Strangehold and Burly looked the work area over as they walked through to the private office set aside for the manager of the section, Ed Dorsey. He stood at the door and waited for them to cross the distance.

The doctor judged he was thin enough, but too tall. They were looking for someone shorter in height.

Some of the people working at their design tables might fit the bill, but they were all sitting down and it was hard to say how tall they were. He doubted he could ask them all to stand up so he could measure them against a door frame.

They had to rule out everyone they could while they were there. Then they could work on the ones that fit the body type of the killer.

Then trying to figure out a way to trap the killer would have to be done.

Strangehold let Burly ask Dorsey the normal questions. He didn’t have a lot himself. He was more concerned checking for ectoplasm in the air.

Free floating ectoplasm could be from anything. He could narrow it down to

something specific to tie to someone. Strands of the stuff around someone in

particular was a good indicator that person was his murderer.

That wasn’t that great an indicator if the culprit had learned to hide his energy

gathering from others. All it would take was internal storage with the body covering the esoteric material with his own life.

Burly asked to see the victim’s desk. Maybe there was something there they could use. Dorsey agreed to the search. He had nothing against Crenshaw, and the boss wanted him to help out.

The dead man’s desk was covered with pictures of clubs. Some had men with musical instruments. Strangehold ran his hand through the air in front of the photos. Nothing leaped out at him.

Burly took notes about the desk as he sat in the dead man’s chair. He made sure to copy any names he found in the small rolodex on a file cabinet.

“Some of these clubs have closed,” said Burly. “Bought out, or closed down by the city.”

“This could be where he was spending his time at night,” said Strangehold. “I wonder how good a musician he was. I didn’t see an instrument in his apartment.”

“Why was he keeping it away from his neighbors?,” said Burly. “Would they care that he was a musician? Would that even be a problem?”

“We could be looking for some kind of rival at one of these clubs,” said Strangehold. “He could have been ruining some other player just by playing.”

“And they rip the guy to pieces?,” said Burly.

“It depends on how they started powering their ectoplasm to make their disguise,” said Strangehold. “We might be looking for someone who uses these masks for different things like playing music, or athletics, or even medicine like myself.”

“So instead of a werewolf, we might be looking for a Lon Chaney?,” said Burly. “I don’t think I like that at all.”

“It will make things more difficult,” admitted the doctor. “I need to check these clubs. If I can identify the murderer, maybe we can construct a trap for him.”

“What are you doing at Allan’s desk?,” asked a woman coming down the aisle with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I’m Sergeant Burly from the police department,” said the detective. “Mister

Crenshaw had an accident and we’re trying to determine what happened. Can I have your name?”

“I’m Lisa Raye,” said the woman. She put the cup down on a nearby desk before she dropped it. “I’m a storyboarder here at the printer. I draw cartoons to show the advertisers what a commercial would look like if we did one. I also do graphic art for signs and things.”

“Television ads?,” asked Burly.

“I know it seems confusing but the company does all kinds of ads for everything,” said Raye. “We do ads for television, the radio, newspapers, magazine inserts, anything that comes our way. There is a small studio for the television and radio stuff a few blocks over.”

“Did Mister Crenshaw work on any of those?,” asked Burly.

“He played music for some of the radio ads,” said Raye. “He is a trumpeter.”

“Have you known Mister Crenshaw long?,” asked Burly. He leaned against the desk.

“Just the two years he’s worked here,” said Raye. “He’s a good draftsman, and great at coming up with ideas to match what Mister Dorsey asks for as far as the customer wants.”

“His neighbors said he was never home,” said Strangehold. “Did he talk to you about that?”

“He liked playing at some of the clubs,” said Raye. “He said he was just good enough to sit in on a jam session, but not good enough to start his own band.”

“We’re still at the start of our investigation and don’t really know much about Mister Crenshaw,” said Burly. “Is there any club he sat in regularly? We’ll need to talk to the people there to see if they know anything.”

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“I don’t understand,” said Raye. “I thought this was an accident.”

“Right now, we don’t know what happened, why it happened, or if Mister Crenshaw had any life outside of this building,” said Burly. “We don’t know what he was doing before he was hurt, or if anyone saw him get hurt in the first place. So we have to dig into his personal stuff a little to see if there was anything untoward going on.”

“Allan can’t tell you what happened?,” asked Raye.

“No, he can’t,” said Burly. “Until he can, we have to act like he never will be able to tell us and look around. And if he can tell us at a later date, that will make it easier because we’ll have looked in that direction already.”

“I see,” said Raye. “He liked playing at the Note and Robin’s Nest.”

She pointed at cards for the clubs on Crenshaw’s desk.

“He was supposed to go to the Note’s next open mike night,” said Raye. “I heard him talking to himself about what song he should play.”

“Is there anyone else we can talk to for more information?,” asked Burly.

“Allan didn’t talk to other people that much,” said Raye. “He told me he found it hard to talk about himself. The only reason I know about the music is Mister Dorsey asked for volunteers for the radio ad, and he jumped at the chance.”

“And he was good enough to keep doing that?,” asked Strangehold.

