Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
The business that Zurine Halinburn operated was in an area where Hallie had rarely been.
The neighbourhoods in low city ranged from the close-packed, narrow and twisting streets with small, old buildings near the centre to districts with slightly wider streets and larger houses with gardens, like the one Rosalia was now living in, to the vast sprawls of industrial areas which were almost all now abandoned and run-down.
To one side of all that, close to the old harbour, was a tight knot of a few streets with large and well-maintained buildings, both commercial and residential, that was the closest thing to high class that could be found anywhere in low city.
Hallie had never been called on to trace a skip from one of the addresses here, although she had followed a fugitive through here once, a few years before.
As Girard parked the car, she took a careful look around, noting that nothing seemed to have changed.
The street surface was formed of cobblestones that were clean and well-maintained, with no gaps or odd bumps, unlike the narrow streets winding through the heart of low city.
The street was also wide enough that there could be cars parked on either side and still room enough for two lanes of traffic to go by.
Grey stone buildings rising to two or three storeys lined both sides of the street, with gleaming glass fronts on the ground floor showing the goods on offer.
As well as the dress shop that they had come to visit, there were several other high-end businesses, including a jeweller and a restaurant with floor-length white tablecloths and dark wood chairs waiting for customers.
Hallie couldn’t see a single plant growing out of the gutters, or a single missing roof tile, not even an area of faded or peeling paint.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she’d been transported to midtown, where the wealthier karlen lived and a few hochlen came to visit from time to time.
Turning to look along the street, she saw it narrow after it had passed the final building, disappearing into a twisted turn through two-storey buildings with peeling paint and plants growing at the roof line.
Reassured she was still in low city, she turned back to Girard.
“That’s the shop over there,” she told him, tilting her head towards the dress shop that seemed to take up most of the block on the other side of the street.
The windows were full of beautifully dressed mannequins in the sorts of clothing that Hallie had been used to seeing Rosalia wear, when her friend had been kept by one of the elite.
The sort of quiet, impeccable tailoring and style that whispered that the wearer had both wealth and privilege.
It certainly did not look like the kind of place anyone would go to for false papers and a whole new identity.
“It wouldn’t look out of place in Voldain,” Girard commented, using the proper name for high city as he moved around the car to join her on the pavement.
“Funny, I was just wondering if we’d been transported back to midtown somehow,” Hallie said. “I didn’t think the elite allowed something as mundane as shops in high city?” She smiled, her tone light, letting him know she was teasing. He grinned back.
“The dirty business of commerce is restricted to a few streets,” he told her. He was teasing her back, but also telling the truth. “Along with a few restaurants as well.”
“Having your personal chef cook your meals must get dull after a while,” Hallie said, with mock sympathy, and then laughed.
“Although I can hardly talk, as I have had Rosalia for a roommate.” A little hit of sadness washed over her as she remembered that particular setup was now over.
Somehow replaced by a fridge and freezer full of pre-prepared meals courtesy of Cotovatre’s household.
Hallie wondered if Cotovatre and her people knew just how poor her own cooking skills were, or if it had just been kindness on their part to make her feel welcome in the new apartment.
“Well, Rosalia is a far better cook than many of the personal chefs I’ve come across,” Girard said, falling into step with her as she started to cross the street.
The dress shop didn’t have any kind of signage over the door, or any indication of opening hours of the sort that Hallie was used to seeing.
Perhaps those who shopped here simply knew when the place would be open, or there was some kind of unspoken agreement among the wealthy as to their shopping hours.
As they approached the door, Hallie wondered if they would actually find the place open.
It was approaching mid-morning and most businesses that she knew of across low city would have been open for hours.
Through the glass door she could see soft lighting and at least one person moving around inside. One was all they needed.
Girard tried the door and it gave under his hand, opening into the store with a faint, cheerful ring of a bell.
The inside of the shop had the quiet hush that made Hallie acutely aware of her old, faded jeans with a threadbare patch on one of the knees and the scuff marks on her boots that no amount of polishing would erase.
The shop was set up with plenty of space between the racks and shelves for browsing and although there were splashes of colour here and there, the whole effect was restrained elegance from the deep blue, short pile carpet to the soft cream walls and ceiling and discreet lighting.
The person Hallie had seen - a medium-height woman with flawless, warm-toned brown skin and silky black hair falling to her waist - looked around from what must be the cash register. Slim black eyebrows lifted over dark eyes as the woman looked from Girard to Hallie and back.
“You don’t look like my normal customers, but you are most welcome,” the woman said. On the surface there was nothing but professional warmth, but Hallie could hear something else, and saw the woman’s eyes narrow a little as she noted the weapons Girard and Hallie were carrying.
Girard pulled out his badge. “Special Investigator Abbott. This is Miss Talbot. We are looking for Zurine Halinburn.”
“Saints, from the Conclave. Is something wrong?” the woman asked, taking a step back, eyes wide, a hand pressing to her chest as if she was shocked at the idea of law enforcement officers inside her shop.
Hallie’s eyes narrowed. Most people in low city would be able to recognise Girard as hochlen at first glance, but far fewer people, and certainly very few law-abiding people, would know the significance of the term Special Investigator or connect it to the Conclave.
Hallie hadn’t recognised the term the first time she’d heard it.
“We just have some questions,” Girard said, in the easy, calm way he had.
It didn’t seem to soothe the woman, who took another step back.
“Are you Zurine Halinburn?” Hallie asked, trying to match Girard’s easy tone. She didn’t have it quite right yet.
“No. She’s not in yet,” the woman said.
Without her truth sense, Hallie would have believed her. The woman was as accomplished a liar as Manju Nayak had been. There had been no hesitation in her answer, nothing on her face or in her posture to give her away.
“Well, perhaps you can tell her where we might find her, then?” Girard asked. Hallie knew him well enough to understand that he didn’t quite believe the woman, but was giving her the benefit of the doubt.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I should be giving out that kind of personal information,” the woman said.
She’d taken another step back, widening the distance between them.
She was heading for something. The only thing nearby was a display hanging from the high ceiling which made no sense to Hallie’s eyes.
It seemed to be a length of heavy chain with various items of clothing hanging from it and trails of pale silver streamers. It looked completely frivolous.
“Miss Halinburn, please relax, we just have questions for you,” Hallie said. She definitely didn’t have Girard’s calm tone. And she couldn’t quite pull off the lie. If they uncovered forgery, she knew that they would not be able to stop at simple questions.
In response, the woman made a sharp move sideways. There was a soft click and the display dropped down from the ceiling, falling towards Hallie and Girard.
Hallie dove to one side, getting tangled in a rack of navy blue trousers and butter-soft, long-sleeved tops in the same sober hue. By the time she’d righted herself from that, and checked to see that Girard was alright, Zurine was nowhere in sight.
Girard had fallen into a tall rack of dresses and had somehow managed to get a long, trailing scarf of gleaming red pasted across his shoulder. He was back on his feet as Hallie looked across and pushed the scarf aside.
“Did you see where she went?” he asked.
“Under the display, I think,” Hallie said.
It was the only thing that made sense. She moved forward and reached down to pick up the length of chain, to pull it aside, hissing in surprise and dropping the chain as an electric charge ran up her arm.
“It’s live,” she warned Girard, and looked around for a power source.
“And some of these silver ribbons have razor edges,” Girard added, holding up his hand to show narrow lines of blood across his palm.
With his fast healing, the cuts wouldn’t bother him for long, but she could imagine that they stung and were unpleasant.
More than enough to put someone off trying to grab hold of the streamers again.