Nelson Abercrombie, also known as the Amazing Abercrombie, stepped out onto the pavement in front of his magic and novelty store. He glanced up at the gloomy gray skies and shivered. Apparently a cold winter was settling into Queen City early this year. He pulled a dark, shabby fedora over his thinning gray hair and turned back to the door. Abercrombie set his briefcase on the step and turned the lock in the key of the shop, then pulled the metal shutters over the doors and windows.
It wasn't as though he was worried about robberies, but Abercrombie got a discount on his insurance for his precautions, and he needed every penny he could save. The store was all he had now, bookings had dropped off markedly after the accident that had lead to his divorce.
As he shuffled along the street to his small apartment, Abercrombie mused on his failed fortunes. "I used to play with them all," he thought. "I taught Copperfield and Henning, and played with Wilson, Brodean and Fortescue. Now, the Amazing Abercrombie is all but finished, with no one to remember him."
He stopped at the mailbox, fearful of the bills and collection notices. But he saw an envelope with a return address he hadn't seen in months. "Emeritus Agency? Could it be?" With a trembling hand Abercrombie tore open the letter.
Inside was a contract, requiring a signature and a small check for travel expenses. "A week in Zenith?" he asked incredulously. He carefully read through the contract, his eyes growing larger with each provision and the total sum to be paid.
"This is it!" he shouted. Abercrombie half danced up the flight of stairs to his apartment. Throwing open the door he ran to the cage where Mr Hops was wiggling his pink nose and contentedly crunching the remains of his morning carrot. "We have a job, Hops! This is the beginning of Abercrombie's return to fame!"
"Keep it down!" shouted Mrs Stewart from the apartment across the hall. "And for God's sake, clean out that damned rabbit's cage!" Abercrombie shut the door, grumbling about Mrs Stewart. After heating a can of soup, he dutifully began cleaning out Mr Hops cage.
That night, he lay in bed staring at the few posters he had remaining from his touring days. "I must confess, I am no longer the slim man I once was, Hops," he said to his rabbit. "Perhaps, my old friend Clyde would extend me a bit of credit for a new suit? After all, one can hardly perform in a shabby cardigan and khaki pants."
The next morning, Abercrombie left early and walked past his store to the Race Street establishment of Clyde Wickersham, tailor. After nearly forty minutes of negotiation, fuss measurements and finally showing the contract, the fussy Scotsman agreed to make three new suits, complete with secret pockets and linings for Abercrombie's act. "Ah must be daft," said Wickersham. "But I'll bill you at the first o' the month. An' I'll be expectin' payment in full, Nelson."
"You shall have it my friend. Word of honor!" said Abercrombie, charging the door.
I was standing outside the door when a heavyset man with thinning hair nearly ran me over.
"Oh my dear! I am SO sorry," he said, offering me a hand up from the sidewalk. I smiled.
"My fault, I'm afraid. I wasn't watching where you were going." The man stopped, then cracked a smile.
"Nelson Abercrombie, at your service," he said. "But I am better known as..."
"The Amazing Abercrombie," I finished. Abercrombie looked at me with shock.
"How..how did you know?" he demanded.
"I'm Athena Nikos," I introduced myself. "My uncle is Harry Forte."
"Fortescue? Oh of COURSE!" He pumped my arm so hard I was afraid I would start spouting water. That's when Mr Wickersham stepped in.
"Hadn't you better be tending to your act, Nelson?" he asked with an amused smile.
Abercrombie stopped and smiled. "You're right Clyde, I need to be ready in less than a week!"
I watched as the chubby man walked briskly up the street. Turning to Mr Wickersham I said, "I thought he was retired?"
"Och he was, but someone hired him for a week in Zenith, starting next Monday. I agreed to make him some suits for his act, to be paid after his contract was fulfilled." When I looked at him shocked, Mr Wickersham snorted and added, "Ah'm not completely without a heart y'know Ms Nikos."
"Oh I never said you were. Shall we step inside? I have some concerns about the cold weather that's coming and I want to know what you can do to help me."
Two nights later I was flying over the city, warm and snug. Mr Wickersham had fitted my costume with sheer tights, meaning my legs stayed warm, and he'd worked together a warm leather jacket to keep my upper body comfortable. I had to learn how to fly in this new getup, and was taking a practice run over the city. To the west I could see the high, dark clouds coming, swollen with rain. I looped west toward Kosterman's Hill, where the rain finally caught up, then back over the northside. I doubled back over towards downtown, inorder to give Mr Wickersham the report on my new gear when I saw the flashing red and blue lights. Normally I would have ignored them, but I recognized the gray Dodge Charger of Captain Winslow. I landed in the alleyway behind the crime scen tape and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Oh it's you, White Owl," he said with a scowl. "I was just about to send for you."
"Why is that?" Looking over his shoulder, I could see the crime scene techs and the coroner making careful measurements and examining the victim.
"Looks like a homicide," I said.
"It's more than that, Owl," said Winslow. "We think its another one of your costumed crazies."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. "Do you know the victim?"
"His wallet identified him as Nelson Abercrombie, age 60. He ran a novelty and magic store over on fifth, and sometimes worked kiddie's parties as a magician."
My blood ran cold. "Why do you think this is a costumed crook?"
"Because of this." Winslow slid an evidence bag at me. Inside I could see a strangely sized card of some sort. But I turned it over to see the image of a man with a rod over his head. On a table in front of him, were a cup, a sword and a coin.
"Number One, the Magician," said Winslow.
"Tarot Cards?" I asked. "Abercrombie was a stage magician. And this card shouldn't have attached itself to him." I looked up at Winslow. "Do you remember how it was placed in front of him?"
Winslow looked at me with dismay. "Face up, if that's what you mean."
"No, Tarot has different meanings if it's upright like this," I turned the card over so the magician was on his head, "or if its reversed, like this."
Winslow took out his cell phone and scrolled through some of the images on it. "Here," he said, shoving the phone at me. "What's it mean?"
The card was reversed. "Generally, ineptitude, or failure of the will. Someone is telling us that Abercrombie was an inept magician.'
"What do you know about this guy White Owl?" he asked.
"Not as much as I will tomorrow night. But I do know he gave up performing about ten years ago. Some horrible accident that left an assistant maimed, and ended with his divorce. I guess he moved here to Queen City around that time."
Winslow nodded. "Could be someone out for revenge, or money? The assistant or her family?"
"I don't think so, this is deeper. Abercrombie didn't have much money until just recently. Someone's been keeping an eye on him, and I intend to find out who."
