Last Violent Call (Secret Shanghai, #3.5)(53)
As naturally as he could, Marshall took a step toward the drawer, peering inside. Benedikt caught the exact moment Marshall saw it too: the smallest smattering of powder at the lower left corner. Anyone else might have mistaken it for dust. But Benedikt and Marshall hadn’t grown up in one of Shanghai’s most infamous gangs to make the same error.
Someone had been storing illicit drugs here.
* * *
Benedikt tossed the blanket forward, letting it flop onto Marshall’s head. There were still a few stragglers who remained in the dining carriage, finishing their soup or taking their tea, so he switched to Chinese to avoid being understood.
“Dearest treasure of mine, we are supposed to be staying awake.”
Marshall only groaned in response, letting the blanket stay over his head as he leaned up against the window and rested on the glass. Their investigation felt like it had been rewound and reset. Vodin had given them another twenty-four hours, seeing that something seemed to have pressed on the killer’s nerve, though heavens knew what. They needed to get the officer a viable hypothesis soon so that he would allow the train to keep riding for the investigation. If they floundered too evidently, Vodin would bring in the police by tomorrow’s nightfall.
Lev had gone to sleep. Marshall and Benedikt had assured him that the investigation wouldn’t resume until tomorrow morning. In reality, they just needed as few people as possible knowing what they were about to get up to.
“The sweet endearment offers only the most infinitesimal reprieve to my poor eyes, which are dragging closed and heavier than stone, heavier than the heaviest substance known to mankind—”
Benedikt yanked the blanket off. He should have known better than to have tossed it forward to begin with, because of course Marshall would use it as a prop in his melodrama. He needed to take a different approach.
“You know”—Benedikt faked a sigh, folding the blanket carefully—“if you’re tired, I can do this stakeout alone. It cannot be that hard to watch for movement throughout the night, and I can fend for myself if anything goes wrong….”
Marshall’s eyes flew open, his spine straightening. “I am not tired. Who told you that? Malicious slander and lies.”
Immediately, Benedikt switched his countenance, thwacking a hand onto Marshall’s shoulder. “All right, then. Look lively.”
* * *
The last passenger didn’t leave the dining carriage until well past midnight. Half an hour later, the last attendant finished wiping down the tables and also took his leave.
Benedikt turned his newspaper page, barely taking in the words. Marshall, meanwhile, leaned on Benedikt’s arm with a thump. The stakeout had to be tonight; by tomorrow, news would surely start to travel about the empty room and the paint bucket, tipping the killer off about the discovery. Before the killer realized that Marshall and Benedikt were onto the empty room, the two investigators were watching for movement in and out—either to confirm a stowaway or to eliminate the possibility and figure out if someone on board had merely gotten access. Besides, if there were a stowaway, surely they could not hide for more than a few hours at a time, especially if they didn’t know that Benedikt and Marshall hovered nearby in anticipation.
In about ten minutes they would turn off the lights, then prop open the door into the nearest carriage and wait in the dark. If the killer decided to visit that room again, they would see.
Benedikt turned another page with his left hand, keeping his right arm still for Marshall. The chandelier over the bar flickered, as if it could sense that it was soon time to blink out.
“Do you think the syringe was for the same substance stored in that drawer?” Marshall asked suddenly. “Someone could be carrying both powder and liquid forms.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Benedikt replied. “Maybe Popov was involved in a deal gone wrong.”
Marshall made a thoughtful noise. “He seems more the businessman type than the criminal type.”
“You never know.”
“I suppose so.”
By his tone, Marshall did not sound convinced. Benedikt wasn’t too persuaded by his own words, in all honesty. There wasn’t enough to work with. They had a dead body and a syringe at the crime scene. A threatening message on the mirror and a trail leading into an empty room that had previously held illicit substances. It gave Benedikt the feeling of holding two puzzle pieces that were supposed to slot together perfectly, only to find that the edges were disfigured and discolored. Where had the drugs gone? Why was the needle missing the rest of its syringe?
Benedikt sighed. Hearing the sound, Marshall draped an arm over him, the motion firm. The physical warmth of fondness burned into Benedikt’s heart at the gesture. A warm circuitry, spreading inside his whole body.
“Are you ready to sit in the dark?” Benedikt asked.
Marshall groaned.
* * *
“Ben?”
“Yes, Mars?”
“What if the killer is a ghost?”
“… Did you snort something?”
“No, think about it. If monsters exist, what is stopping the undead from rising and moving around without us seeing them—”
* * *
“Ben?”
“Mm-hmm?”