The Detective Came To My Shop With An Empty Evidence Bag

I let Dorian's call go to voicemail.

"Bird lady," he said. "Forgot to mention something. Don't throw out that rail. My people are funny about waste."

He sounded amused. I played it for the detective when he arrived forty minutes later.

Rafael Ibarra wore a plain shirt with the sleeves rolled once. He had close-cut black hair and dark eyes. He told me he was thirty-three, Mexican American, born in Fresno, and had worked missing persons for four years.

"You came alone?" I asked.

"Another officer is outside. Would you like her in here?"

"Yes."

He opened the door without asking why.

That was the first thing I liked about him.

The officer stood near my front window while Rafael looked at the parts box. He didn't reach into it.

"Start with the phone call that brought you to the club."

I showed him the work order, the rail pictures, and my copy report. I gave him the times from my phone instead of guessing.

"The number string is called a hash," he said. "Matching values help show that your copy matches what you read. Our examiner will check it, too."

"Did I ruin it by looking?"

"You kept the original. You wrote down what you did. We'll document the rest."

He watched the copied file without speaking.

When Nessa braced her foot, his jaw moved once.

"Her sister said she would never leave without calling," he said.

"People didn't believe her?"

"Some people wanted a simpler answer."

He asked to see the cabinet.

I showed him the lock and the red tag. The copper practice loop lay on top, its open ends pointing toward the ceiling.

"You heat that cabinet?"

"For some glass work. It hasn't been on this week. I logged the temperature before I put the bag inside."

"Good. Let's leave it off."

He photographed the cabinet, the seal, and my written notes. Then I unlocked it. He read my signature across the bag before placing the whole thing inside his evidence bag.

He gave me a receipt with a case number and the recorder's description.

"Read it," he said.

"You think I don't read things?"

For the first time, he smiled.

"I think you do."

The receipt said one recorder containing one memory card. It listed the torn rail separately. I kept my copy report and a copy of the work order. He asked me to keep all files private and tell him about any contact from Dorian.

"What about the woman?"

"We have officers checking the Blue Hour. We're seeking authority to search the closed areas. I can't promise what we'll find."

He didn't promise me safety, either. He helped me make a plan for getting home, for my mother, and for anyone coming to the shop.

"Ibarra," I said while he wrote his number on the receipt. "My neighbor has that name."

"Common enough. My family came here from Mexico before I was born. My mother still checks whether I ate."

"Mine checks whether I ate enough."

He glanced at my untouched dinner container.

"She might have a case."

After he left, I ate cold noodles while sitting beside the front door. The empty cabinet seemed louder than the fan.

I put the evidence receipt in a clear sleeve. Usually that drawer held supply orders and tax forms. Now it held the only paper telling me where a woman's stolen days had gone.

I checked the case number against Rafael's card, one digit at a time. Then I made a second copy for my lawyer, though I didn't have a lawyer yet.

Dorian called again at eight.

I put him on speaker and took notes on paper. I did not record him.

"I need the Blue Hour sign fixed tomorrow," he said. "Urgent. Same little bird, different cage."

My fork stopped halfway to the container.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Rear entrance is dark. My insurance fellow hates that. Get there at ten. I'll approve $920."

"Send the order by email."

"You always need a permission slip?"

"For $920, yes."

His laugh went flat at the end.

The email arrived six minutes later. It gave me access to the rear service hall and told the manager to open it for me.

I forwarded it to Rafael.

He called instead of writing back.

"Don't go there tonight."

"I wasn't planning to."

"Good. We'll talk before morning. You don't owe us a visit inside that building."

I looked at the copper loop beside my vise.

"He keeps giving me doors to walk through."

"And you can leave them closed."

The next morning, a man in a dark vest stood outside my shop before I unlocked it. He held an envelope against his chest.

"From Mr. Krell," he said.

Inside was a demand for every item removed from the Lantern Room, including metal, wiring, packing, and any device found inside them.

Across the bottom, someone had written: RETURN BY NOON.