Winslow ran his hand through his steely gray hair. "I guess it wouldn't do me any good to say be careful. Just keep in touch willya? My doctor says I'm not supposed to have too many big jolts in my life."
"He probably also says you're not supposed to be smoking like you do either," I said flying into the sky. "But I'll be careful Captain. I promise."
It wasn't as though he was worried about robberies, but Abercrombie got a discount on his insurance for his precautions, and he needed every penny he could save. The store was all he had now, bookings had dropped off markedly after the accident that had lead to his divorce.
As he shuffled along the street to his small apartment, Abercrombie mused on his failed fortunes. "I used to play with them all," he thought. "I taught Copperfield and Henning, and played with Wilson, Brodean and Fortescue. Now, the Amazing Abercrombie is all but finished, with no one to remember him."
He stopped at the mailbox, fearful of the bills and collection notices. But he saw an envelope with a return address he hadn't seen in months. "Emeritus Agency? Could it be?" With a trembling hand Abercrombie tore open the letter.
Inside was a contract, requiring a signature and a small check for travel expenses. "A week in Zenith?" he asked incredulously. He carefully read through the contract, his eyes growing larger with each provision and the total sum to be paid.
"This is it!" he shouted. Abercrombie half danced up the flight of stairs to his apartment. Throwing open the door he ran to the cage where Mr Hops was wiggling his pink nose and contentedly crunching the remains of his morning carrot. "We have a job, Hops! This is the beginning of Abercrombie's return to fame!"
"Keep it down!" shouted Mrs Stewart from the apartment across the hall. "And for God's sake, clean out that damned rabbit's cage!" Abercrombie shut the door, grumbling about Mrs Stewart. After heating a can of soup, he dutifully began cleaning out Mr Hops cage.
That night, he lay in bed staring at the few posters he had remaining from his touring days. "I must confess, I am no longer the slim man I once was, Hops," he said to his rabbit. "Perhaps, my old friend Clyde would extend me a bit of credit for a new suit? After all, one can hardly perform in a shabby cardigan and khaki pants."
The next morning, Abercrombie left early and walked past his store to the Race Street establishment of Clyde Wickersham, tailor. After nearly forty minutes of negotiation, fuss measurements and finally showing the contract, the fussy Scotsman agreed to make three new suits, complete with secret pockets and linings for Abercrombie's act. "Ah must be daft," said Wickersham. "But I'll bill you at the first o' the month. An' I'll be expectin' payment in full, Nelson."
"You shall have it my friend. Word of honor!" said Abercrombie, charging the door.
I was standing outside the door when a heavyset man with thinning hair nearly ran me over.
"Oh my dear! I am SO sorry," he said, offering me a hand up from the sidewalk. I smiled.
"My fault, I'm afraid. I wasn't watching where you were going." The man stopped, then cracked a smile.
"Nelson Abercrombie, at your service," he said. "But I am better known as..."
"The Amazing Abercrombie," I finished. Abercrombie looked at me with shock.
"How..how did you know?" he demanded.
"I'm Athena Nikos," I introduced myself. "My uncle is Harry Forte."
"Fortescue? Oh of COURSE!" He pumped my arm so hard I was afraid I would start spouting water. That's when Mr Wickersham stepped in.
"Hadn't you better be tending to your act, Nelson?" he asked with an amused smile.
Abercrombie stopped and smiled. "You're right Clyde, I need to be ready in less than a week!"
I watched as the chubby man walked briskly up the street. Turning to Mr Wickersham I said, "I thought he was retired?"
"Och he was, but someone hired him for a week in Zenith, starting next Monday. I agreed to make him some suits for his act, to be paid after his contract was fulfilled." When I looked at him shocked, Mr Wickersham snorted and added, "Ah'm not completely without a heart y'know Ms Nikos."
"Oh I never said you were. Shall we step inside? I have some concerns about the cold weather that's coming and I want to know what you can do to help me."
Two nights later I was flying over the city, warm and snug. Mr Wickersham had fitted my costume with sheer tights, meaning my legs stayed warm, and he'd worked together a warm leather jacket to keep my upper body comfortable. I had to learn how to fly in this new getup, and was taking a practice run over the city. To the west I could see the high, dark clouds coming, swollen with rain. I looped west toward Kosterman's Hill, where the rain finally caught up, then back over the northside. I doubled back over towards downtown, inorder to give Mr Wickersham the report on my new gear when I saw the flashing red and blue lights. Normally I would have ignored them, but I recognized the gray Dodge Charger of Captain Winslow. I landed in the alleyway behind the crime scen tape and tapped him on the shoulder.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Oh it's you, White Owl," he said with a scowl. "I was just about to send for you."
"Why is that?" Looking over his shoulder, I could see the crime scene techs and the coroner making careful measurements and examining the victim.
"Looks like a homicide," I said.
"It's more than that, Owl," said Winslow. "We think its another one of your costumed crazies."
"Why do you say that?" I asked. "Do you know the victim?"
"His wallet identified him as Nelson Abercrombie, age 60. He ran a novelty and magic store over on fifth, and sometimes worked kiddie's parties as a magician."
My blood ran cold. "Why do you think this is a costumed crook?"
"Because of this." Winslow slid an evidence bag at me. Inside I could see a strangely sized card of some sort. But I turned it over to see the image of a man with a rod over his head. On a table in front of him, were a cup, a sword and a coin.
"Number One, the Magician," said Winslow.
"Tarot Cards?" I asked. "Abercrombie was a stage magician. And this card shouldn't have attached itself to him." I looked up at Winslow. "Do you remember how it was placed in front of him?"
Winslow looked at me with dismay. "Face up, if that's what you mean."
"No, Tarot has different meanings if it's upright like this," I turned the card over so the magician was on his head, "or if its reversed, like this."
Winslow took out his cell phone and scrolled through some of the images on it. "Here," he said, shoving the phone at me. "What's it mean?"
The card was reversed. "Generally, ineptitude, or failure of the will. Someone is telling us that Abercrombie was an inept magician.'
"What do you know about this guy White Owl?" he asked.
"Not as much as I will tomorrow night. But I do know he gave up performing about ten years ago. Some horrible accident that left an assistant maimed, and ended with his divorce. I guess he moved here to Queen City around that time."
Winslow nodded. "Could be someone out for revenge, or money? The assistant or her family?"
"I don't think so, this is deeper. Abercrombie didn't have much money until just recently. Someone's been keeping an eye on him, and I intend to find out who."
Winslow ran his hand through his steely gray hair. "I guess it wouldn't do me any good to say be careful. Just keep in touch willya? My doctor says I'm not supposed to have too many big jolts in my life."
