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The ringing of the phone startled me from my reverie. It was another urgent call from Gumshoe. "Gask," he said, "It's Milton. He's been released already. Long gone by the time I got there." "How so?" I demanded, "I thought they were keeping him in for psychiatric evaluation?" Gumshoe's derisive snort was clearly audible over the phone. "They got lazy, maybe," he replied gruffly, "Couldn't be bothered with the paperwork. So they just charged him with drunk and disorderly behaviour." "But how did he get out of the cooler?" I insisted. "Somebody made his bail," Gumshoe said, "According to Jaz, one of the slime-ball sharks from those law practices that represent known criminals turned up clutching a bail bond. Twenty thousand dollars." I wondered where Milton came up with that kind of cash. More importantly, who would find the money to get a drunk with verbal diarrhoea out of the cells. "Go on," I growled, already suspecting the worst. Gumshoe told me that the lawyer was accompanied by another man, tall and powerfully built, expensively if understatedly dressed; one who affected a military bearing, spoke not at all and, most tellingly, had long blond hair. "Rigg," I breathed, "The bastard!" "He certainly matches the description," Gumshoe agreed. And it told me where the bail money came from, too. The blond man was apparently greeted warmly by Milton, although his effusive greeting was cut short by a curt hand gesture for silence. After that, Milton waited meekly while the paperwork was sorted out, then was briskly guided by the lawyer out of the building followed by the blond man. The last anyone saw was Milton being driven off in a large but anonymous-looking car. "Can you track him down?" I asked. "I can try, sure. Jaz has a few ideas, and he seems curious enough to give me a hand - and a ride in his cruiser. You stay put and I'll call you again when I have any news." After I hung up on Gumshoe, I slumped in my broken-down old swivel chair and wondered exactly what it was that Milton knew about Goblins. The authorities in both worlds work very hard to make sure the existence of the Lower Realms is known only to a few. It sounded like Milton had picked up a few snippets, somehow, but did not really understand the whole truth of the matter. I got up and strode across the office, thumping my hand on the filing cabinet in frustration. What was the connection between the drunk and Rigg? Was there also a link to that old reprobate Garrick? Or to Nether’s activities, or Trinity’s? There were pieces missing, pieces that Milton might be able to provide – or at least direct me to a snippet or two. I had been pacing the already worn and grubby carpet in my office when I got a second call from Gumshoe. It was bad news - worse news, even. Milton had been found, shot at close range, in the back seat of what was probably the very car that had been used to collect him from the safely of the police station. The car itself was a wreck, having somehow managed to fail to crash through the barriers that separated the road from the dock; the vehicle was probably intended to have disappeared into deep water and not found for a long time. All this Gumshoe had picked up by listening to the police radio. The call had come in while he and Jaz were investigating one of several dives and low-life watering-holes apparently frequented by Milton. It seemed that Gumshoe was not the only one with contacts in the NYPD; there was another who was prepared to kill to keep a secret. This looked like a panic reaction, especially when much easier and less terminal methods - magical methods, of course - are available for dealing with incidents which risk the general exposure of the Lower Realms to the surface population. "They must be getting desperate," I told Gumshoe, after he had related the details, "Or maybe we are getting close to something." I didn't add, although it doesn't feel like it at the moment. Gumshoe's grunt of acknowledgment suggested he thought much the same. But I had another concern, a more immediate one. "Look, there's one other person who has already demonstrated that she could remember enough to identify suggestive detail," I said urgently, "Rosie's life is in danger." Gumshoe got the message without further prompting. "We've got to get over to Chill's bar right away."
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Part 59