CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

 

 

The afternoon slipped away. Henry felt the weight of time as if each grain in the hourglass were piling upon his shoulder. The wait was almost unbearable. He wondered if DA Mark McKinley would be on time. He suspected he might be early, but, with it already being 10:45 pm, that ship was almost out of the harbor. He sat with his feet up on the desk. His left hand mindlessly tapped a well-chewed Dixon Ticonderoga against the edge of the open drawer.

The drawer was the second one down on the left side of the desk. It wasn't open very far, just far enough that he could see his revolver lying there, waiting to be called upon if needed. The gun didn't seem at all concerned with the passage of time or the stakes of the gamble Henry was taking. It had just one job. It knew it and would do it when called upon, end of story.

Slowly, tap, tap, tapped the pencil. Henry listened to it and to the sound of traffic outside. The window was shut, but a city like New York didn't let itself be muffled by a lousy window. The familiar wail of 'Taxi,' the splashing of puddles, and the honking of horns all shouted that the Big Apple was alive and well and was going about its business. The city marched to its own beat of time as it had for longer than Henry had been there and as it would long after he was gone.

10:46 pm. Henry thought about the closet. He wondered where it went to, its relationship to time. The last clues, which he hadn't had time to truly study, puzzled him. He thought about why he hadn't had time to study the bevy of tools and how Mike was still lying in a hospital, broken. He thought about the little girl willing him back to health.

The pencil paused. Was someone coming down the hall? He listened, then heard the muted banging of a door somewhere near the other end of the hall closing and the faint metal clicking of the lock being turned. The footsteps walked away, and only the city noises remained. Tap, tap, tap. The pencil found the same measure of time, and Henry settled back into waiting.

Winston stood in a doorway down from the office building, his collar turned up against the cold, night air. He could see the little restaurant down the street where Sylvia sat at a window. She was not eating, more nibbling on her food, but her senses were alive. She made sure she saw everything and everyone passing outside. As the hour approached 11:00, she felt her stomach tighten. Luna had gotten a room at a hotel in the opposite direction from Henry's office and had perched in the window. She could see the entire street and the alley behind the strange triangular building. They had all the angles covered.

When the pencil stopped this time, Henry set it down. The soft leather of expensive shoes padded its way down the hall. McKinley was early but not so much as to seem desperate. Henry didn't like the DA. He didn't like the way he wielded his power, and he didn't like the way he hadn't even asked how Mike was doing.

There was a pause outside the door, a slight shuffling as if the DA was checking to see if he was at the right office, then the knob turned. The DA walked in like a cat that was up to no good. Henry had left the door between his office and the outer office open. When the DA walked in, Henry stood slowly and walked over to shake his hand. He grabbed the outstretched hand warmly with both hands, displaying not a sign of his dislike.

"I see you made it," Henry said and returned back behind the desk.

"Yes, you thought I wouldn't?" the DA asked as he removed his hat.

"No, I knew you would show up. This is too important. Did anyone follow you?"

"Follow me? No, why? Nobody knows I am coming here. Why would anyone follow me?" he replied with more verve than seemed appropriate. The DA seemed to sense he was going on a bit and quickly regained his composure. He demanded, "So, let's have it." His voice was now much more measured.

This only seemed to confirm Henry's suspicion. The effort the DA was making to control his emotions and to hide his secret agenda made it clear. Henry pulled the lower drawer further open, reached past the revolver, and removed the journal. He looked at it for a moment just to see if McKinley would get anxious again. He didn't. Henry handed the journal across the desk.

"You have done a great thing, Mr. Wood; this will be the end of Tommy and his gang. Now I've got them," he said. He opened the journal and held it under the desk lamp. He flipped a few pages, then a few more. "This looks like it is some sort of code."

"It is. That is what has been taking me so long. I have been looking for the codex which will let me break it." Henry said and sat down and leaned back in his chair.

"You don't have the key?" the DA exclaimed, although he didn't seem too concerned.

"No, and I don't know where it is. But I will keep looking."

"Good, good. Of course, we can't proceed until we know what this says, but at least it is safe now," he calmly stated as he closed the journal and tucked it into his coat. "Thanks again, Mr. Wood, for keeping this safe; the city appreciates it."

"Yes, well, I will keep looking for the key, and, when I find it, you can lock that bastard Tommy up." Henry stood.

The DA quickly shook his hand and said softly, "You don't worry about a thing, Mr. Wood; I will take care of it."

And, with that, he left. Henry listened to the footsteps walk down the hall. He stood by the window to watch which way he left the building. A moment later, the DA exited onto the street below, looked around nervously, and turned to the left. He was heading towards Luna's vantage point. Henry hoped he was wrong about the DA, but he knew, in his gut, he wasn't.