"He probably also says you're not supposed to be smoking like you do either," I said flying into the sky. "But I'll be careful Captain. I promise."
The week following the death of Nelson Abercrombie was terribly frustrating to me. Mr. Wickersham was almost inconsolable, and served as a pallbearer for Abercrombie. I attended the funeral, despite having only just met the man again. Uncle Harry sent his regrets, but he was working through a six month stay in Branson, and couldn't get free. So he asked if I would stand in, as his one time assistant and family representative.
The funeral was simple, and I recognized some of the local members of the magic community from their reputations. They served with Mr. Wickersham as pallbearers, and I worried that one of them might soon be joining the late Mr. Abercrombie.
Somehow, though they all made it through the funeral, and I departed with Mr Wickersham from the funeral. We drove in silence toward the downtown, and Mr Wickersham's shop. "Ah Lass," he said, his Scot's burr becoming more pronounced. "Mah friend is gone, m' goodwife the same. Ah'm all alone in the world, with nothing t'show for it."
Trying to console him, I said, "You have me Mr. Wickersham. And you've been wonderful at assisting me in my crimefighting."
He turned his deep brown eyes at me, and scowled. "Well then, lass, you'd best be puttin' our talents together t' find Nellie's killer and soon." I nodded.
He took me to the shop and we entered the back way. Mr Wickersham had a small hotplate in the back and soon we sat at a table drinking strong tea and eating butter cookies. I waited a few moments, then asked, "Did Abercrombie have any enemies? Anyone who would benefit if he were dead?"
"I don't believe so. He wasna that good a magician; so he had no tricks anyone wanted. His wife had left him several years ago; and there were no children. Aside from that small shop, I'm afraid Nelson lived on his laurels. But surely the police have asked all those questions?
"And more I'm sure," I agreed. "But the element here is cui bono." At this Mr Wickersham nodded.
"Who benefits? I'd say you need to find that. And find out where that Tarot card fits in." I finished my tea and stood up.
"Be careful lass," Wickersham warned. "I lost an old and dear friend this week. I'll not bear up if I was to lose another dear friend."
"I'll keep to the shadows for now, and if not, then your NuSilk ought to help out." I let myself out the front door and caught the bus back to Victory Park. I took the elevator to the fifth floor and let myself into the apartment. Daisy nearly bowled me over as I came in, then she led me to the kitchen to show me her empty cat food bowl. She mewled angrily, and danced a happy dance when I opened a can of catfood to set before her.
While Daisy was eating, I went upstairs to my bedroom and changed from my funeral attire to the more comforting wear of White Owl. The cold hadn't abated yet, so I shrugged into my jacket as well. I came down the stairs, snugging my mask into place and reaching for my tool belt and cell phone when the phone rang.
I snapped open my cell phone. "White Owl," I said. "What do you have, Captain?"
"Two more kills, Owl. One in Northside, near Abercrombie's magic store, and one in the zoo of all places." My jaw dropped open.
"Are you sure they're linked to Abercrombie?" I asked.
"Yeah, we're sure. Why don't you come down to my office. I'll spot you a coffee and go over the notes with you. Though I know you'll want to see the scenes too."
"You're right about that," I said. "But it won't hurt to see what the CSI squads have determined. I can be there in about thirty minutes."
"OK, I'll be looking for you then." I slipped the phone off, and sat on the sofa, disturbed. Daisy sidled up to me, looking for comfort, and I gave her an absent-minded headscratching as I gathered my thoughts. Slipping into my boots, I rolled the cuffs flat, then stepped onto the balcony. The wind was light, but chill, and I shuddered a bit, burrowing into my down-lined leather coat. I jumped into the wind, then angled away from Victory Park and headed toward Midtown. I arrived on the rooftop, to find Captain Winslow waiting for me.
True to form, he had two cups of BigElk coffee waiting, with mine rich and dark. I sipped it against the cold and followed the captain down the stairs into the warmer police station. Winslow didn't lead me to his office; instead we headed toward a conference room where several photos lined the table. Winslow grabbed three manila folders from the table and turned to me.
"This one is Abercrombie's" he said, laying it flat. "Nothing in here you haven't already seen. I nodded and Winslow continued. "This one is Dejuan Brown." He handed me the folder and I opened it.
I studied a photo of a young dead postman as Winslow continued. "Brown was the mail carrier on Abercrombie's route. He'd just finished up the first part of his run today and was at the relay box loading his bag. A bullet took him in the back, killing him instantly. This was about eight o'clock this morning."
"Did anyone see anything?" I asked.
"No, but CSI said the shots must've come from from a rooftop of one of the buildings on the corner. We've checked out both the bank, and the drugstore on the corner. The weird thing is this shooting was no more than a hundred yards from Abercrombie's store."
I studied the images more, noticing a small screen in the middle of the street, with a Public Service truck behind it. No one seemed to be working though. "What about the Public service guys?" I asked.
"We checked with them. Two of them were under the street, checking the electric and gas lines. The third guy was on a coffee run. Dispatch from Public Service backs that story. But they didn't see anything or even hear anything."
"So how is this related?" I asked.
"Well April Scott was on her way to work at the drugstore this morning, and found Brown then. She called police, and when our guys arrived, she showed them the card she'd found as well. This one."
Winslow slid a card at me. It showed a young man gripping a rod and proclaiming something.
"The Page of Wands," I said. "Someone knows his Tarot."
"What do you mean?"
"The Page of Wands indicates a dark young man, a faithful man or lover, and a postman. This card was selected particularly for Brown, I would think. But why was HE selected?"
"Well if you think that's odd," said Winslow. "You should see this one." He slid the final file toward me. Inside were photos of what had been a lovely young woman. Her face had been mutilated, apparently by the large birds of prey shown in the remaining photographs.
"Her name was Janelle Rush," Winslow said. "She was 29 and was the head of the aviary division at the Queen City zoo. She was also engaged to Dejuan Brown. So these two crimes would be linked even if we didn't find a Tarot card there." I knew what it would be before Winslow handed me the evidence bag.
"The Nine of Pentacles, wasn't it." He looked at me shocked.
"Well it makes sense, Captain. Abercrombie was the Magician, Brown the Page of Wands. So it follows that Ms Rush would be the nine of Pentacles. Pentacles indicate abundance, the nine indicates success and accomplishment. I'd say that described Ms Rush." Winslow nodded.
"So does this mean we're looking for some crazed maniac intent on killing 56 people at random, until he goes through the whole deck?"
"I don't think so, Captain. I think we're after someone who's got a big plan and may be using this to throw us off."
