Ghost of a Chance

Alex put the paper aside and went to the cupboard for plates and silverware.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say the victims weren’t killed by a ghost,” Alex said, fighting not to grin.

“Please,” Iggy said in a wounded tone as he set out the bread and butter. “Don’t indulge childish fantasy at my dinner table.”

“If the details in the story are correct, the victims were all found alone in locked rooms,” Alex said. “The police had to break in each time.”

“What does that tell you?”

“Locked rooms mean suicide,” Alex said with a shrug.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“According to the story, the victims were all stabbed twice in the chest,” Alex said, filling two glasses with water. “I can’t imagine someone killing themselves that way, let alone three people. Most people just turn on the gas and stick their head in the oven.”

“A graphic, but accurate description,” Iggy said, setting a tureen of stew on the table. “What about the absence of a murder weapon? Wouldn’t that indicate that someone else was there?”

Alex nodded as they both sat down. He waited until Iggy said grace before continuing.

“Well, you’ve always said that if you remove the impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth,” Alex said. “If there’s two stab wounds and no weapon, it has to be murder. Someone is managing to get into and out of those locked rooms.”

“How?” Iggy asked, serving the stew. “Are there secret passages?”

“No,” Alex said. “Two of the murders were in upscale homes, but one was in an outer ring tenement house. Besides, the police would have checked for that; they’re not idiots.”

“Then how is our murderer doing it?”

Alex thought about that while he ate. There were only so many ways a crime like this could have been committed, and without examining the rooms in question, it was hard to draw a conclusion.

“A runewright could do it with an escape rune,” he said at last.

Iggy thought about that for a few moments, then shrugged.

“It’s possible,” he admitted. “But that seems like a long way to go for something as easy as murder. The killer would be shaving months off his own life every time he used a rune to escape the locked room. Not to mention the cost.”

Alex nodded. Escape runes could cost over a hundred dollars when you factored in the exotic inks.

“That would make these murders the most expensive in history,” he said. “In dollars and life.”

They passed ideas back and forth for another half-hour while they ate, but nothing felt right. In the end, Alex suggested that the tabloid had probably got the details wrong and these were three unrelated suicides.

“That paper needs to go out of business,” Iggy said at last. “I hope the mayor’s wife takes them down.”

“Who?” Alex asked as he began clearing the table.

“The mayor’s wife is suing The Midnight Sun,” Iggy explained, lighting a cigar as he watched Alex. According to their arrangement, Iggy did the cooking and Alex did the washing up.

“Why?”

“They’ve been out to get her for months,” Iggy explained, puffing out a cloud of aromatic smoke. “You can’t open that rag without reading something salacious about her.”

Alex hadn’t known that, but he didn’t even know who the mayor actually was, to say nothing of his wife.

“Well,” Iggy said, rising, “I believe I’m going to the library to read for a few hours. Come join me when you’re done.”

That actually sounded like a great idea. Alex hadn’t had time for pleasure reading in weeks.

“Sorry, Iggy,” he said as he scrubbed his plate. “I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“Oh well,” Iggy said, heading off toward the library. “Suit yourself.”

* * *

It was eight o’clock when Alex finally got upstairs to his room. The room, like most of Alex’s life, was plain and simple. A metal framed bed stuck out from the back wall, flanked on either side by an end table, one empty and the other bearing an alarm clock, a telephone, a shot glass, and a mostly-empty bottle of bourbon. A dresser and a desk stood against one wall, one on either side of a large window. The opposite wall had two doors, one to his clothes closet and the other to a tiny bathroom complete with a stand-up shower. A comfortable reading chair stood alone with a small table next to it with a plain, brass lamp on it.

He took off his coat and poured himself a shot of bourbon from the bottle on his bedside table. His telephone sat right next to the bottle, but he studiously avoided looking at it.

After ten minutes and another shot of the bourbon, he finally pulled his red rune book out of his jacket and sat on his bed. He turned to the back of the book, just inside the back cover, where a pouch had been sewn. Inside, Alex kept business cards and anything important he might need with him.

He pulled a crisp, white card with sky blue printing on it out of the pouch. There were only two words on the card, along with a phone number.

Sorsha Kincaid.