I dropped my phone in a cup holder where I’d be able to reach it if Haruto called again, put the car in gear, and peeled away from the Cohen house a little too quickly.
“Mr Sato?” Fletcher asked.
“And the Case of the Mysterious White Van,” I answered. “Up for a little detour?”
“It’s a lovely day for it.”
The Highland Archive Centre was built just off a curve in the River Ness in between several green parks, including the Inverness Botanic Gardens. The Centre looked as if someone had superglued two buildings together. The front half was shorter, built from glass and shiny, tan stone, while the back side was two stories high and made out of bright red brick. The blue-grey waters of the River Ness glimmered just behind the structure, giving the whole area a sort of lazy feel.
I glanced around as I pulled into the Centre’s small parking lot, and sure enough, there was the white delivery parked just across the street, A white delivery van, its backend speckled with different bumper stickers. It could have been a simple, innocent car, but the windows were a little too reflective, and I couldn’t even see through the windshield.
“Most delivery vans don’t just sit there,” Fletcher pointed out as we climbed casually from the car. “They finish their business and then get moving.”
I studied the vehicle out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t discern any movement. “Let’s check in with Haruto first. Then we’ll go have a chat with our mysterious delivery people.”
Hopefully, we just looked like tourists wanting to peruse the archives as we walked for the door, though why anyone would want to waste their time doing that, I wasn’t sure. To each their own, I supposed.
I held the door open for Fletcher, and we stepped into the cool, dry air of the lobby. The front half of the Centre was a little museum, tiny exhibits and artefacts in glass cases scattered across the room, lit up by lights on the floor. Carved blocks of text interspersed with colourful displays on television screens covered much of the walls, waiting to be read. I counted two people inside, and one of them was the receptionist.
Fletcher and I approached her desk, and she looked up from her book as if startled to find us there. She looked to be college-aged, an intern, maybe, her nose still just a little bit too large for her face.
“The museum is free,” she said. “You can just go right in.”
“We’re here to see Haruto Sato,” I explained.
“Oh. Mr Sato didn’t say he was expecting any visitors today.” Her brow furrowed as she struggled to think of what she should do as this fell outside of what she had been trained for. “Let me give him a quick call.”
She picked up the corded phone attached to her desk, scanned the notecard beside it, and then dialled what I assumed was Haruto’s office. “Mr Sato? There are some people here to see you?”
“Tell him it’s Callum MacBain,” I said, realizing that he might panic and think we were his stalkers.
The receptionist nodded. “He says his name is Callum MacBain.” She listened for a moment. “Okay. I will.” She hung up the phone and looked back at us. “He says to head up to his office. If you’ll follow me, I’ll open the door for you.”
She led us to a set of sliding glass doors at the back of the museum, swiping her card over the reader set into the wall. She ushered us through then called the elevator for us as well. “Mr Sato’s office is on the first floor, at the end of the hallway as soon as you step out of the elevator.”
As the doors opened with a pleasant ding, she reached inside and placed her cad against a second reader, making the three buttons glow. “Thanks,” I said as I stepped through. The building had a basement, ground floor, and first floor, and I pressed the top button, the elevator pausing for just a moment before the doors slid shut and sealed us in.
“I hate elevators,” Fletcher muttered.
I looked at her sideways. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I just do.”
She was first through the doors as they opened on the next floor, and I grinned as I followed her out. Haruto was waiting for us in the hallway, hovering by his office door, and he motioned for us to join him before disappearing back inside.
Fletcher and I crossed the short corridor and let ourselves into the room which stood in direct contrast to Haruto’s apartment. Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed so full they seemed ready to burst. There was a desk in one corner with a laptop and a collection of open books, scattered papers, and uncapped pens, and a large table sat in the centre of the floor. On top of it, there were brushes in mason jars as well as pots of paint and other substances I couldn’t identify. Haruto seemed to be taking notes in three separate notebooks, all arrayed around a slim, ancient-looking manuscript held open at an angle on a strange stand. As we watched, Haruto donned a pair of white gloves, carefully closed the manuscript, slipped it into a vacuum-sealed bag, and then placed it in a case by his desk for safekeeping.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Haruto said as he took the gloves off and tucked them away. “Here, I’ll show you the van.”
We joined him at the window which all had their blinds drawn tightly shut, and Haruto pulled down one of the slats so we could all peer outside. The white delivery van was right where we’d last seen it. “It hasn’t moved,” Haruto whispered as if he somehow thought the people in the vehicle would be able to hear us talking about them.
“You said it’s been here for an hour?” Fletcher asked.
“Yes.
