smile, pleased as could be, over his face, "I tell you what, Bjorgman. You find the guy that off'd Marco, and I'll pay you. Anyone thinking it's my boys doing in someone else's guy is bad for business. So you find who did it. You're good at fetch, ain't ya?"
Kristoff bridled at that comment, a jab I didn't really get.
"Well, off with ya. Mark, show 'em out"
The gate closed behind us as the thug, walked back inside, the guard was glaring at both of us.
"Well I think that went-"
Kristoff was glaring at me too
"I told you to stay put, Anna," he said before stalking off, as if that was that.
"Hey where are you going?" I asked, rushing after him.
"To the office"
"But what about-"
"Marco was pressing a girl for something, probably money, I've got to talk to her. If I want anyone to identify him, I'll need the picture."
Oh right! Marco, he'd probably been killed because of what he was doing. As I hurried along after Kristoff I pulled out my notebook, writing a shaky 'extortion' and circled it. A moment later I drew a line from 'Why?' earlier. Marco was probably killed and frozen because he was trying to get money out of the wrong person.
We walked for some time, to the point that I wasn't sure if Kristoff knew where we were going. More than anything the silence between us was starting to get to me, "Is Pabbie's a nice place?"
Kristoff seemed to ignore me for a moment before sighing, "I've never been. I'm not much for these clubs."
Well that was true. I've never been around to see Kristoff drink, even at the office he'd make sure the door was closed whenever he got out that bottle in his desk, he didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd want music as he did it. A bar, a stool, and a glass was all he really needed, or wanted.
"Well maybe we could make a bit of a date out of it then?"
He looked down at me, not unkindly, but there wasn't really a smile either. He didn't say no.
We continued our walk to the club.
Paddies was a small place, sat in the bottom floor of an apartment building, its glowing pink sign spelling out the name is rather elegant cursive. It was early evening by the time we'd gotten there, and there was already more than a few patrons sitting at tables or milling about at the bar.
Stepping into the place must have been what it was like to walk along the foggy moors of Scotland. You couldn't see a foot in front of your face and it felt like the smoke in the air wrapped around you, invited you in, and would never let you leave.
Why is it always like that? I wonder if they pay people to do that, just sit in a bar or some place and smoke, just so that the air can look like soup.
The place had a stage at the far wall an icy blue curtain covering the back end of it, only a few steps above everything else, there was a little band off to the side, some brass and a piano. The band was playing a jazzy little tune, background for the dinners.
Along another wall was the bar, a man was standing there, wiping it down, chatting with a few of the patrons sitting there. Tables were placed about, almost haphazardly around the center of the restaurant between the thin pillars holding up the ceiling. Maybe twenty, twenty five all told. One or two waiters were moving around attending the few guests sitting around.
Kristoff grabbed one of them, "Hey, we're looking for the owner, he here anywhere?"
"Uh yeah," came a disinterested reply "He's at the bar.."
Kristoff fished out the photo, "You seen this man around here recently? Maybe a day or two ago?"
The waiter looked at the photo and shook his head, "No, sorry, buddy" and he went on his way.
With a sigh Kristoff headed over to the bar and I followed. I couldn't imagine anyone really being worth ringing up for money in this place, maybe the owner, but this certainly wasn't the Ritz or the Kuranda. Except for the areas around the stage and the bar, which were tiled in some ugly reddish brown, the rest of the place was a wooden floor. At least it didn't creak when you stepped on it. Maybe it was just panels over concrete.
We both walked around the little railing separating the bar from the rest of the place, and pulled up to two stools on the end. Kristoff called for the bartender, and I gave him a wave. He came right over.
"And what can I get you two?" He asked.
The barman was tall, shorter than Kristoff of course, but taller than me, with lovely short red hair that was pushed back to his temples, and long sideburns running down the side of his face. He had a handsome smile too. A nice face. Rather built too, he probably threw out the reprobates himself from the look of it. A rather form fitting vest hugged his chest while the sleeves of his dress shirt were bundled and folded at his elbows.
"You own this place?"
"Why, who's asking?"
"Kristoff Bjorgman. I'm a private detective working with the police."
No hand was offered, and the barman clearly expected one, he pushed on anyway, "Police huh? We get a few of you boys in here, one's a regular even. I'm Hans. Hans Westerguard. Yeah I own the place. So how can I help you?"
Kristoff dropped the police file on the bar top and pulled out the photo again, handing over to the owner, "Well, Mister Westerguard, you seen this man? Maybe hanging about the place? Talking to any of your workers?"
