All the color drained from her face, and she sat down heavily. “No. No way. Not Luke, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t.”
Sam sat down beside her. “I thought the same thing. But it’s true.”
She looked like she might burst into tears. “But why? I don’t…I don’t understand.”
Either she was a terrific actress, or she was genuinely confused. Unfortunately, Sam no longer trusted himself to know which. Truth hexes had been all the rage in the nineteenth century; too bad they’d been long proven not to actually work on unwilling subjects, because he could have used one now.
“You spent more time with him than I did. Did he say anything, do anything…?”
“No.” She bit her lip. “I mean, he wasn’t entirely happy lately, but…”
“And why is that, Miss Walker?” Turner prompted.
She glanced at Sam. “Luke, um, well, he thought Sam was too young to get Vic’s job after…you know. He expected to get it because he’d been here the longest.” A flush touched her cheeks, and she hastily added, “I told him it wasn’t like that, he shouldn’t feel, you know, offended. Sam’s better at hexmaking than either of us, it makes sense for him to be the one in charge. Luke…didn’t like hearing that.”
“And what about you?” Turner asked.
“Me?” She looked blank a moment; then her eyes widened when she realized what he meant. “No! I don’t want Sam’s job, are you kidding? That’s too much responsibility and too many long hours—no offense, but I’ve got my own life to live outside these walls. I like working here, and I’m grateful to Mr. Sullivan for the pay, I don’t mean to suggest otherwise. But I also like going home and not thinking about it again until I’m back on the clock the next morning.”
She looked scared now, and it twisted Sam’s heart like a wringer. “It’s okay,” he said, touching the back of her hand lightly. “We’re just trying to figure things out.”
“Did Luke express his dissatisfaction to anyone else here?” Turner asked.
“Not that I know of, but I wasn’t exactly keeping track of his every minute.” Glenda bit her lip again. “I know I said I like leaving work behind once it’s time to go home, but I did go out to dinner with Luke once or twice. I thought he just wanted to let off steam, complain away from the ears of the boss.” She glanced at him. “Sorry, Sam.”
“No, I understand.”
“Where did you meet?” Turner pressed.
“Some place out near Franklin Park. Club Firebird. I thought it was a long way to go, there are plenty of joints closer, but he said he didn’t want to accidentally run into anyone else from the hexworks.”
“I know the joint,” Turner said. “What happened during these gab sessions?”
“I listened to him complain and tried to reason with him. I said he’d get his chance, just be patient, Mr. Sullivan was bound to open up a new hexworks sooner or later just to keep up with demand, and he’d be a shoo-in to run it.” Her shoulders slumped. “I thought I’d gotten through to him, because lately he hadn’t been complaining nearly as much. We haven’t met for dinner in…a month, maybe?”
“I see.” Numbness swept over Sam, but underneath it was a familiar sinking sensation.
He should never have taken the job. He should have listened to Alistair and found some way of saying no to Sullivan in the first place. There had to have been some polite way to decline, some other deal to be struck.
But he hadn’t, and now Luke was dead. And sure, he’d made his own decision to become a killer, but if he’d just succeeded Vic them none of this would have happened. The bootleggers would still be alive, the look-away hex never re-discovered in the first place.
“I swear, I didn’t know anything about what he was doing,” Glenda said, her tone desperate. “He never took me into his confidence or anything like that. He just wanted someone to complain to.”
“Of course, Miss Walker,” Turner said soothingly. “No one suggested otherwise. Sam, I need to borrow the telephone in your office.”
Since Turner seemed to expect Sam to accompany him, he stood up, patting Glenda on the shoulder as he passed by. Sam unlocked the office and they went inside. Turner shut the door after them.
“Club Firebird is one of Fabiano’s,” he said without preamble. “One of the waiters probably overheard Gallo running his mouth and passed word along. Dumb mug.”
“Do you think Glenda had anything to do with it?” Sam asked anxiously.
Turner considered for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah. But we’ve got to be sure. You go over all your records twice, make sure no other hexes have gone missing. Same for supplies. And keep an eye on her—maybe have some of your boys follow her for a few days, make sure she isn’t talking to anyone she shouldn’t be.”
“I’ll have to replace Luke.”
“That’s your business—just be sure they’re squeaky clean first.”
The irony of promoting someone ‘squeaky clean’ through the ranks of a criminal enterprise wasn’t lost on Sam. “I will.”
