Ch.48Ch.5 – The Dead City Dreams and Waits (3)

“Um, could you make a call to Josh for me?”

“Me? What about your phone?”

“It’s a bit of a security matter.”

“Ha.”

Margaret bared her teeth in a smile.

“So now you’re dragging me into your detective games, tenant? That’s not even remotely amusing.”

“It’s because of this gentleman here. Come forward… his name is Bond. James Bond.”

James Cheadle stared at Crayfield with bewildered eyes, but before he could say anything, Crayfield cut him off.

“He came to this island at the request of his old friend’s sister, but the police aren’t cooperating at all. Ma’am, you must have heard about the fire incident. It seems one of his friends is among the missing persons.”

“And?”

Margaret’s eyes narrowed, but her hands stopped moving. A sign that she was interested.

“Hasn’t Josh mentioned anything? About how the police are trying to bury the case? Under the name of a mafia conflict, that is. But were all those people really mafia?”

“Oh, Crayfield. Have you suddenly developed a sense of humanity? Or perhaps you had a lover hidden there?”

“How could that be?”

Crayfield shrugged his shoulders.

“But you know, Mrs. Margaret. What if there’s even a one-in-a-million chance that an innocent person was involved? Please listen to this gentleman’s story for a moment. His friend was an excellent beer brewer…”

Blah blah blah. And so on and so forth.

Crayfield adapted the story James Cheadle had told him about Karl Böhm and his daughter. Karl became a brother, the daughter a sister. James went from son-in-law to friend.

Although it was supposedly a measure to protect the client’s identity, such alterations didn’t sit well with me.

But it was also a necessary precaution to avoid any potential wiretapping.

This matter involved the police and city hall, and the telephone operators were ultimately city employees.

Moreover, with Federal Security Bureau agents openly observing mafia members on the streets, we couldn’t carelessly call Josh.

But at least a call from his wife’s pharmacy would avoid suspicion.

The key was convincing Margaret, and Crayfield, who had penetrated the tender-hearted girl within the lady, decided to take a direct approach.

A method appealing to emotion and empathy. And surprisingly, it seemed to be working well.

Mrs. Margaret Graham listened with her chin resting on the medicine table, then folded her arms with interest, and eventually even dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Such a heartbreaking story. Oh my. Poor man.”

The lady now even blew her nose with a sniff.

“Why is everyone so unfortunate?

The missed connection between a brother who couldn’t properly express his feelings and a sister who realized the importance of family too late…

Don’t worry, Bond. Just a moment. The telephone…

Josh! You dimwit! I told you not to answer the phone so weakly!

I have something to discuss privately, so call me back within five minutes! And don’t call from where your stupid subordinates can hear!”

True to her word, the telephone rang in less than four minutes. Of course, Crayfield was the one who answered this time.

“Oh, Josh, my dear friend! No, Josh, don’t be angry. I’m envious. With such a beautiful and kind wife…

Yes, she’s right here. No, no. Just a moment, Josh. I’m calling about the fire incident.

You know it stinks. Anything about the missing persons case? The chief acted like he was going to do something about it.

Yes. Yes. I understand. Thank you, Josh. I’ll treat you to a meal sometime! Oh, he hung up.”

“What did he say?”

Mrs. Margaret widened her eyes like a general waiting for a report.

“He says no official report has been filed. Chief Chase hasn’t even ordered an investigation. It seems all his talk about taking stern measures was just empty words.”

“Everything’s corrupt.”

Margaret slammed her hand on the table.

“The police, city hall, from top to bottom, all corrupt. Honestly, I wish Josh would quit the force.

But that man just muddles along, trying to keep his position somehow! He’s no different from a stubborn turtle.

Whenever someone says something, he just tucks his head into his shell and endures.

What was he like at work, Crayfield?”

“Oh, Josh? A tiger.”

Crayfield answered proudly.

“But there’s no officer as honest as Josh. A proud American civil servant, I tell you.”

“Nonsense.”

Though she said that, Mrs. Margaret was clearly pleased.

When we left the pharmacy, she even gave us a small ampoule bottle with low-proof alcohol—no, a sedative.

“Bond, you said?”

James Cheadle asked incredulously, but Crayfield pointed to the parking lot behind the building instead of answering.

“Get in. We have many places to visit before you need to go to work. Do you have a weapon?”

“No. The vigilante group only gave me something like a skewer. A stick with a hook that might be used to open high-mounted lanterns from the gas lamp era.”

“Assistant. Sorry, but if you open the desk in the office, there’s a spare revolver. Bring one for him. I’ll charge extra for the bullets, so don’t hesitate to shoot, Mr. Cheadle.”

“Where exactly are we going?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Crayfield flung open the car door.

“Since the mafia guys caused trouble, we need to go to their den.”

“Interesting.”

A youthful voice came from the end of the alley. A voice both Crayfield and I knew.

Reddish-tinged blonde hair, a bob cut with an oblique part, large upturned eyes, and a body taut as a bowstring.

“Agent Scully?”

“Who?”

Cheadle looked at the Federal Security Bureau agent with confused eyes. Scully presented her credentials.

“Federal Security Bureau Special Agent Katherine Scully. Badge number 85224. You seemed to be having a very interesting conversation in the pharmacy.”

