In Plain Sight

None of this was very useful on its own, but with the right light source…

He reached into his bag and pulled out his multi-lamp. This looked like a small, ornate version of the kind of lantern train switchmen used in rail yards. It had an egg-shaped body with four crystal lenses set in it at regular intervals. Three of the crystals were covered with leather caps so the light within could only shine out of the one, uncovered lens.

Opening the front of the lamp revealed a frame with metal clamps affixed to the bottom. Alex selected a burner from the valise with the word silver written on it. The burner was basically a reservoir that held a very specific kind of oil, with a wick attached to the top. Clipping it into place in the lamp, he lit the wick with a match and it began to glow with a bright, white light. He felt the runes in the lantern as they activated, like the one on the strongbox in his office.

Alex closed the lamp, adjusted his oculus, then began sweeping the room with the lantern. Silverlight was made by mixing an alchemical compound of colloidal silver with various accelerants and then burning it. The rune-inscribed lens in the lamp focused the light and the ones in the oculus made it visible, revealing the little apartment in black and white, like a photographic negative.

The real magic of Silverlight, was that it revealed otherwise hard to see things, like fingerprints, blood, sweat, and other biological fluids. These lit up like neon when exposed to Silverlight.

Alex swept the lantern over the corpse in the chair. There wasn’t much to see since most of the evidence had been burned away, but he liked to be thorough. He shifted his gaze to the floor, then moved around the room, away from the corpse in widening circles. Once he checked the entire room, he moved to the bedroom, then switched the burner in the lamp to Ghostlight. Ghostlight burned a bright green and revealed magical residue and anything supernatural. Finally, Alex put out his lamp and returned it to the case, then stripped off the oculus.

“Well, I know why the fire died out early,” he said to Danny. “Whoever killed him used the booze to get the fire going, but didn’t use enough. It burned too quickly and the fire didn’t have enough heat built up to keep going.” Alex stepped over to the recliner and squatted down, pointing at the carpet. “They were messy when they doused him. You can smell some of the alcohol right here.”

“Mark that,” Callahan said to Danny, who tore a page from his notebook and set it on the rug.

“Then there’s some blood spatter here,” Alex said, chalking a circle on the floor near the middle of the room.

“Speak English, scribbler,” one of the uniforms growled as Alex shooed him away from the spot he was chalking. He had a sour face and the look of a man who’d rather be somewhere else.

Alex rolled his eyes and Danny grinned. Danny had asked this question before and already knew the answer.

“Have you ever seen someone flick a brush full of paint?” Danny asked the officer.

“Sure.”

“Well it’s like that. When blood falls on something, it forms dots, but when it’s thrown, the dots form little streaks.”

“So, what does that mean?” the sour-faced officer asked.

“It means,” Callahan interjected, “that someone was hit hard enough to bleed, and the blood spattered.”

Alex nodded. “My guess? It was whomever was tied to that chair.” He indicated the lone chair at the kitchen table. “There are scratches on the floor here,” he pointed to the barely distinguishable marks. “They should fit the pattern of the legs.”

“So you’re thinking Mr. Pemberton here was tied up and beaten before he was set on fire,” Danny said.

Alex nodded.

“Or,” Callahan said, “he might have cut himself any number of ways and put that chair there to change the light bulb in the ceiling. If you’re right, the question is why someone would do this to him?” He turned to one of the uniforms. “What did your canvass turn up on our victim?”

The officer flipped through his book and read. “Jerry Pemberton, age forty-two, lived alone, regular habits.”

“Did he smoke?” the Lieutenant asked, looking meaningfully at Alex.

“Don’t know,” the officer said. “And no one seems to know what he did for a living.”

“He was a customs inspector for the port authority,” Alex supplied. “He worked in a secure warehouse down at the Aerodrome.”

Callahan looked confused and Danny’s mouth dropped open like a fish.

“How?” he said. Alex pointed to a wooden plaque hanging above the ruin of the recliner.

“It’s an award for ten years of service.”

“You sure this guy was roughed up before he was killed?” Callahan’s face had gone from mild disgust to intense concentration, and his voice was hard and flat. Alex shrugged.

“Pretty sure, though there is one way to be certain.”

“Let me guess, one of your expensive runes?” The Lieutenant’s lip curled into a sneer.