"Well that's good," said Winslow. "Because we got an unmarked envelope this afternoon. Looks like it was mailed from the main post office, no prints. But inside was this." He slid over one more card. I saw a man in a triple tiered miter, blessing two supplicants.
The Hierophant. The Pope, the High Priest. My eyes shot open wide.
Across town, in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Mystery, Archbishop John Celebreze divested himself of his raiment and slipped into a simple black cassock. Once a month, the archbishop took a turn in the confessional, as an aid to those who were not comfortable with the more open confessions offered. Celebreze informed his priests that he was not above the work, and often felt this led him to be more in touch with the episcopate.
After three hours, Celebreze was weary. It seemed that the people of Queen City had a lot of sin to confess. Though the priest knew his people were only human, sometimes it seemed they had a superpowered bent toward sin. Celebreze was about to exit the confessional when he heard the door open once more. He leaned forward.
"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession."
"I am listening my son, as is God. What sins have you committed?"
"I am guilty of pride, Father. I am seeking to place the city under a reign of terror, while I have my way. I have committed murder, Father. I have been responsible for the death of three people so far, and will have several more."
Archbishop Celebreze was shocked by the confession. "Lord have mercy on your soul, my son," he managed to stammer out.
"No Archbishop, May He have mercy on yours." Three silenced bullets ripped through both the confessional and Archbishop Celebreze. The old priest slumped forward in the booth, with no sound.
The killer slipped the gun back into a jacket and slipped from the confessional into the now enpty sanctuary. Ten minutes later, it was as if he'd never existed.
The funeral was simple, and I recognized some of the local members of the magic community from their reputations. They served with Mr. Wickersham as pallbearers, and I worried that one of them might soon be joining the late Mr. Abercrombie.
Somehow, though they all made it through the funeral, and I departed with Mr Wickersham from the funeral. We drove in silence toward the downtown, and Mr Wickersham's shop. "Ah Lass," he said, his Scot's burr becoming more pronounced. "Mah friend is gone, m' goodwife the same. Ah'm all alone in the world, with nothing t'show for it."
Trying to console him, I said, "You have me Mr. Wickersham. And you've been wonderful at assisting me in my crimefighting."
He turned his deep brown eyes at me, and scowled. "Well then, lass, you'd best be puttin' our talents together t' find Nellie's killer and soon." I nodded.
He took me to the shop and we entered the back way. Mr Wickersham had a small hotplate in the back and soon we sat at a table drinking strong tea and eating butter cookies. I waited a few moments, then asked, "Did Abercrombie have any enemies? Anyone who would benefit if he were dead?"
"I don't believe so. He wasna that good a magician; so he had no tricks anyone wanted. His wife had left him several years ago; and there were no children. Aside from that small shop, I'm afraid Nelson lived on his laurels. But surely the police have asked all those questions?
"And more I'm sure," I agreed. "But the element here is cui bono." At this Mr Wickersham nodded.
"Who benefits? I'd say you need to find that. And find out where that Tarot card fits in." I finished my tea and stood up.
"Be careful lass," Wickersham warned. "I lost an old and dear friend this week. I'll not bear up if I was to lose another dear friend."
"I'll keep to the shadows for now, and if not, then your NuSilk ought to help out." I let myself out the front door and caught the bus back to Victory Park. I took the elevator to the fifth floor and let myself into the apartment. Daisy nearly bowled me over as I came in, then she led me to the kitchen to show me her empty cat food bowl. She mewled angrily, and danced a happy dance when I opened a can of catfood to set before her.
While Daisy was eating, I went upstairs to my bedroom and changed from my funeral attire to the more comforting wear of White Owl. The cold hadn't abated yet, so I shrugged into my jacket as well. I came down the stairs, snugging my mask into place and reaching for my tool belt and cell phone when the phone rang.
I snapped open my cell phone. "White Owl," I said. "What do you have, Captain?"
"Two more kills, Owl. One in Northside, near Abercrombie's magic store, and one in the zoo of all places." My jaw dropped open.
"Are you sure they're linked to Abercrombie?" I asked.
"Yeah, we're sure. Why don't you come down to my office. I'll spot you a coffee and go over the notes with you. Though I know you'll want to see the scenes too."
"You're right about that," I said. "But it won't hurt to see what the CSI squads have determined. I can be there in about thirty minutes."
"OK, I'll be looking for you then." I slipped the phone off, and sat on the sofa, disturbed. Daisy sidled up to me, looking for comfort, and I gave her an absent-minded headscratching as I gathered my thoughts. Slipping into my boots, I rolled the cuffs flat, then stepped onto the balcony. The wind was light, but chill, and I shuddered a bit, burrowing into my down-lined leather coat. I jumped into the wind, then angled away from Victory Park and headed toward Midtown. I arrived on the rooftop, to find Captain Winslow waiting for me.
True to form, he had two cups of BigElk coffee waiting, with mine rich and dark. I sipped it against the cold and followed the captain down the stairs into the warmer police station. Winslow didn't lead me to his office; instead we headed toward a conference room where several photos lined the table. Winslow grabbed three manila folders from the table and turned to me.
"This one is Abercrombie's" he said, laying it flat. "Nothing in here you haven't already seen. I nodded and Winslow continued. "This one is Dejuan Brown." He handed me the folder and I opened it.
I studied a photo of a young dead postman as Winslow continued. "Brown was the mail carrier on Abercrombie's route. He'd just finished up the first part of his run today and was at the relay box loading his bag. A bullet took him in the back, killing him instantly. This was about eight o'clock this morning."
"Did anyone see anything?" I asked.
"No, but CSI said the shots must've come from from a rooftop of one of the buildings on the corner. We've checked out both the bank, and the drugstore on the corner. The weird thing is this shooting was no more than a hundred yards from Abercrombie's store."
I studied the images more, noticing a small screen in the middle of the street, with a Public Service truck behind it. No one seemed to be working though. "What about the Public service guys?" I asked.
"We checked with them. Two of them were under the street, checking the electric and gas lines. The third guy was on a coffee run. Dispatch from Public Service backs that story. But they didn't see anything or even hear anything."
"So how is this related?" I asked.
"Well April Scott was on her way to work at the drugstore this morning, and found Brown then. She called police, and when our guys arrived, she showed them the card she'd found as well. This one."
Winslow slid a card at me. It showed a young man gripping a rod and proclaiming something.
"The Page of Wands," I said. "Someone knows his Tarot."
"What do you mean?"
"The Page of Wands indicates a dark young man, a faithful man or lover, and a postman. This card was selected particularly for Brown, I would think. But why was HE selected?"