Westerguard picked up the photo, looking it over, "You know… I think I might have seen him in here once. Maybe a few nights ago? A week maybe? Yeah. I think that's it. It was when Elsa wanted to leave early."
"Elsa?"
"One of the acts." He said, waving his hand slightly, "She'd complained about him being around the back and stuff. I tried to get Richard to shove him off, I guess it didn't take, why?"
"He's Marco Finniagan," I said.
"And he's dead," Kristoff finished.
Westerguard didn't even flinch, "I guess it did take then."
"You had him killed?" I asked.
"What? No. I just wanted him out of here. The musical acts are the only thing keeping this place afloat. I can't have a singer that's scared to sing. Besides, I've got to take care of my people."
"Who's this Richard guy?"
"He's the cook," Westerguard said, jabbing a finger over to the double doors on the other side of the bar.
"Alright, I'd like to talk to him, and the girl-"
A baleful trumpet started to play along with a guitar's strum, and a few of the bar's patrons sent up a little cheer, a few of the tables did too.
"You're going to have to wait on that." Westerguard said with a grin.
As the trumpet and guitar continued a girl slipped out from behind the curtain. She wore a dark blue dress shimmering in the lights of the stage, it had a single strap that cut from one side to the other across her chest and around her neck, and it clung to her like a glove all the way down. A slit in the side showed off her leg as she walked out onto the stage. Her hair, a bright, almost while blond was pulled into a loose braid, causing her bangs to fall around her face in almost arrant locks and ringlets. The braid itself was draped over her shoulder.
She sashayed to the center of the stage and smiled at the small group that was there, but it seemed almost like she was just smiling at me. Then she closed her eyes and sang.
"I love the chase, 'til the minute I win it
A beautiful face 'til there's love for me in it
Give me your heart and baby I'll bill it
'cause I always kill the things I love"
"Some folk would die for the sake of another
Lay down their life for their sisters and brothers
For me sacrifice is something quite other
'cause I love to kill the things I love."
"The look in your eyes will turn to surprise
As you feel the pain and you realize
The one hurting you is somebody who
Once said 'I love you'"
Her voice was clear, and it rang through the club, easily overtaking the instruments when she had to. She swayed across the stage, she sang, but it was almost as natural as speaking for her. Her hands waved and moved like she was just having a conversation. I realized that everyone else watching her must have felt the same way I did. I tore away and looked at Kristoff. He was watching the girl on stage as intently as anyone else.
"Somebody we'll pay back all we've borrowed
What we loved today we'll lose tomorrow
But I won't need to wait for my share of sorrow
Because I always kill the things I love"
"But I won't need to wait for my share of sorrow
Because I already killed the things I love"
A small wave of applause rose up and a few whistles with it. It didn't actually fill the place, but the fact that Kristoff was clapping with them certainly wasn't helping.
"That's Elsa," the owner pointed out.
"She's the one who was complaining about Marco?"Kristoff said, still watching the girl on the stage as she thanked the people sitting closest and walked back to the curtain.
"Yup."
"I'm going to want to talk to her," Kristoff said as Elsa disappeared behind the curtain.
"I figured you would" Westerguard said, with a smile.
Funny, I thought so too.
"And the cook, Richard? I'll want to speak to him too"
The barman shrugged and picked up a glass, polishing it "Well, he's in the kitchen," he said.
I don't know if he was waiting for Kristoff to back down, say he'd wait, but it would have been a long time coming for that to happen. Westerguard polished the glass looking from Kristoff to me and back again before sighing. The glass came down with a thunk so hard I was sure it was going to shatter "Carl! Carl! Watch the bar and tell Elsa that Detective Bjorgman wants to see her out here," He turned back to us, "Follow me, your girlfriend can stay here the kitchen is for staff only."
"Hey wait, he needs me" I protested as Kristoff got up, he gave me one of his looks.
"For once, just stay here, Anna."
I couldn't contain the huff as I watched them leave, I half hoped Kristoff heard me. With daggers glared at the men's backs another guy came up behind the bar and after a moment coughed, "Do you, uh, want anything?"
"Yeah…" I said, watching two backs disappear behind the swinging kitchen doors, "A Gin Rickey."
The guy, Carl I guess, set about my order. He pulled out a tumbler and filled it with ice pouring out the gin and some lime juice giving the drink a light pale green color. He poured in some soda and stirred as he squeezed half a lime over it and dropped the rest in. It floated on the ice like a little dome before he smashed it down, a green ship capsized under icebergs.