“I think so,” said Raye. “I never got to go over myself. I wanted to, but I had

deadlines with my own work. I did go to the Note one night and watched him play. He sounded better than the others that were trying out.”

“Thank you for your help,” said Burly. “If I need to talk to you again, I can call you here?”

“I have a card,” said Raye. “The company gave us a stack of them instead of a raise last year.”

She went to her desk and opened the top drawer. She pulled out a deck of cards in a box. She took one of the cards out and handed it to Burly before putting the box back in the drawer.

“Thanks again,” said Burly. He put the card in his coat pocket.

“What are you going to do now?,” asked Raye.

“We’re going to go down and talk to the people at these clubs and see if they know anything about Mister Crenshaw,” said Burly. “When you have nothing, anything is good.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Raye,” said Strangehold. “Thank you for your time.”

“I don’t remember your name,” said Raye. She frowned at the doctor in his

Edwardian clothes.

“Doctor Dale Strangehold,” said the doctor. “But I think we have taken enough of your time. We have more work to do before we can put things to rest.”

Strangehold and Burly left for the door. The detective made notes in his notebook. He made sure to tell Dorsey to keep the victim’s desk like it was in case they had to return for something else.

And he had put a paperclip in the crack of the drawer in case he wanted to know if someone had searched the desk after their visit. A detective showing up might cause all kinds of reactions.

“What do you know about these clubs, Burly?,” asked Strangehold as they left the building.

“The Note is still going strong down by the Theaters,” said Burly. He frowned at the memory stirred by the other club. “The Robin’s Nest was where the Caulder murders happened, and it’s been closed since then.”

“Gangland shootout?,” asked Strangehold. He had not been called in on that one. It wasn’t strange enough to need his talents according to the police department, and what he read in the papers.

“Yeah,” said Burly. “We never caught the guys either. No one wanted to come

forward to give statements. The Caulders had a million holes in them from the looks of things. The word was their turf went to Sunny Castione, but someone whacked him too. Things started settling down after that.”

“Do you mind if we look at the Nest?,” said Strangehold. “I have time before I have to pick up the kids after school.”

“Do you think you can solve the murders?,” asked Burly.

“Not after all this time,” said Strangehold. “I’m just interested in why Crenshaw was going there when it has been closed for years.”

“Good point,” said Burly. “He might be related to the Caulders somehow. Apparently he didn’t have family, and neither did they, but someone must have brought him into this world.”

“There may be a connection with Sunny Castione,” said Strangehold. “We don’t know enough about Crenshaw to put those pieces together yet.”

“The only other lead I can see is the professor,” said Burly.

“We may have to talk to him eventually, but right now we should look at the Nest, then see if we can dig up anything around the Caulders, or Castione,” said Strangehold. “There may be a connection between them and Crenshaw, or the killer.”

“Maybe if he was hanging around the Nest, he dug up something no one wanted dug up,” said Burly. “But it’s a stretch.”

“We’re not exactly drowning in clues,” said Strangehold. “We need something to point us in the right direction. If we can explain where Crenshaw was going, it might point to motive for the crime.”

“Maybe he saw something at the Nest he wasn’t supposed to,” said Burly. “Maybe he saw a ghost.”

“That’s possible,” said Strangehold. “Maybe he saw the person who killed him

practicing with his gift.”

“I like that as a motive if the guy didn’t want people reporting him,” said Burly.

“I like it too,” said Strangehold. “But why practice there other than it’s abandoned? It would be better to practice in a place that allowed for secrecy.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a place like that,” pointed out Burly. “Maybe the Nest is the only place he can practice at all. Protecting that would be enough to kill someone over if things escalated from words to fists.”

“All right,” said Strangehold. “That’s a possibility. We just don’t know enough about what is going on.”

“So we go down to these clubs and see if anyone knows if Crenshaw had a problem with the other musicians, or patrons,” said Burly. “Then I have to write up what we have so far, and you have to get the kids.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Strangehold.

“And I will be home for George Burns,” said Burly. “That’s the best part of all this.”

“And I have classes to get ready for in the next two days,” said Strangehold. “We’re going over the heart.”

“I will take a rain check on that,” said Burly. “Have fun.”

“Teaching is a reward in itself if you have the right students,” said Strangehold.

“What about the wrong students?,” asked the sergeant.

“You fail them and wish them the best of luck in their future endeavors,” said

Strangehold.

“I can see that,” said Burly.

They got in the car and drove out of the parking lot. Burly aimed for a section of town off the main roads where Downtown congregated. Smaller buildings and houses dotted the landscape. He pulled to the curb in front of a brick building with boarded over windows. A frame for a sign stood empty over the sidewalk.

“This is where the Nest used to be,” said Burly. He gestured at the deserted building. “I doubt Crenshaw broke in there every night.”

“If you don’t mind, I would like to go in and look around,” said Strangehold.

“Sometimes what you see isn’t what’s actually going on.”

“Okay,” said Burly. “I don’t think we need a warrant to snoop around.”

“Who would we serve such a paper to at this date?,” asked Strangehold. “If we need to seize something, we can check who owns the building then.”

“Good point,” said Burly.

They got out of the car and approached the former club.