"Well if you think that's odd," said Winslow. "You should see this one." He slid the final file toward me. Inside were photos of what had been a lovely young woman. Her face had been mutilated, apparently by the large birds of prey shown in the remaining photographs.
"Her name was Janelle Rush," Winslow said. "She was 29 and was the head of the aviary division at the Queen City zoo. She was also engaged to Dejuan Brown. So these two crimes would be linked even if we didn't find a Tarot card there." I knew what it would be before Winslow handed me the evidence bag.
"The Nine of Pentacles, wasn't it." He looked at me shocked.
"Well it makes sense, Captain. Abercrombie was the Magician, Brown the Page of Wands. So it follows that Ms Rush would be the nine of Pentacles. Pentacles indicate abundance, the nine indicates success and accomplishment. I'd say that described Ms Rush." Winslow nodded.
"So does this mean we're looking for some crazed maniac intent on killing 56 people at random, until he goes through the whole deck?"
"I don't think so, Captain. I think we're after someone who's got a big plan and may be using this to throw us off."
"Well that's good," said Winslow. "Because we got an unmarked envelope this afternoon. Looks like it was mailed from the main post office, no prints. But inside was this." He slid over one more card. I saw a man in a triple tiered miter, blessing two supplicants.
The Hierophant. The Pope, the High Priest. My eyes shot open wide.
Across town, in the Cathedral of Our Lady of Mystery, Archbishop John Celebreze divested himself of his raiment and slipped into a simple black cassock. Once a month, the archbishop took a turn in the confessional, as an aid to those who were not comfortable with the more open confessions offered. Celebreze informed his priests that he was not above the work, and often felt this led him to be more in touch with the episcopate.
After three hours, Celebreze was weary. It seemed that the people of Queen City had a lot of sin to confess. Though the priest knew his people were only human, sometimes it seemed they had a superpowered bent toward sin. Celebreze was about to exit the confessional when he heard the door open once more. He leaned forward.
"Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession."
"I am listening my son, as is God. What sins have you committed?"
"I am guilty of pride, Father. I am seeking to place the city under a reign of terror, while I have my way. I have committed murder, Father. I have been responsible for the death of three people so far, and will have several more."
Archbishop Celebreze was shocked by the confession. "Lord have mercy on your soul, my son," he managed to stammer out.
"No Archbishop, May He have mercy on yours." Three silenced bullets ripped through both the confessional and Archbishop Celebreze. The old priest slumped forward in the booth, with no sound.
The killer slipped the gun back into a jacket and slipped from the confessional into the now enpty sanctuary. Ten minutes later, it was as if he'd never existed.
"Four deaths, White Owl, and we can't seem to find any connection for any of them." Captain Winslow's voice cracked under the strain. "Or rather, we can't find any connection between all FOUR of them. We know Dejuan Brown and Janelle Rush were engaged, but there's no link between them and Archbishop Celebreze, or Abercrombie for that matter.
"I thought Brown was Abercrombie's mailman," I said, into the receiver of my phone.
"Well that's true--but there's no other link. The most baffling part of this is Archbishop Celebreze. He did confessions on a regular basis, true, but no one knew when he would be in the confessional."
"Maybe he was a random target?" I suggested.
"We don't think so. The surveillance cameras at the cathedral indicate the killer waited specifically for Celebreze. "
I knew this to be the case. I'd gone over the footage with Winslow until my eyes started blurring. Now after a night's rest, I was about to go out on patrol, hopefully to allow the facts to gel in my head. "Captain, I'll be in touch," I said as I prepared to leap from my balcony out toward the woods of Victory Park.
"Just be careful," he said as I snapped the cell phone shut and dropped it into my weapons bag. I slid the door shut, and jumped into the air, feeling the rush of wind and embracing the skies like I belonged there. I swept past the reflecting pond, and past the art museum, coming out over the expressway. From there, I flew over Northside, eager to investigate once more . The blinking light of the Public Service truck indicated people still working in the lines under the street, but it also provided me with the rough location of my investigation.
I studied the neighborhood, my eyes sweeping along past Abercrombie's run down Magic and Novelty store to the alley where he was killed. From there, I could see the relay box where Dejuan Brown had met his end. I studied the rest of the neighborhood, and could see nothing noteworthy. There were several small stores, a small parking lot, a bank and on the corners an old Presbyterian Church and the drugstore.
With the outline of the neighborhood in my mind, I flew up to the rooftop of Mr Abercrombie's store and looked again. Over the rooftops, I could see the roofs of postwar houses, compact, some run down, but still with cosy charm. A block away, I could see the electric relay station, and could hear the power humming in the quiet night.
I frowned. Something was wrong; I was missing something. But I wasn't going to get the answers here. I kicked off the roof and flew toward the cathedral.
Late night in a cathedral can be an interesting, or a frightening place. Some things are never fully closed at night, even if the locks on the doors are turned. Our Lady of Mystery was such a place. The Cathedral had been built by the German immigrants to Queen City in the mid 1800's and they built in the Gothic tradition of their homeland. I landed on the high belltower, shooing a small fock of pigeons from the large bell. A trapdoor opened easily beneath me and I glided down the stairs toward the floor. The church was still open, but the confessional was still taped off. Guttering lights from the votive candles lit the room, casting weird shadows all over the walls.
I landed on the balcony above the confessional, and studied the layout. The cameras had shown the killer walking inside--sitting well to the side of the camera's view--almost like he knew how far the camera could pan. I glided down and lit on the floor, moving to the pew where the killer had sat.
A hymnbook sat backward in the pew. Curious, I picked it up and the book dropped open to a marked page. A pasteboard drifted from the hymnal dropping onto the floor. In the flickering light, I made a snatch at the card, and missed. I dropped to my knees, and reached for the card. My hand made contact with a large ring under the front pew.
"How curious," I thought as I pulled the ring. A trapdoor lifted easily, and a dark pit showed beneath. I left the trapdoor open and grabbed the small maglite from my pouch. I found the errant card, and smiled. The High Priestess. "A keeper of the sacred wisdom," I said. "If that's not an invitation to my death, I don't know what is." I tucked the card into my pouch as well, and stood up to look around the empty sanctuary once more. Mary's weeping image gazed lovingly down at me, but aside from that, all was silent.
I aimed my light down the hole, and found the small ladder attached to the wall. "This is probably nothing, " I thought, "but there could be something." I began climbing down the ladder, expecting to find a stock of old robes, or Christmas and Easter decorations.
