The Investigator Left His Card Beside An Unfinished Pearl Tray

I didn't move toward the door.

"My landlord has a name," I said.

"Dorian Rusk."

"Then you know why I need to see identification."

Felix showed me his badge and agency card. I copied the main number, found it through the county directory, and called with him standing there.

He didn't seem hurt by that.

"You should do that every time," he said.

The office confirmed his name. Still, I kept the worktable between us.

"I'm asking about a woman named Mara Voss. She kept books for one of Rusk's companies. Her sister reported her missing this morning."

He showed me a picture of a woman with short brown hair and a tired smile.

"I haven't seen her."

"Has anyone brought you chips like these?"

He showed a second picture. Blue center. Six petals. Small rim cut.

Behind me, sixty-four fresh copies sat under a cloth.

"Do I have to answer?"

"This visit is voluntary. You can have a lawyer. I won't ask you to guess or fill gaps."

That was the first thing I liked about him. He didn't rush me or act as if wanting a lawyer meant I was guilty.

"I have an appointment Friday."

"Then keep it."

He put his card beside the covered tray.

"Don't destroy anything. Don't change your normal records. If someone threatens you, call."

"Would that actually help?"

He took a moment.

"I can't promise how another person will act. I can promise to write down what you tell me and act on what we can support."

After he left, I called the lawyer again. Her name was Elaine Ward. When I said financial crimes and named my landlord, she moved my appointment to noon.

I took my contract, both firing sheets, and the note about the driver.

"Did you know these were used for gambling?" she asked.

"Not when he walked in. I still don't know what they do."

"Then that's what you say. Nothing broader. Nothing prettier."

She read the crossed-out line and the replacement I'd written beneath it.

"Good," she said. "You kept a production record."

"He made it sound like a bad habit."

"People who want your silence often dislike your filing system."

With Elaine beside me, I called Felix. We arranged a meeting at her office. She advised me about my own position before I signed permission for them to inspect and photograph my records.

Felix brought another investigator, Tessa Lin. She listed every item she received. They took one witness tile and left a signed receipt. I kept the other samples where they had always been.

"The mark identifies a batch," I said. "It isn't a bank statement."

"Good distinction," Tessa said.

Felix asked what I could prove about the dates.

"Invoices. Firing sheets. Messages. My tax preparer gets the sheets when I bill."

"We'll ask her to preserve those," he said. "Through your lawyer."

Nobody called me brave. Nobody asked me to wear a wire.

Before I left, Felix asked whether I wanted the visit listed under my shop number or a private number for scheduling.

"Private," I said. "But no surprise calls about evidence. Elaine should be there."

He wrote the instruction at the top of his contact sheet and read it back. He didn't tell me that involving a lawyer would slow things down.

I had spent two days with a man who treated every limit as an insult. Watching someone simply accept one made my shoulders drop an inch.

Back at the shop, Rusk arrived for the second lot himself.

"A man visited you," he said.

"Several people did. It's a shop."

"The one with questions."

He picked up my shell and rolled it in his palm.

I had a sudden, sharp wish to break something expensive.

"Put that down."

He smiled and placed it near the edge of the counter.

"Government men love making artists feel useful. Then they leave them with the bill."

"You owe the second payment."

He watched me for a beat, then wrote the check.

I made him sign for sixteen blue chips and forty-eight pearl. Batch ZC-611-B. When his pen stopped above the batch line, I said it was inventory control.

"Such a serious little factory," he said.

He carried the box away.

That evening, Felix called through Elaine, as we'd agreed. He wanted permission to bring a reference chip the next day. I said yes.

He arrived at ten with Tessa and a sealed bag. Before they opened it, Tessa recorded the seal number.

"No touching until we explain," Felix said.

"You sound like me with collectors."

"My collectors usually have subpoenas."

I laughed before I meant to. His mouth lifted a little, then settled.

Under my inspection light, the bagged blue chip shone with the mark from my first batch.

"Where did that come from?" I asked.

Before he could answer, Elaine called. Her voice was tight.

"Mara Voss has reached a lawyer. She's alive. She says Rusk paid her with your work."