Free House of Corruption by Erik Tavares Page B

three, verse twenty seven, combined with a conglomeration of verses from the Book of Saint John and Leviticus, respectively.”
    “And the last?” Reynard asked.
    “Another maxim, Alea iacta est : ‘The die is cast.’”
    “Ominous.”
    Savoy nodded. “Indeed. It was posted from the city of Sandakan, North Borneo. Look at Mister Tukebote’s credentials again. You see his city of origin?”
    Reynard’s face grew serious. “Coincidence?”
    “I do not believe in coincidence. Ernst knew of you.”
    “And?”
    “No. He knew of... you .”
    “Ah. I must make quite the dissertation.”
    “It is not like that.”
    “No?”
    “No it is not ,” Savoy said firmly. “Ernst is a trusted confidant.” He took the letter back from Reynard. “I cannot expect you to appreciate or even understand my feelings, Reynard. You may see me as an old fool—”
    “Spare me—”
    “ Regardless ,” Savoy said tightly. “It has been my experience that when circumstances begin to weave together, there is an almost certainty of conscious design. This cannot be mere chance. Until we know more of this Miss Carlovec’s intentions, I beg you not to keep her appointment.”
    Reynard stood and gazed out the window. He watched for some time. “Come to the house this evening,” he said. “Feel free to bring that man Grant. Lasha ought to find perverse delight in having a murderer at our table. Afterwards we can meet this Miss Carlovec together.”
    “You’d have me?”
    “You can ask her all the questions you wish.”
    Savoy considered it, his expression muted. “That seems…acceptable. Developing an opinion may simply depend on confirming her itinerary; if it matches these cases I have followed, there may be a connection. If not, then my claims are invalid.”
    “Fair enough.”
    The office door opened and closed followed by a brief interlude of voices, then Frederick Burlington appeared in the doorway. He glanced at Savoy—confused or concerned, it was not clear.
    “Mister Burlington,” Reynard said. “Punctuality was traditionally your strong point.”
    “My apologies. Errands, sir,” Frederick said. “You asked for legal-sized folders, and a reply from the Levee Board on delivery of concrete from Atlanta.”
    “I did?”
    “I have been in town all morning.”
    “Ah.” He turned his focus back to Savoy. “Seven o’clock this evening?”
    Savoy nodded. “Seven o’clock.” He turned to Frederick. “Your arrival is most fortuitous, Mister Burlington. I wonder if you could be of assistance. Will you secure back issues of the New Orleans Advocate and Picayune from the last ten days? The society sections would be paramount, anything that might announce the arrival of any notable visitors from abroad.”
    Frederick looked to Reynard. “Sir?”
    “It’s fine,” Reynard said. “Indulge him.”
    “Thank you,” Savoy said. “If you can also secure back issues of the Boston Herald , say, from mid-August to mid-September, that would be most appreciated.” Frederick removed a small notebook and pencil from his jacket, writing down the request as quickly as he could. “I will inquire as to her route,” Savoy said to Reynard. “Perhaps she has no bearing on my investigation. Perhaps this is just a dreadful misunderstanding.”
    “If it isn’t?” Reynard asked.
    “I shall be ready for her.”
    Savoy gathered Grant and left the office. Reynard returned to his desk, paging through papers as if the previous conversation had never occurred. Frederick Burlington remained in the doorway. “In the future,” Reynard said to him, not looking up, “a note regarding your morning activities is appreciated.”
    Frederick continued to watch the front door. “Why do you associate with that man?”
    “Arté?”
    “I do not like the look of him,” Frederick said.
    “He is harmless.”
    “That other one—I saw his likeness in yesterday’s paper. He is the very murderer accused of poor Bill’s death.”
    “So it