"There you are," he slid it over.
Kristoff drank whiskey or scotch when he could get it, but the stuff made me feel like my throat was on fire. Gin, I'd found, was my best friend. Taking a sip I wondered if Mister Westerguard was a better tender or not.
I pulled the file towards me, Kristoff had left if there, and opened in. The same papers I'd seen earlier today, long written descriptions of the scene, people interviewed, the detective's thoughts on it, all laid out in front of me, it was only missing the photo, Kristoff still had it. I flipped the papers around and found myself face to face with the coroner's report. I hadn't really read through that much of this thing before; I was just so excited to even have it. Doesn't look like it's really lead us anywhere at this point. I just got a name, Kristoff got who he was working for without any kind of help.
A weary sigh was all I could do to try and dispel the thoughts scurrying in my head. I took another drink and flipped through the report. Stabbed in the neck, probably with a knife maybe two three inches long. A stiletto it says, a switchblade or something similar. Well that's no help at all, half the people in the city have a knife. You never know when you might need one. What else… Ah 'The lack of blood at the scene confirms that the victim was not killed in the street…' That should have been obvious he was frozen solid, it was getting colder but it wasn't that cold.
Only thing that could do something like that is-
"Hello? Are you Detective Bjorgman?"
You wouldn't even have to look up to know who it was. She was still wearing the dress, though she had a coat around her shoulders now. It was strange, up on stage she seemed like she belonged, but here at the bar it was almost like she was shaking like a leaf. The slightest touch might blow her away.
This close you could really make out her face, a little longer, a little more pointed, elegant, mature. Everything I didn't see when I looked in the mirror. And she even has faint little freckles too. And you couldn't help but notice the eyes. This Miss Elsa's eyes were ice blue, like they could see into your head and you couldn't help but let them in. There was something about her that was so familiar.
"Oh, oh. No no. I'm- No. I'm his assistant, Anna Aren," I held out a hand and she looked like a deer in headlights.
I think I'd heard about this sometimes, in one of my magazines. Singers and performers, they get these things in their heads about germs and things. She still had those gloves on though, and she slowly reached out and took my hand into hers. Her grip was pretty cold too. Colder than the room anyway. My mother was like that, always with her hands and feet getting cold.
"I'm Elsa," she said back, a sheepish smile on her face. I motioned to the stool Kristoff had left and she sat down. Shapely legs crossed themselves and, shoulders set and back straight, chest out. Perfect posture.
"It's ah, nice to meet you," I said after a moment's pause, suddenly glad Kristoff wasn't around to greet her, "Mister Bjorgman's talking to the cook right now, Richard? Uhm." I looked down at the notes and then back to the girl, well no, woman, "Do you think I could ask you a few questions?"
Her eye brows squirmed together for a brief moment before another nervous smile appeared, "I suppose so."
I fished out my note book, opening to my little crime web, the circles and lines connecting a sparse explanation for a dead body in the street, "Have you seen-" Oh that's right, "Er, do you know anyone named Marco Finnigan? Or 'Marshmallow'?"
"I uhh.. I don't think so…"
"I wish I had the picture… Uhh, big guy. Like, bigger than the doors here? Kind of mean looking."
She looked down, "Him I know… I never got a name but he was coming around in the club and out back…"
"Why?"
"He wanted money, said he'd tell people things…" her voice died away. I wrote down Elsa's name, and drew a line from it to extortion.
"Tell people what?"
"Lies! They weren't true, I… I don't want to talk about it…"
And she just became quiet after that. Whatever it was it had to be important, why else care if he told anyone? She was looking away, arms holding her elbows like she was cold. It wasn't what I was expecting at all. Well okay yes the extortion I was expecting but well, she's just so, so timid.
"Ahm, well. When was the last time you saw him?"
Her voice was small at first, "About…a week ago, maybe? I. I try not to remember when he comes around."
Was that enough time for a body to freeze? Well at least the outer bits, right? "Well can you try to remember? You might be the last person to see him alive," I said.
She sighed and shook her head, "I'm sorry, that's all I really remember…" And a silenced reared between us. I sighed and started to flip through the pages again. How did Kristoff do this? People just told him things. Probably because he's just so big and standoffish. I guess it's uncomfortable for some people to be around him, especially if he didn't like them. I never had that kind of trouble.
These notes were detailed but they weren't helping with anything. I pushed the file away and sighed, "Well thanks anyway." I pulled out a card from the back folds of the notebook, I'd gotten few printed up for Kristoff, but I don't think he ever cared. They had his name, that he was a detective, and most importantly, the office address and number, "If you remember anything else just give-"
"Wait, I know that"
"Huh?"