“I didn’t know you had a habit of eavesdropping, Agent Scully.”

“The lady’s voice was quite loud.”

Scully tilted her head slightly. Her face was full of smiles, but a shadow remained.

“A mafia den. Interesting. If you don’t mind, let’s go together. I have business there too.

And if possible, wouldn’t a Federal Security Bureau badge be better than a private detective going alone?”

“I do mind.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Henry Payne isn’t here. I heard he was quite rude to you?

He’s probably searching somewhere between New Bedford and Kingsport by now. You won’t see him for a while.”

Crayfield gave a hollow laugh.

“Well, Agent. I’m flattered you came all this way because you’re smitten with my face, but I’m too busy for romance.”

“How sad. But what can I do? I’m more interested in another man.”

“I’m jealous. How handsome must he be?”

Instead of answering, Scully sat down in the passenger seat. Just as Crayfield was about to protest, she pulled out a photograph from her inside pocket.

It was a picture of an officer. His face was strangely familiar. Definitely a man I’d never seen before, yet…

“He looks familiar.”

Crayfield handed the photo back.

“He would. He resembles Giovanni Savio, doesn’t he? Though his appearance takes more after his wife.”

“Who?”

“Michael Savio. Aurora Savio’s brother and the third child of the Savio family. A current officer. The White Hand is trying to pull him back into the family.

He’s still in uniform, but just three days ago, there’s a record of him receiving financial counseling about how much pension and retirement money he could get if he discontinued his military service.

A sign that he’s considering discharge, wouldn’t you say?”

“So, you’re saying you’re attracted to this underworld type. Well, there’s often a subtle emotional current between heaven’s angels and cave beasts.”

“As an infidelity specialist detective, your perspective is quite unique. Emotional currents. Yes, that’s very important. And since we’re talking about beasts.”

For a moment, I couldn’t shake the impression that Scully briefly looked at me. But it was only for an instant. Scully produced a second photograph.

“The gentleman with you. What did you say your name was?”

“James…”

“Cheadle. James Cheadle. Member of the city vigilante group. Haven’t been here long.”

Cheadle identified himself before Crayfield could interject. Scully shook his hand with a bright smile.

“That works out well. But why are a city vigilante and a private detective looking to visit the mafia? It doesn’t seem like an official investigation, so it must be a personal request.

Don’t glare at me like that, Crayfield. I have no intention of interfering with your work.”

But neither I nor Crayfield could believe that.

“Ah, so that’s why you popped out of the alley as if you’d been waiting, Agent Scully?

I thought only Henry Payne was a voyeur, but you’re even worse.”

“Let’s be precise, Mr. Crayfield.”

Scully raised an eyebrow.

“First, I’ve never followed you. I was on my way to find you and your assistant.

Second, while a private detective’s work is important, it cannot take precedence over legitimate law enforcement.

Third, a document will be sent to the city police and vigilante group today. And a newspaper notice will go out tomorrow.

Specifically, I’ll give you three an early opportunity to earn three hundred dollars. Interested?”

Crayfield’s face wasn’t pleased, but there was no benefit in crossing the Federal Security Bureau.

“Fine. Fine. What is it?”

“Take a look at this photo.”

It was a statue.

With measurements marked on the sides and bottom, its size was easy to determine. About 18cm tall and 10cm wide.

It had a short-limbed, pot-bellied body like those painted on Chinese wine bottles, but the head wasn’t human.

Instead of a head, it had something like an octopus, though it seemed to have more than the eight legs an octopus would have.

The body was covered in scales, and something like bat wings was attached to its back.

There were characters inscribed on the chair it sat upon, but whether due to poor image quality or weathering over time, they couldn’t be clearly made out.

They definitely weren’t English, though.

“What on earth is this? It’s truly grotesque. What is it?”

Cheadle turned away in disgust. Scully answered calmly.

“The vigilante group will probably receive a document today or tomorrow. The police have likely already received it.

If you see a statue of this type, please report it to the nearest police station immediately.

There’s a reward for reporting. Three hundred dollars if it proves genuine. The Federal Security Bureau will pay the full amount in cash.”

“So what exactly is this that warrants such measures?”

“It’s a symbol of a criminal organization, Mr. Cheadle. At least that’s how we see it. Though it also has religious ceremonial characteristics.

It could be a heretical religion, or possibly something strange combined with indigenous beliefs.

Either way, what’s important is that similar types of violent crimes have been discovered wherever ‘this’ is found.

These statues are being discovered throughout Massachusetts, and each site was a scene of a terrible incident.

And the pattern always starts the same way. Arson. Disappearances. Murder. This is organized crime.

Yes, exactly like the fire incident on Pollard Island.”

“My God.”

Cheadle wiped his mouth. Now he seemed to understand what kind of threat he was exposed to.

Meanwhile, Crayfield’s face grew increasingly dark.

“A statue.”

“Yes. A statue.”

Crayfield said nothing more. Instead, he started the car.

“Let’s go, ladies and gentlemen. I’ll get you there safely. Agent Scully, please take care of your own life.”

“Don’t worry.”

Scully closed the car door with a smile. James Cheadle also got in the car, but Crayfield quickly came over to me and whispered.

“Assistant. I’m certain. This is a Cthulhu statue. This case won’t be easy.”