A half-hour later, Ruby was up in her room, the TV on, watching some gymnast contort herself into impossible shapes, her limbs bending in such a way that she became the smallest thing and she began squeezing herself through smaller and smaller hoops. There was a knock at the door and Clancy Crew’s head peered round. He had a chequered hat pulled tight down over his hair, obscuring the side of his face. He looked odd, more like himself somehow.
‘Nice hat,’ said Ruby.
‘Hey Rube, Mrs Digby said to come up and see you – how are you—’ he stopped mid-sentence.
‘What?’ said Ruby.
‘Your face,’ he said, ‘I thought it was meant to be smooshed.’
‘Ah, this is make-up, Clance.’
‘I can see that!’ he said, his eyes steely. ‘Where have you been? Hanging out with some other friend, or maybe you’re going to some party, somewhere free from all the deadwood you used to call friends?’
‘Clance, what the Sam Hill are you talking about? I haven’t been anywhere, well I have, but it was me doing a good deed, trying to do the right thing for once—’
‘Don’t sweat it,’ said Clancy, ‘it’s not your style.’ He turned, walked out the door and down the stairs, his footsteps loud and angry-sounding.
‘Clance!’ she called. ‘Jeepers, what’s with you? Are you having some type of crisis?’ She wasn’t really up to chasing him down the street; her head was throbbing and she thought she might throw up if she moved too fast.
Instead she went and had a good long soak in the tub, and washed her face thoroughly. She could explain about the trip to Ada’s when he had calmed down. Geez, it was amazing the effect a little make-up could have – as far as Ruby could see it seemed to send sensible folks crazy.
RUBY HAD SPENT THE BEST PART OF THE NIGHT THINKING about the thing Ada had said about the photographs: it’s all there in the photograph if you care to look.
She had thought a lot about the whole big picture, willing the edges to come back into focus. She was thinking about the skywalker, the window thief, the robberies and – in particular – Mr Norgaard and his paperweight collection.
Ruby took the subway downtown to Spectrum and went to seek out Blacker. Then she set about pinning up every single photo taken at Norgaard’s place – not just her pictures of the desk but also the pictures taken by TCPD – and she was now sort of standing back there in the screenwriter’s virtual room, scanning it for clues.
‘What are you looking for?’ said Blacker.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby, ‘something I missed.’
She looked and looked, like she had all the time in the world. She scanned every part of every photograph, taking in the furniture, the drapes, the ornaments, the books, the lamps and the rugs. An hour or so later, it was a row of old photographs on the wall above the couch that she was most interested in – they were clearly taken many years ago. The picture she was particularly drawn to was of two men – one sitting behind a large desk looking at a script, the other standing behind him. It was a very posed photograph, the title of the script wasn’t in focus but there was no doubt it was a script.
The seated man in the suit and tie, she recognised as the producer and director George Katsel, ‘the Cat’, as Frederick Lutz had referred to him. The Cat that Got the Canary was but one of a whole list of Katsel’s box-office successes.
The other man, the one standing behind him, she was pretty sure must be Mr Norgaard senior, Mr Norgaard’s screenwriter father. But what really caught her eye was the round glass object on George Katsel’s desk. It was a paperweight containing a single yellow feather. She surveyed the other photographs and found another in which the paperweight appeared but this time it was shown on Norgaard senior’s desk, Mr Norgaard himself looking much older in this photo. George Katsel must have gifted it to him at some point, thought Ruby.
She looked at every picture she and the cops had taken very, very carefully, but in none of them did the yellow feather paperweight appear. It was no certainty, but she couldn’t help but feel this could be the missing item; stolen object number one.
‘You figured something out?’ said Blacker.
‘As a matter of fact, I think I just mighta, but I’m not a hundred per cent on it.’
‘OK, so tell me when you’re ready,’ said Blacker. There was a buzz from his watch. He checked it. ‘That’s kinda weird.’
Ruby looked up. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
Blacker showed her his watch. ‘A message from you.’
Ruby just stared. It said:
Xb8fnghsmKKshgg
‘Is this some kind of a test?’ Blacker asked.
‘I didn’t send it,’ said Ruby. ‘The thing is, I lost my watch. I think maybe someone found it.’
Blacker kind of winced.
‘OK,’ said Ruby. ‘I mean someone obviously found it, but it beats me who it could be.’
‘So where did you lose the watch?’
‘Somewhere 300 feet up in the air,’ said Ruby.
‘Sounds like a long story,’ said Blacker.
‘Kinda,’ said Ruby. ‘Look, if I start trying to figure out what the message means,’ she paused, looking him in the eye, ‘do you think there’s any chance you could buy me some time? Before you. . . you know.’
‘Report the watch activity?’
She nodded.
‘I’ll give you a head start,’ agreed Blacker, ‘but don’t leave it too long.’
Ruby smiled. Blacker was about as cool a partner as one could wish for and at that moment she felt pretty lucky.
‘Now you better head on home,’ said Blacker, waving her out the door, ‘catch you later.’
Ruby was almost at the elevator when Buzz called her back and handed her a note, which read:
Meet me at the Charles Burger, Hitch
Ruby knew the Charles Burger, an up-market burger grill place, with green leather banquette seating and polished wood tables. It was very Hitch somehow. She pushed in through the brass and glass door and found him sitting at a lamplit table towards the back of the room.
‘I got your message,’ said Ruby. ‘Are you still thinking of strangling me? It’s just if you are I might keep my distance.’
‘You’ve got enough problems kid,’ said Hitch. ‘I was thinking about what you said, about someone trying to kill you.’
‘At the Hauser Ink Building?’
‘Yes, when you were monkeying along that piece of cable.’
‘And?’
‘It couldn’t have been the guy you were chasing because, as you explained, the cable came loose from the other side. But it couldn’t have been an accident either – one of our guys took a look at the wire and it would appear that the steel was cut through with cable cutters. Took whoever did it a while, that stuff is strong – lucky for you – but it means they were determined.’
‘You’re saying someone was following me?’
‘I