Her head was craned forward and she reached out and with a gloved hand snatched up the photo of Marco's tattoo, "I know this symbol"
"That's just a tattoo on Marco's arm. We can't even identify him with it, no one's seen it before."
Elsa looked at the picture closer, "I have, but I've never seen it on his arm. This is the brand on the meat that's delivered."
"What?"
"Well it's backwards, but I'm sure that's it. It's on the side of the trucks," she put down the photo and pointed at the squiggled smudges in the center, it's an 'A' and then a backwards 'K' and that arrow above them. I always thought it looked like a house."
Now that she mentioned it, you could see how they could be and A and a K, of course from the picture it was the other way around.
"You're sure?" I asked.
"I see the truck twice a week, I better be. They even put it on the hanging meat. Just thinking about those things turns me stomach."
I couldn't help but picture men lifting slabs of half hogs, or cow quarters on large hooks, carrying them around. Oh I could understand that feeling sister. Sloppily writing down what she'd said. Tattoo, circled, and connected to Meat Brand, also circled, and stood up.
"Mister Bjorgman's going to want to see this, "I said.
"See what?" it was Kristoff and Westerguard stepping back across the threshold into the bar.
"This! The tattoo, it's the meat brand!"
"What brand?"
"The kind they get here. She knew it. The singer. Elsa." I jerked my head over to her, sitting at the bar. Kristoff looked over, and as he started to smile I showed him the drawing in my note book, "See, An A and a K with an arrow over it. Mister Westerguard, do you know what that is?"
"Uh... of course, that's brand for Alles König They're the meat packer we buy from. What's that have to do with anything?"
By then Elsa had gotten up from her seat and joined our little huddle, "But it's not like that, it's backwards in your photo."
"Why would you get a backwards tattoo of a meat brand?" Westerguard asked.
"Why would you get a meat brand tattoo at all?" Kristoff countered, taking the notes from my hand, he went silent for a moment as he eyed them, his eyes darting from one edge of my little crime web to another, "I think I should ask your cook a few more questions."
"I'd like to ask a few too," the owner said.
There was no asking me to wait this time, and I wasn't going to even if I was asked. Shoulder to shoulder, well shoulder to elbow, I walked with Kristoff back to the kitchen, Hans Westerguard a step behind me, and if the clunking of heels against wood was anything to go by, Elsa behind him. Kristoff didn't even break his stride, pushing open the kitchens doors and stepping inside.
I'd never been inside a restaurant kitchen before, and two things struck me as we entered. First was just how crowded the place was, you'd have more room with two people in a phone booth, and two out of all the people in there, only one looked up and only one started to bolt for a door.
"Hey!"
"Kristoff!"
Kristoff was faster than he looked, it was always surprising. The man, Richard I guessed, was bulkier, but he didn't have to shove through a room full of people. He was out the back door in a flash with Kristoff hot on his heels and me hot on his.
I did my best to avoid pushing anyone aside, sidestepping and jumping around men as they yelled after my boss.
"Sorry. Sorry! Excuse me! I can pay for that! Sorry!"
And now they're yelling at me.
I grabbed the doorway as I spun myself through it, out and into darkness of the alleyway by the club just in time to see Kristoff round another corner behind the place. With a breath of frustration I ran after them. I'd never been able to be in a real chase before; I was always conveniently on the sidelines, but not this time!
I rounded the corner just in time to see Kristoff shove the man against the wall, another exciting moment of my life stolen away.
"I-I didn't do anything!"
"Then why were you running?"Kristoff demanded, his fists bunched up with the man's chef coat.
"You were going to hurt me!"
"I wasn't, but if you don't start giving me answers-"
"I didn't do anything"
"Innocent people don't run, Dick!"
Kristoff had slammed the man bodily into the wall by the time I got closer, Richard was sobbing, and the sharp stink of urine was unmistakable.
"I-I I didn't-"
"What's the tattoo for?"
"What tattoo!"
Kristoff dropped him and the man slid against the wall to the pavement. Nearly all the light had faded from between the buildings, but there was still just enough to make out the chef's panting face. Kristoff crouched down to see him face to face. I could hear Kristoff sigh in the gloom. You could hear the sobbing from the chef as he gasped for air. No person that killed someone like Marco would act like this when cornered.
"Why did you run, Richard?" he asked again, his voice steady, the steel in it from before nothing but a memory.
