Part 19 (1/2)

Dix's people, except for Mr. Data and Bev, had all filed out and were waiting downstairs. Outside, it looked like it was still clear; the rain was holding off, at least on this block. Who knew what the weather might be like back at Dix's office.

”Looks just like it did when we came in, doesn't it, Dix?” Bell asked, pretending to look around the apartment and the mess they had just created.

”Yeah,” Dix said, glancing around hoping for something they had missed. He picked up Marci's letters to Brad from the corner of the table. They smelled faintly of a woman's perfume. A light perfume, not like the stuff Jessica Daniels must have poured over her entire body.

He handed the letters to Detective Bell. ”I just bet these are enough to put Andrews away for a very long time. You want to make sure the cops doing the case get them.”

Dix wanted to add If there is a tomorrow. But he didn't.

Bell took the letters, glanced at the top envelope and slipped them into his coat pocket.

”Can I get those back some time?” Barringer asked, looking slightly panicked. ”They're all I got left to remember her by.”

Bell nodded. ”Sure, you don't mention our little visit tonight and you'll get these back right after they slam the lockup on Andrews. Deal?”

Barringer frowned, then nodded. ”Deal.”

”Let's go,” Dix said to Bev. He headed out into the urine-smelling hall. It seemed darker than when they had come up, but more than likely that was just his mood.

They had less than an hour until everything was destroyed.

An hour and no leads.

No real chance of finding that gold ball that would save this world, and all the rest of the world and the people he loved.

Outside he moved up to the group of his people waiting for him on the sidewalk. None of them were talking. They all knew what failure meant. They were all dealing with the coming destruction and death in their own way.

Bev, Mr. Data, and Detective Bell joined them. ”What's next?” Bell asked.

Dix looked around at his people. He couldn't give up, not while there was even the slightest chance of finding that golden ball. It was their best and only hope, from everything he was being told.

”We go over it one more time,” Dix said, making up his mind to move.

Dix turned to Bell. ”Would you grill Andrews one more time, and make sure that the ball isn't in the evidence room, either in Andrews' things, or anything brought in from any of the boss arrests?”

”Good thinking,” Bell said, heading for his car. ”I'll call you if I have any luck.”

”Immediately,” Dix said.

Bell waved that he had heard and almost dove into his car. A moment later the big Dodge, spinning its tires on the wet pavement, turned and sped off downtown.

”Mr. Data,” Dix said, ”you and the rest except for Bev give Andrews' apartment one more going-over. Make sure there are no hidden safes or loose floorboards, then come back to my office as fast as you can.”

”Gotcha, boss,” Mr. Data said, turning and leading everyone down the street at a very fast walk.

”What are we going to do?” Bev asked.

”We're going back to my office,” Dix said. ”And see if there's anyone else who might have been on those stairs. Anyone we might have missed.”

He turned the collar of his coat up to keep the cold wind that had just kicked up from blowing on his neck and headed down the sidewalk.

Their steps echoed in the forever night, bouncing off the buildings, dying in the alleys. The wind cut at them, trying to hold them back, but there was still time, so nothing was going to stop him now.

There had to be something he had missed. He was not willing to fail.

”Anyone else have an office, or live in your building?” Bev asked after twenty steps.

Dix glanced at her and at the worried and tired look on her face. Clearly she wasn't giving up hope yet either.

”No,” Dix said. ”The building is almost condemned. The two other offices on my floor have been boarded up for as long as I have been there, and the apartments on the two floors above are also empty and unsafe to even go into. Floors rotted out.”

”So who owns the building?” Bev asked. ”Maybe the owner decided to come by.”

”I own it,” Dix said. He had never told anyone before, but the records of Dixon Hill showed that he had taken the old, condemned building in trade for a fee on a case a few years ago. He had fixed up the staircase and the one office on the second floor and boarded up all the rest.

”Oh,” Bev said. ”There's no owner to come by.”

”I'm afraid not,” Dix said.

Silence again ruled their walk.

The fog swirled past overhead, brus.h.i.+ng the tops of the buildings like a light hand polis.h.i.+ng fine works of art. In the distance a s.h.i.+p's horn blew, mournful and sad, echoing its lost-sounding cry through the night.

Dix, his collar up around his neck, his gaze focused ahead and on the details of this mystery, walked onward.

Bev stayed with him, at his side. He felt comfort with her there.

The seconds ticked past.

It was almost over.

Dixon Hill was going to fail for the first time on his biggest and most important case. And he wasn't going to just fail himself, but every friend and sleeping person behind the windows in the buildings they walked past, and everyone beyond this city.

He had failed. And failure was not something Dixon Hill took lightly.

Again the s.h.i.+p's foghorn echoed through the still city, crying for the night to end.

In less than an hour, Dixon Hill knew the end would come.

Section Two: No More Suspects It took Dix and Bev less than five minutes of hard walking through the cold night air to reach his office. On the way up, Dix stopped on the landing and stared up at the second floor, trying to imagine what someone would have thought coming around that corner and seeing the Adjuster and the golden Heart sitting there, with no one watching it.

What kind of person would then sneak up the stairs, take the gold ball, and leave?

Any thief would have sold it at once and the ball would have ended up with Redblock or Harvey Upstairs Benton or Benny the Banger. That hadn't happened, so it hadn't been a petty thief who had come up the stairs and run into the opportunity.

But then who?

Not Andrews, not Bell, not Barringer, it would seem. Dix was all out of suspects.

Yet someone had taken that golden ball from the Adjuster, thinking it was worth something.