payment, just to check up on them.
The phone rang again. I pulled the receiver to my ear.
'Wildclown Investigations.'
There was silence for four seconds. Just enough to get the adrenaline going.
'Wildclown.' A voice. It was heavily disguised-completely androgynous and muffled.
'Wildclown,' I parroted.
'Not doing your job.'
'Thank you,' I said, resisting the urge to snipe.
'Another murder.'
'Such is the way,' I murmured, interested now.
'At the Morocco.' The voice was almost mechanical.
'The Morocco Hotel no longer exists. I was there when it burned down.'
'Don't be a fool.'
'All right, I won't.'
'Same night as the lawyer.'
My mind began to race. 'Who?' I didn't expect an answer.
A resounding click was all I got.
'Hello?' No answer. So, an anonymous phone caller-perhaps a fellow do gooder? I doubted it. Looking up, I noticed that Elmo was watching me with intensity.
'I think we may have something.' I lit a cigarette, kept the phone cocked at my ear, and put a finger in the dial. Cane first-then the paper.
Chapter 22
I was unable to reach Cane on my first or second try, so I busied myself perusing back issues of the Greasetown Gazette. It was simple enough to do. The waiting room was full of them. Even though the Gazette could arrive a day late, it was the biggest paper in Greasetown and gave the best coverage of events-its motto made the claim in 30 point 'All the News – All the Time!' Whatever that meant. Not that I was big on news, it was just the best place to find work. And I needed work. Elmo let them pile up in the waiting room, because he believed my many clients could read them while they waited to talk to me. He had big plans old Elmo. In the two years I'd been involved with him and Tommy, I had never seen a single client use the waiting room. I was pretty sure he kept the old papers around because it was his favorite way to pass his sleepless nights. Elmo had piled fifty of the back issues on my desk. I found one dated March 2, 50 N.A., the day of Billings' murder. N.A. stood for the New Age. We had all restarted our clocks with the Change.
The front page held the usual local political intrigues-Mayor Harvey was up to his old tricks-and vague headlines for world events. They were vague because information was growing more difficult to collect from the Four Corners. The breakdown in our global satellite communications had the effect of making the world a big place again. Just the same, landlines carried information though it often arrived garbled. Eastern Authorities were still stemming the flow of refugees from the Middle East. Camps were set up out of the way of radioactive clouds that followed the Children of God. The Dark Ages had returned to Russia. Post-democratic China massed its troops on the border. Civil wars raged across the African continent. Capetown had been made the capitol of a newly formed AIDS victims' republic. Things were getting exciting.
I flipped past the headlines to the section set aside for murder and death. I grinned at the ad that ran across the bottom of the page. 'King Industries Announces Breakthrough in Afterlife Products.' The ad under the banner described a de-mortifying process that married ancient Egyptian techniques with state of the art technology. The downfall of Simpson's Skin Tanning must have been good for the King of the Dead. By the look of the ad, his company had picked up the slack. I almost felt like calling him and asking for a piece of the action. After all, I was instrumental in this surge in business. I dismissed the notion though. The King made it known that he did not scruple about fairness. His competitors were conspicuously low-key.
The Murder and Death section contained news articles about recent murders, stories updating old homicides, bounties for murderers posted by their victims and obituaries. Obituaries had become an interesting read, now that the dead could write their own. And I usually enjoyed a good chuckle. Normally I read the whole section to see if I could drum up business. This time I had a mission. I curled my tongue like a snail in its shell-I think better that way. The new murders, about fifty of them, were listed alphabetically by last name. Then, it jumped out at me. I read the story under 'Billings, Conrad.'
Authority is investigating the murder of a New Garden lawyer early Friday morning at the Morocco Hotel in the Downings District.
Witnesses on the scene reported the murder arose from a quarrel between the unnamed lawyer and his mistress.
Authority refuses to speculate on the motive for the killing and will not comment while the crime is under investigation.
I looked at the byline: Mary Redding. Elmo held out another paper to me. He pointed to a local news story dated Monday, March 5th. The headline read: Fire Consumes Landmark. Fires are not uncommon, especially in the Downings, so they don't get a lot of press. This one read:
Authority continues to investigate the Saturday night blaze that destroyed the historic Morocco Building in Downings District.
The fire started at 11:30 p.m., officials said, and investigators at the scene found no evidence of foul play.
'We are told by our experts that it was likely the old wiring,' Authority Investigator Roger Shipton said.
'We've questioned a lot of the people in the neighborhood, and we haven't turned up anything that warrants further investigation.'
Shipton said that there was no evidence connecting the blaze to the recent murder of a New Garden lawyer at the Morocco Building.
Authority refuses to release the names of those involved.
The Morocco Building played a significant role in the post-Change riots of the 20's as a headquarters for Resurrectionist Captain Jack Updike and his supporters. Historians mourned this significant loss.
No sign of foul play. I had to stifle a giggle. Those dead arsonists must have left some trace. The gasoline should have been detected. And there had to be something left of their bodies-charred bones at least-and the shotgun. Why would Authority sit on this? They usually went out of their way to discredit Downings District. It helped them justify their restrictions on the dead.
'Elmo, keep looking for related stories. Anything mentioned after the Billings' murder, and before the Morocco fire. A disappearance, anything.' The Morocco had stood for years and years, and years, probably the scene of a hundred murders; but the caller had been exact in saying the murder happened the same night as Billings'. That was the night I wasn't doing my job. I hated criticism.
I picked up the phone, dialed the Gazette. I read the byline for the fire story. Same reporter. The phone line buzzed angrily.
'Mary Redding, please,' I asked when the husky, good-morning voice of a switchboard operator answered.
'One moment…' it rasped.
The line continued to snap and pop like Rice Crispies. Five minutes ticked by. I could hear the line transfer, buzz, beep and rattle. A muffled conversation overheard, then…
'Hello.' A clear voice-crisp and sharp. This reporter had purpose. I would have hated to work at the desk beside her on Monday morning. 'Mary Redding, how can I help you?'
'Ms. Redding, my name's Wildclown. I'm a private detective. I understand you covered a couple of stories at the Morocco Building before it burned down in March.'
'Yes,' her voice was distracted. 'I did.'
'I know about the Billings' murder. But I wonder if you could tell me about the other killing.'