As I reached the bottom of the ladder, I found a small closet, and a door. I turned the knob on the door expecting to emerge into the fellowship hall, but instead I stepped into another room with another door and another ladder down.
I aimed the camera down the ladder once more, then decided to climb down. When I got to the bottom rung again, I found myself in another small room. I twisted the knob of the door and it swung open on a small hallway. Stepping out, I heard my boots echo on the dark tile of the floor. Along the hallway were several doors to the left and right. I looked into one and found a bed, and a small desk. The door was labelled St John. Further down I found St Clement, St Paul, St Augustine, St Francis. On the other side, St Teresa, St Elizabeth, St Priscilla, St Catherine. At the head of the hall was a door that stated St Genesius. I stepped to the door and listened. I could hear nothing; so I turned the knob and entered into a large room, well appointed. On the walls I could see a pair of masks, Tragedy and Comedy. A small statue of Kokopelli was on the desk, and a strong stench of musty cigars filled the air.
I heard a footstep behind me and turned to look. But before I could see, I felt something hit me in my thigh. An electric jolt followed and I danced in pain from the shock. I looked down to see a jesters wand pull back, leaving a needle in my leg. I looked up into the face of an angry clown, then crumpled to his feet like a wet dishcloth.
"I thought Brown was Abercrombie's mailman," I said, into the receiver of my phone.
"Well that's true--but there's no other link. The most baffling part of this is Archbishop Celebreze. He did confessions on a regular basis, true, but no one knew when he would be in the confessional."
"Maybe he was a random target?" I suggested.
"We don't think so. The surveillance cameras at the cathedral indicate the killer waited specifically for Celebreze. "
I knew this to be the case. I'd gone over the footage with Winslow until my eyes started blurring. Now after a night's rest, I was about to go out on patrol, hopefully to allow the facts to gel in my head. "Captain, I'll be in touch," I said as I prepared to leap from my balcony out toward the woods of Victory Park.
"Just be careful," he said as I snapped the cell phone shut and dropped it into my weapons bag. I slid the door shut, and jumped into the air, feeling the rush of wind and embracing the skies like I belonged there. I swept past the reflecting pond, and past the art museum, coming out over the expressway. From there, I flew over Northside, eager to investigate once more . The blinking light of the Public Service truck indicated people still working in the lines under the street, but it also provided me with the rough location of my investigation.
I studied the neighborhood, my eyes sweeping along past Abercrombie's run down Magic and Novelty store to the alley where he was killed. From there, I could see the relay box where Dejuan Brown had met his end. I studied the rest of the neighborhood, and could see nothing noteworthy. There were several small stores, a small parking lot, a bank and on the corners an old Presbyterian Church and the drugstore.
With the outline of the neighborhood in my mind, I flew up to the rooftop of Mr Abercrombie's store and looked again. Over the rooftops, I could see the roofs of postwar houses, compact, some run down, but still with cosy charm. A block away, I could see the electric relay station, and could hear the power humming in the quiet night.
I frowned. Something was wrong; I was missing something. But I wasn't going to get the answers here. I kicked off the roof and flew toward the cathedral.
Late night in a cathedral can be an interesting, or a frightening place. Some things are never fully closed at night, even if the locks on the doors are turned. Our Lady of Mystery was such a place. The Cathedral had been built by the German immigrants to Queen City in the mid 1800's and they built in the Gothic tradition of their homeland. I landed on the high belltower, shooing a small fock of pigeons from the large bell. A trapdoor opened easily beneath me and I glided down the stairs toward the floor. The church was still open, but the confessional was still taped off. Guttering lights from the votive candles lit the room, casting weird shadows all over the walls.
I landed on the balcony above the confessional, and studied the layout. The cameras had shown the killer walking inside--sitting well to the side of the camera's view--almost like he knew how far the camera could pan. I glided down and lit on the floor, moving to the pew where the killer had sat.
A hymnbook sat backward in the pew. Curious, I picked it up and the book dropped open to a marked page. A pasteboard drifted from the hymnal dropping onto the floor. In the flickering light, I made a snatch at the card, and missed. I dropped to my knees, and reached for the card. My hand made contact with a large ring under the front pew.
"How curious," I thought as I pulled the ring. A trapdoor lifted easily, and a dark pit showed beneath. I left the trapdoor open and grabbed the small maglite from my pouch. I found the errant card, and smiled. The High Priestess. "A keeper of the sacred wisdom," I said. "If that's not an invitation to my death, I don't know what is." I tucked the card into my pouch as well, and stood up to look around the empty sanctuary once more. Mary's weeping image gazed lovingly down at me, but aside from that, all was silent.
I aimed my light down the hole, and found the small ladder attached to the wall. "This is probably nothing, " I thought, "but there could be something." I began climbing down the ladder, expecting to find a stock of old robes, or Christmas and Easter decorations.
As I reached the bottom of the ladder, I found a small closet, and a door. I turned the knob on the door expecting to emerge into the fellowship hall, but instead I stepped into another room with another door and another ladder down.
I aimed the camera down the ladder once more, then decided to climb down. When I got to the bottom rung again, I found myself in another small room. I twisted the knob of the door and it swung open on a small hallway. Stepping out, I heard my boots echo on the dark tile of the floor. Along the hallway were several doors to the left and right. I looked into one and found a bed, and a small desk. The door was labelled St John. Further down I found St Clement, St Paul, St Augustine, St Francis. On the other side, St Teresa, St Elizabeth, St Priscilla, St Catherine. At the head of the hall was a door that stated St Genesius. I stepped to the door and listened. I could hear nothing; so I turned the knob and entered into a large room, well appointed. On the walls I could see a pair of masks, Tragedy and Comedy. A small statue of Kokopelli was on the desk, and a strong stench of musty cigars filled the air.
I heard a footstep behind me and turned to look. But before I could see, I felt something hit me in my thigh. An electric jolt followed and I danced in pain from the shock. I looked down to see a jesters wand pull back, leaving a needle in my leg. I looked up into the face of an angry clown, then crumpled to his feet like a wet dishcloth.
My head was throbbing in pain as I woke up. My arms were outstretched, as were my legs and I could feel the cold metal on my back. I felt restraints on my wrists and thighs, leaving my legs dangling at strange angles. I didn't need to look to know the bonds were secure. My host and I had a long history. Lifting my head required an effort, but I managed to look into the grinning rictus of my captor.
"Hello, Sterne," I managed to say. "What's your game this time?"
James Sterne, better known to the world as the Buffoon, waggled his cigar in a poor impression of Groucho Marks and said, "Only a big score and influx of cash White Owl. I'm gonna tunnel into dat bank in Nort' Side an' steal all da money. An' no one is gonna know how I done it."
