Ghost of a Chance

The lot beyond the dock was paved and enclosed by a high fence. It was large enough to accommodate parking for several trucks. One bearing the name Barton Electric on the door was parked up against the fence on the far side. To the left was an opening big enough for a truck to exit that led out to the street.

“Did your security guard report seeing anyone loitering around in the days leading up to the theft?”

Jimmy shook his head.

“No. We sometimes have to run drunks or vagrants out, so he checks when he goes by. But he didn’t see nobody.”

Alex thanked him, and Jimmy returned to overseeing the building of Barton’s replacement motor. Alex stood on the dock for five minutes before he crossed to the other side and knocked on the open door of the little shack.

“Yes?” Bill Gustavsen said, looking up from his desk. He was older, in his fifties if Alex had to guess, with white hair and a skinny frame. He wore trousers and a white shirt with a tie. His sleeves were rolled up and held in place by garters with his suit coat draped over the back of his chair in the August heat.

Alex introduced himself, and explained why he was there.

“I don’t know what more I can tell you,” Gustavsen said. “I was in here signing out the truck to the driver when it just drove away. It was the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I was outside for quite a while,” Alex said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the dock. “I didn’t see your security guard come by at all.”

Gustavsen chuckled at that.

“No more deliveries are due today,” he said. “The guard only patrols when we’re working here at the dock. Otherwise he comes by every half-hour.”

“How often do shipments go out of here?”

“Out?” Gustavsen said. “Every other day or so. We ship out receivers for wireless power along with replacement parts for the Etherium Capacitors and anything else Mr. Barton might need.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough work for a full-time dock manager?”

Gustavsen bristled at that.

“Shows what you know,” he said. “We get deliveries every single day. It’s my job to inspect everything, inventory it, and make sure it’s stored properly. I also make sure all our outgoing shipments are right.” He puffed up like a toad and thumped his chest. “In the twenty years I’ve been here, there’s never been a bum shipment… not until the motor was stolen.”

Alex asked him who knew about the shipments in advance, and he gave the same answers Jimmy had.

“Is that the truck that was taken?” Alex asked, pointing to the lone vehicle in the lot.

“No,” Gustavsen said. “That’s the spare. The police have been looking for the truck, but it’s still missing too.”

Alex wondered if there were any way to use the finding rune on the missing truck and find the motor that way. Unfortunately he’d need something connected to the truck and everything that fit that bill was likely to be on the truck itself.

“What about the driver?” he asked. “Does he usually drive the missing truck?”

“No,” Gustavsen said. “We have a contract with the Teamsters. They provide our drivers.”

Foiled, Alex thanked Gustavsen and descended the stairs to the paved dock. He walked up to the opening in the fence and looked both ways.

The lot emptied onto a side street that ran between the factory and a clothing mill next door. There wasn’t a good vantage point to watch the loading dock from anywhere on the street, no place that the security guard wouldn’t have seen.

There was a narrow alley between the mill and whatever was behind it. Alex crossed the street and peered down the space. It ran along the mill until it intercepted the next side street. Boxes and crates were stacked behind some of the buildings on the opposite side and trash was strewn along the ground.

Alex examined the ground around the entrance, looking for signs of surveillance. If anyone had been watching the Barton Electric loading dock, they cleaned up after themselves. There were no cigarette butts or apple cores to be found.

He was about to leave, but suddenly wondered, What if the surveillance might have been a team? The crates just up the alley would be a perfect place to sit while your partner watches the dock.

He walked down the alley to the crates and examined the ground but found nothing tell-tale there either. Cursing, he straightened up and shook his head. At this rate he’d never find Barton’s motor, and that meant he couldn’t pay for Leslie’s trip upstate. He had a feeling that the widow Watson wouldn’t want to pay either if he didn’t find the ghost.

Turning back to the street, Alex wished he had found some cigarette butts; after all, one of them might be long enough to smoke.

He was chuckling grimly at his own dire circumstances when a shot rang out and a bullet slammed into his back. It hit him on the lower right side, near the kidney and the sudden impact caused him to stumble.