In which Freckly Fiona makes an appearance, but Ushah does not.
CHAPTER 06: CHESSMASTER YORK
TIME AND LOCATION: 10:39, Greenvale General Hospital, en route
WEATHER REPORT: Sudden light showers
FORTUNE: "Sometimes it helps to see things in black and white."
After insisting that he drive them to the hospital, Agent York seems more willing to open up. This becomes apparent after George remarks pointedly, "Agent Morgan, I can't help noticing you prefer to work alone," as if this is some personal defect that York will have to work on if he wants to be a full-fledged member of the team. York ignores the subtext.
"Most of the time, yes. Alone is a bit of a strong word, though."
"Don't you get lonely, flying all over the country by yourself?"
York's eyes glance at Emily in the rearview mirror, then away. "I must say, I've never felt lonely," he says thoughtfully, as if it's never crossed his mind.
"Are you married?" She regrets the question immediately, but is genuinely curious as to what sort of woman would fall in with a man such as York.
"Unfortunately, long-term relationships and I are as fleeting shadows, meeting and parting ways in the midst of a dense fog," York says. "I don't get on very well with women, you might be surprised to hear."
"Ha! Well, with lines like that, I'm not surprised."
She doesn't mean it to sound cruel, but the laughter makes it so. Fortunately, York doesn't seem to be paying attention to her. He keeps talking.
"It's because you're young, Emily. At my age, you notice certain things. Woman are... Fragile. You've got to treat them like a thin crystal wine glass, or else-
"Or else they might shatter into tiny pieces and slice up your face, right, Morgan?" George says in a nasty tone.
"Why, George, is this an interrogation?" York says pleasantly, turning a corner a tad more sharply than his previous driving has called for. "You're like a seasoned professional."
"I'm glad you're finally admitting it. Maybe now you'll let us get on with the show and stop holding us up with your lone wolf nonsense."
Emily doesn't like the surreal animosity the conversation has suddenly turned into, and can't help but feel it's somehow partially her fault. Silence reigns in the car once more, until the hospital building looms into sight through the tall pine trees. It's started to rain again, not as heavily as the morning they met Agent York on the bridge, but sporadic bursts of lightning have been following them all the way from the Sheriff's Department.
York's parking is perfect, so even George can't complain. Both sheriff and deputy bolt for the hospital doors, but York hangs back, face turned upwards like a kid trying to catch every raindrop in his mouth.
"That's a pretty big hospital!" he shouts, not moving. "Is Greenvale getting ready for a town-wide food poisoning?"
They look back at him, George furious, water bouncing off the brim of his hat. "Can we discuss this inside?" he hollers, and disappears into the building. Emily waits for York on the steps, and they go in together.
"It's a little oversized now, but it's a leftover from the town's prosperous lumber days," Emily explains as they stamp their feet on the entrance mat. "A little hard to imagine now, isn't it?"
George shakes off his hat and puts it back on his head, looking strangely wistful at Emily's words. "Yeah, my mother always talked about how energetic this place used to be. 'Almost like a gold rush,' she used to say."
"But the hotter the fever, the faster it cools. So now, there's hardly anyone left to use these facilities."
York nods seriously. George puts his hands in his pockets and glares at York from under his hat.
"You know, Morgan, it pains me to watch my home town, the town I grew up in, lose so many citizens like this. Beyond your understanding, I'm sure."
"Yes, I'm sorry to say that it is."
"That's why this case is our problem. There really isn't any need for you to get too involved, so let's just-"
Just then, a red-haired girl in a nurse's uniform sitting behind the front desk starts waving them over.
"Sheriff Woodman! Dr. Johnson's just about ready to see you in his office," she calls, then spots York. Her eyes, magnified by thick glasses, get even bigger as they walk towards her.
"Hullo, Sheriff George, Emily. I see you've brought the newcomer! Hi, I'm Fiona. Folks around here call me 'Freckles'. You're not here for a checkup, are you, Mr. FBI Agent?"
"No, nothing so delightful." York pulls something out of his breast pocket and extends it towards her. George groans.