"Not true Sterne," I said, "I already have it figured out."
"Wha?" The cigar nearly dropped out of his mouth. But he swallowed hard and said, "How did you do it?"
"The police are looking for a murderer. I was too, until I tried to see how all these murders were related. And they ARE related."
Sterne frowned. "Yeah but da cops aren't anyt'ing near as bright as you, Owl. Dey won't figure it out until AFTER I've skipped town." He moved to a control panel. "An' YOU won't be tellin' 'em anyt'ing because you're gonna be da next an' last of da Tarot killin's."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're tied to a really big wheel," he began. "An da floor below you is gonna slide back in a minute. Queen City is built over da Mill Creek, it still flows underneat' downtown, an' right under dis cathedral."
The Buffoon pulled a lever and I felt a brake release. The wheel began to slowly rotate.
"At one point, da church used water power to generate power for da big pipe organ." Pulling another lever I watched as the floor dropped away beneath me. Below, I could hear the running of the water of the Mill Creek. The flow was still strong and deep, depite all the years of being channelled and re routed.
The Buffoon moved the levers with the skill of a heavy machine operator and I felt the wheel turning slightly then the contraption lowered toward the river.
"Since da church ain't usin' da water to run da organ no more, I left it on slow, White Owl. I figure it'll take .25 rpm. Hope you can hold your breath because it's gonna take about two minutes for you to come round to da top again!
The water wheel hit the creek and I felt the flow of the current pushing at it. Then the water covered my right boot. I shvered at the cold rushing flow against my bare leg. The Buffoon laughed, then departed. I felt myself turning at the water's current, to the 2 o'clock position, then the 3 as I was drawn downward.
I pulled at the restraints on my wrists and legs, but couldn't pull them free. I felt my left hand duck into the water and I trembled from the cold. I was headed toward the water myself and I drew a deep breath as I went in.
As children, Alex and I used to play "How long can you hold your breath?" at the swimming pool. He had always been the record holder, but I knew I had a pretty good lung capacity too. The wheel moved slowly through the water and the disorientation of being upside down added to my fear. I calmed myself as I moved slowly through the inky wet cold of the Mill Creek.
I forced myself to think. Buffoon may have been a criminal mastermind, but he was hardly a genius. There had to be some way out. I flexed my leg as it crossed past the wall, then hung upside down in the air. That was my way out! But I had to be patient.
The two minutes passed slowly and in my calmer state, I was able to hold my breath. Still, my lungs were fiery as I broke the surface and I gulped air like water as soon as my head cleared. My right leg was just passing the other wall though, and I swung my foot at the ledge.
"Now hold it, Owl, hold it!" I grimaced as my toehold held. My strength kept the wheel from moving too muchand I pressed back with all the energy I could focus. But the pain in my foot was excruciating, and I wasn't sure I could hold it. I heard a deep rumble beneath the wheel though, and felt the axle sieze.
CrrrrrraaaaaaaCCCCCKKK!!!!! The wheel popped free and dropped into the creek. I landed face down in the water and felt myself sinking into the smelly brown water. But the axle's breaking had also damaged the wheel and I was able to slip free from the restraints, flying out of the water and landing back on the side, gasping and sputtering for air. I came to my feet, then sat back down, as my toes were swollen and in pain from the effort. I leaned back, easing my foot and trying to overcome the pain. With a great effort, I rose gingerly to my feet and launched myself skyward. I had to get to Northside.
The screaming pain in my foot had subsided to a dull ache by the time I landed on Mr. Abercrombie's magic store. I scanned the neighborhood, realizing the Public Service truck was still parked where it had been earlier that evening. I swooped down to the truck and smiled.
The phone nuber wasn't the same as the electric company used. I wondered if Winslow's men had used the truck rather than the phone number in the book to verify information. I knelt down the open access hatch and could hear digging in the distance. I dropped into the hole, landing lightly and favoring my right foot.
I could hear coarse language and rough language in the distance, and I glided up the access tunnel toward the glowing lights. I could see the Buffoon and three henchmen setting charges against a concrete ceiling.
"Boys, taking money that isn't yours is naughty thing," I said, reaching into my toolbelt.
"Holy Cow, pally! I thought you got rid of her!" said Martin. (I told you I had a long term relationship with the Buffoon.)
"Well I guess I didn't!" said the Buffoon. "Get her!"
I tossed a gas grenade at them at this point and heard the sputtering and coughing that indicated it was working. A moment later, it was silent. I slipped in, cuffed the felons and called Captain Winslow.
*****
"So how did you figure it out, Owl?" asked Captain Winslow, as we sat in the ER at Queen City Metro Hospital. "I mean I get that the murders were a cover up for the robbery, but how did you figure out they were related?"
I thought a minute, wondering if I should keep some aura of mystery. Then I decided he needed to know. "It's like this, Captain. Any two of them were related. Abercrombie and the mailman, the mailman and his fiancee, the fiancee and the archbishop. But where were they all related? The only place I could think of was Abercrombie's. He seemed to be the key."
"Go on, don't leave me hanging."
"Well Abercrombie was offered a buyout on his shop, but he declined. Then someone tried to get him out of town. Of course he didn't leave right away, so the Buffoon and his men had him killed. The tarot deck was Abercrombie's and not the Buffoon's But Buffoon saw a joke and a red herring all at once. So he left the magician with Abercrombie and disappeared into the service tunnel.
"But there was a chance the postman had seen the murder. So rather than take any chances, the Buffoon killed HIM too. And his fiancee to keep the message from spreading further."
"But what about the archbishop?"
"The Buffoon was hiding in the lower levels of the cathedral, something that had been built as part of the Underground Railroad and kept secret from most of the parishoners even today. But he was also blackmailing the parish. The archbishop was trying to hide funds that would have been used to payout legal obligations, but the Buffoon knew about them. He killed the archbishop, because Archbishop Celebreze was a man of honor, and wouldn't funnel the funds to the Buffoon."
"Wow! You make it sound so easy."
"Well the tipoff was the utility truck. It hadn't moved in almost a week, and I noticed the number on the truck here, didn't match the number on the power station up the road. That led me to the connection to the bank."
Winslow nodded. "How's the foot?" he asked. "I need a date for the policeman's charity ball."
I smiled. "It's healing. But I won't dance, don't ask me."
He chuckled as we left the hospital, and I swept off into the night.
The End.
"Hello, Sterne," I managed to say. "What's your game this time?"