"I thought you were the police"
"We're not," I said, half realizing it. Hearing him cry like this, snorting and gasping it was hard not to pity him, "But if you did something wrong we might be able to help you."
Even in the twilight I could see his eyes shining with tears, "R-really?"
"What did you do, Richard?" Kristoff asked again.
"I just- I just let him in, I didn't know what it was for…"
"Let who in?"
"The police officer…"
I was back in the little coffee shop, sipping at a fresh mug, my foot tapping out unintelligible Morse code as I waited, suitcase by my chair and worries flying through my head.
He was late. He was right on time before, why was he late now?
It was all I could do to keep myself calm. Okay, yes I'd wanted excitement, and, okay I did run head first into that whole Hart situation. But in my defense I didn't know what I was getting into. This is different, this time I'm-
"Anna?"
I cursed myself when I realized I'd jumped in my seat.
"James! Where have you been?" I said, forcing a smile, "I've been waiting here all morning!"
Jimmy smiled back and laughed, "I was on shift, I'd just gotten back in when I got your message." He was even still wearing his uniform, all dark blue with its few bits of polished metal, buttons shining and badge gleaming.
"What's this about? You reconsidered my offer? I think I could get table in two night's time maybe…"he tried to get his hand to fall effortlessly onto mine; I picked up my coffee instead.
"Oh, thanks but no. uhm. Actually it was about the case…" leaned over and pulled out the police file from my little suitcase.
"That? We've already written it off."
"Well we, I mean, Mister Bjorgman, thinks he knows who did it."
He was surprised at that. Kristoff had caught maybe half a dozen murderers before, and more than twice that in robberies, why was everyone so surprised to see that we'd solved a case? Well in this case… I just hopped Kristoff was right, a public place, shouldn't make a scene. Well here we go.
"Why'd you do it, James?"
"Do what?"
I pulled out one of the photos from the scene; Marco was splayed out over the pavement, contorted in ways that people shouldn't bend at, "Why'd you kill him?"
"Kill who?"
"The man, Marco. Why?"
"Anna what are you-"
"We talked to Richard at Pabbies, we know you had him open up the König freezers for you. We went there too, "I slapped down the photo of the tattoo, "That tattoo was skin ripped off from a pig carcass with their brand burned into it. Don't like to me James." I did my best to keep my voice level, "Why did you kill him."
The nervous smile drained from his face as I explained what we'd found, who we'd talked to. Finally he sighed and looked down, "He was just some thug, who cares that he's dead? He was stealing from people, blackmailing them, why should anyone care that he was killed? I've been in the police for years and he made in one night what I make risking my life for a month!"
By now the few other patrons were glancing at us, at him. Heads cocked and turned at each shout. I suppose that was good. If he does kill me there'll be a lot of witnesses.
"So that's it? Money? You killed him and took his money?"
It stretched on forever, that little moment. Jimmy was always a boyish kind of cute, but I guess that kind of thing can hide something much worse under it. He just fumed there, the injustice of it must have been running around his head all this time, even after he killed him, and it was finally coming out. I wondered if he'd feel better about it later.
I collected the papers and my case and stood up, looking down at James. I thought of saying something maybe. Something that could maybe make him feel better about it or something for him to feel remorse. I wish I could have thought of something.
I stepped around the table and walked out the door, facing a line of policemen and Kristoff. I nodded and the boys in blue moved into the café.
"So how did it go?" Kristoff asked as we watched James get taken away in shackles.
"He confessed," I said, "In a round-about way. I'm sure they'll get more out of him later…" I should feel happy, shouldn't I? A killer was going to see justice. But he was in a way a friend. He'd helped me maybe half a dozen times a little bit of info from the police when a long way when working with a P.I. Maybe it was all the times I turned him down? Maybe in some little way this was my fault? Each little refusal another little prick, a little jab, leading him down a bramble path in the woods.
Why did he even give me the case file if he was the one who did it? "I think maybe he wanted to be caught. He took the body out, he gave me the reports…"
"Are you okay?"
I looked up at the man and gave him my best smile, "I don't think I like being bait. Next time you can wear the pencil skirt and get asked out."
Kristoff chuckled and tussled my hair and gave me another one of those smiles, "Come on, I'll treat you to something at Paddies."
"I thought you hated those places." I said following after him. He always had to get a head start didn't he?
He looked up into the sky; the early morning sun was chasing away the clouds of the night before.
"Well they've got some good entertainment. And besides, any place is good if you have good company."