"Special Agent Francis York Morgan. But how did you know I was FBI?"
"Easy!" Fiona smiles, flashing metal. "None of the police in this town wear cologne."
York uses cologne? Emily wonders privately. She hadn't noticed, although that strange heavy smell that had been hanging around him on the bridge yesterday is conspicuously absent.
"You wear it, so you must be from the city. And you're with the sheriff, so you must be in on the investigation together. Am I right?" Fiona giggles.
"Impressive deductive skills! If George had any sense, he'd put you on the force right away."
Fiona grins and holds up a thick, dog-eared paperback. "I just read a lot of mystery and detective novels, that's all. Like this one. It's a bestseller, set in a small, traditional, North American town close to the Canadian border. A peaceful place, until the terrible murder of a young girl exposes the heinous evil lurking just beneath the surface of the-"
"All right, Fiona, that's enough," George says firmly, but not unkindly. "Now may not be the time to be discussing such matters."
Fiona's freckles seem to redden. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, what with Anna gone and all…"
"That's all right. Books are written to entertain. And it's good you're enjoying yourself," York says, raising a finger. "What we're dealing with is a vile crime, committed in the real world, very different from the fiction of a novel. So there's no need to apologize."
It's clear in the way Fiona looks after York as they head down the hall that he's gained yet another fan. Pretty soon, Emily thinks, he'll have all of Greenvale wrapped around his little finger. She's determined to maintain her role as diplomat between York and George, but for everyone else, the novelty of this stranger from the city with the scarred face seems to be opening doors. Well, it could only help the investigation. And that was the most important thing.
They stop in front of a door with a brass plaque reading "Ushah Johnson, MD, PhD". George knocks, and when nobody responds, opens the unlocked door and heads inside. The other two follow, York putting two fingers to his temple as he enters. Johnson's office is just as spacious as the exterior of the building would suggest, and is tastefully furnished in dark, muted colors. The curtains are partially drawn, letting in a grayish beam of light from the window. A computer sits humming on the large mahogany desk in the middle of the room. Johnson is nowhere to be found.
"I think Fiona may need to check her information," George says, looking around. "Does he even know we're here?"
"He must have. We're right on time."
They turn to York, who is carefully studying the computer monitor. He reaches out and swivels it so that George and Emily can see: The screen depicts a virtual chessboard, the scattered arrangement of the pieces suggesting a mid-game scenario.
"The doctor is fond of games, I take it?"
"If by 'games' you mean 'wasting time', then yes, I'd say so. If he doesn't show up soon, we'll have to go find him. What a hassle."
"No need to do that, George." York whistles to himself as he turns the computer back to its original position. 'There were specific instructions left on the desktop, and the card key to the autopsy room is around here somewhere. …Aha! I think I've found it, Zach."
York crosses over to one wall of the office, on which hangs a large poster of a black chess piece. There are other such posters lining the room, each depicting a different part of the set, but York goes straight for the knight and lifts it up by the bottom corner. Hidden behind the poster is an electronic safe embedded in the wall. Both Emily and George are silent, watching.
After a few moments fiddling with the keypad, there is a click, and the safe springs open. York reaches inside and pulls out a small plastic rectangle, which he tosses towards George like a Frisbee. George catches it, saying nothing.
Emily's curiosity gets the better of her. "How-"
"Does 4B mean anything to you?" York asks. Emily shakes her head, then stops to think. Her eyes widen.
"It's a chess move! So that game on the computer was…"
"Right. All I had to do was figure out which move would put the opponent in checkmate. It was black's turn and the only possible solution was through the knight, so the safe code was BKN24B. BKN being 'black knight', so, ' black knight to 4-B'. Simple, really. "
Emily knows better than to comment, but she can't help but be impressed. Still, there's a big difference between solving Dr. Johnson's riddle and solving a murder. She will have to reserve judgment until later. George's face is blank as they follow him to the basement where the body of Anna Graham lies, a locked safe that no amount of chess playing will be able to open.
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