James Sterne, better known to the world as the Buffoon, waggled his cigar in a poor impression of Groucho Marks and said, "Only a big score and influx of cash White Owl. I'm gonna tunnel into dat bank in Nort' Side an' steal all da money. An' no one is gonna know how I done it."
"Not true Sterne," I said, "I already have it figured out."
"Wha?" The cigar nearly dropped out of his mouth. But he swallowed hard and said, "How did you do it?"
"The police are looking for a murderer. I was too, until I tried to see how all these murders were related. And they ARE related."
Sterne frowned. "Yeah but da cops aren't anyt'ing near as bright as you, Owl. Dey won't figure it out until AFTER I've skipped town." He moved to a control panel. "An' YOU won't be tellin' 'em anyt'ing because you're gonna be da next an' last of da Tarot killin's."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're tied to a really big wheel," he began. "An da floor below you is gonna slide back in a minute. Queen City is built over da Mill Creek, it still flows underneat' downtown, an' right under dis cathedral."
The Buffoon pulled a lever and I felt a brake release. The wheel began to slowly rotate.
"At one point, da church used water power to generate power for da big pipe organ." Pulling another lever I watched as the floor dropped away beneath me. Below, I could hear the running of the water of the Mill Creek. The flow was still strong and deep, depite all the years of being channelled and re routed.
The Buffoon moved the levers with the skill of a heavy machine operator and I felt the wheel turning slightly then the contraption lowered toward the river.
"Since da church ain't usin' da water to run da organ no more, I left it on slow, White Owl. I figure it'll take .25 rpm. Hope you can hold your breath because it's gonna take about two minutes for you to come round to da top again!
The water wheel hit the creek and I felt the flow of the current pushing at it. Then the water covered my right boot. I shvered at the cold rushing flow against my bare leg. The Buffoon laughed, then departed. I felt myself turning at the water's current, to the 2 o'clock position, then the 3 as I was drawn downward.
I pulled at the restraints on my wrists and legs, but couldn't pull them free. I felt my left hand duck into the water and I trembled from the cold. I was headed toward the water myself and I drew a deep breath as I went in.
As children, Alex and I used to play "How long can you hold your breath?" at the swimming pool. He had always been the record holder, but I knew I had a pretty good lung capacity too. The wheel moved slowly through the water and the disorientation of being upside down added to my fear. I calmed myself as I moved slowly through the inky wet cold of the Mill Creek.
I forced myself to think. Buffoon may have been a criminal mastermind, but he was hardly a genius. There had to be some way out. I flexed my leg as it crossed past the wall, then hung upside down in the air. That was my way out! But I had to be patient.
The two minutes passed slowly and in my calmer state, I was able to hold my breath. Still, my lungs were fiery as I broke the surface and I gulped air like water as soon as my head cleared. My right leg was just passing the other wall though, and I swung my foot at the ledge.
"Now hold it, Owl, hold it!" I grimaced as my toehold held. My strength kept the wheel from moving too muchand I pressed back with all the energy I could focus. But the pain in my foot was excruciating, and I wasn't sure I could hold it. I heard a deep rumble beneath the wheel though, and felt the axle sieze.
CrrrrrraaaaaaaCCCCCKKK!!!!! The wheel popped free and dropped into the creek. I landed face down in the water and felt myself sinking into the smelly brown water. But the axle's breaking had also damaged the wheel and I was able to slip free from the restraints, flying out of the water and landing back on the side, gasping and sputtering for air. I came to my feet, then sat back down, as my toes were swollen and in pain from the effort. I leaned back, easing my foot and trying to overcome the pain. With a great effort, I rose gingerly to my feet and launched myself skyward. I had to get to Northside.
The screaming pain in my foot had subsided to a dull ache by the time I landed on Mr. Abercrombie's magic store. I scanned the neighborhood, realizing the Public Service truck was still parked where it had been earlier that evening. I swooped down to the truck and smiled.
The phone nuber wasn't the same as the electric company used. I wondered if Winslow's men had used the truck rather than the phone number in the book to verify information. I knelt down the open access hatch and could hear digging in the distance. I dropped into the hole, landing lightly and favoring my right foot.
I could hear coarse language and rough language in the distance, and I glided up the access tunnel toward the glowing lights. I could see the Buffoon and three henchmen setting charges against a concrete ceiling.
"Boys, taking money that isn't yours is naughty thing," I said, reaching into my toolbelt.
"Holy Cow, pally! I thought you got rid of her!" said Martin. (I told you I had a long term relationship with the Buffoon.)
"Well I guess I didn't!" said the Buffoon. "Get her!"
I tossed a gas grenade at them at this point and heard the sputtering and coughing that indicated it was working. A moment later, it was silent. I slipped in, cuffed the felons and called Captain Winslow.
*****
"So how did you figure it out, Owl?" asked Captain Winslow, as we sat in the ER at Queen City Metro Hospital. "I mean I get that the murders were a cover up for the robbery, but how did you figure out they were related?"
I thought a minute, wondering if I should keep some aura of mystery. Then I decided he needed to know. "It's like this, Captain. Any two of them were related. Abercrombie and the mailman, the mailman and his fiancee, the fiancee and the archbishop. But where were they all related? The only place I could think of was Abercrombie's. He seemed to be the key."
"Go on, don't leave me hanging."
"Well Abercrombie was offered a buyout on his shop, but he declined. Then someone tried to get him out of town. Of course he didn't leave right away, so the Buffoon and his men had him killed. The tarot deck was Abercrombie's and not the Buffoon's But Buffoon saw a joke and a red herring all at once. So he left the magician with Abercrombie and disappeared into the service tunnel.
"But there was a chance the postman had seen the murder. So rather than take any chances, the Buffoon killed HIM too. And his fiancee to keep the message from spreading further."
"But what about the archbishop?"
"The Buffoon was hiding in the lower levels of the cathedral, something that had been built as part of the Underground Railroad and kept secret from most of the parishoners even today. But he was also blackmailing the parish. The archbishop was trying to hide funds that would have been used to payout legal obligations, but the Buffoon knew about them. He killed the archbishop, because Archbishop Celebreze was a man of honor, and wouldn't funnel the funds to the Buffoon."
"Wow! You make it sound so easy."
"Well the tipoff was the utility truck. It hadn't moved in almost a week, and I noticed the number on the truck here, didn't match the number on the power station up the road. That led me to the connection to the bank."
Winslow nodded. "How's the foot?" he asked. "I need a date for the policeman's charity ball."
I smiled. "It's healing. But I won't dance, don't ask me."
He chuckled as we left the hospital, and I swept off into the night.
The End.
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