by Watts Martin
Her tail tucked down again, but she kept her voice level. “Do you believe we set off that explosion ourselves?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then it was an apparent attempt on the lives of Officer Scava and myself, coming on the heels of a raid you executed based on a tip about a smuggling operation. With all due respect, you know those two things aren’t unrelated. The smugglers realized someone was on to them and have been trying to clean up their tracks.”
Snow narrowed her eyes at the wolf. “I’m aware of the chain of events, Miss Swift. I’m also aware you have no business being involved in this and that you may be putting both my officers and yourself at risk. And I’m also aware that Officer Scava’s most recent ‘anonymous tip’ about Union came right after he started dragging you into this.”
Gibson shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. “Some things are just coincidences, ma’am.”
“Some things aren’t.” Snow sighed, and walked behind her desk, leaning over to plant her hands on it, arms outstretched. She remained silent for the space of several long breaths, then looked up. “Yes, all the evidence—as circumstantial as it may be—points to criminal activity around Union Shipping. And yes, we’ll immediately launch a formal investigation.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Gibson looked relieved. “I’ll get right—”
“You’ll give me your badge.”
Gibson stopped in mid-sentence, mouth open.
“Scava, you’ve lied about Miss Swift’s role to other officers, put her at unnecessary risk, and repeatedly taken action without authorization.” She held out her hand. “You’re on suspension until further notice, and if you so much as make a peep of protest so help me I will hang you by your tail.”
The cat stared at her, expression slowly wilting, rendered uncharacteristically mute. He looked so forlorn that for the first time since they’d met Annie almost wanted to give him a reassuring hug.
Almost.
He reached into his pocket and detached the badge, handing it to the captain silently.
“I’ll assign other officers to this case immediately. And you, Miss Swift, are not to so much as offer a single syllable of ‘consultation’ to those officers unless they clear your involvement with me first. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she mumbled.
“See that you do.” She marched to the office door and held it open. “See yourselves out the rest of the way.”
~
“I suppose that’s it, then,” Gibson said for at least the sixth time.
Annie stood in the doorway of his house, hands clasped in front of her, feeling awkward. A few moments ago she’d been feeling an uncomfortable touch of jealousy; the Melifen’s house was far from a mansion, but it was bigger than the house she’d grown up in with both her parents and a sister. It was more tasteful than she’d expected it to be, too, although the bachelor touch revealed itself in the profound lack of furniture. Her whole studio could probably fit in the living room, yet it had only a single sofa and coffee table.
Gibson had dropped onto that sofa, flopped backward bonelessly and taken up a position staring at the ceiling. “You really don’t need to be here.” That was at least the third time he’d said that.
“It just seemed like you could use company, at least for the walk back.”
“I could.” He sighed and lifted himself up enough to face her, flashing a wan smile. “And you could still use a guard, you know. They still don’t understand the danger you’re in.”
“I think Officer Rowell does.”
“Mmm. He’s far too by-the-numbers.”
“He helped us with the informant.”
“I’m not sure I’d call that much help.”
“You can still be my guard, then.”
He sighed. “Until there was any actual trouble, at which point I wouldn’t have the authority to do anything about it. Besides, you’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me.”
“That’s not true.” She shifted from foot to foot. “Not entirely.”
“It’s all right. I’ll take pity.” He smiled a little. “But if I keep guarding you I will keep working on this case, whether it’s official or not.”
“Being official hasn’t been one of your big concerns.” She closed the door and stepped in, joining him on the couch. “But if you keep at this you’re going to lose your badge for good. You have to trust the other officers to do their job.”
“I can’t. I mean, I do, but it’s not a matter of trust. It’s—this is in my blood. This is what I do. Anyone can be a detective, but the really good ones can’t choose not to be.”
“And you’re a really good one?”
“I’d like to think I’m not bad.”
“Do you think I’m a really good one?”
“You’re a really good one.”
She pursed her lips. Part of her undeniably felt flattered. The rest of her didn’t want to keep thinking about being a detective. Accounting might be boring but it was safe. Predictable. You left your work at the office. It didn’t follow you home. And it sure didn’t try to shoot you with a crossbow or blow you up.
At length she leaned forward, folding her hands on her lap. “So what now?”
“We…” He spread his hands helplessly. “We wait. I offer you some tea and send you on your way. There’s nothing else to do.”
“There’s nothing we’re supposed to do, no.”
He furrowed his brow. “Did I just hear you say that?”
“What?”
“I did, didn’t I? That’s exactly the kind of distinction you’d get all adorably huffy at me for making. Don’t deny it.” He laughed, standing up, and headed toward the kitchen. “Let me work on that tea.”
She stood and followed him. “I’m frustrated. I’m just trying to think of what we missed.”
“If we knew that, wouldn’t it mean we hadn’t missed it?”
She sighed, leaning against the wall. “You know what I mean. We know that they’re smuggling furs—furs harvested from people, regardless of how they got them—out through Eastern Shore Caravan, laundering the profits through their own legitimate accounting operations and keeping double books.”
“But we can’t prove any of it.”
“Not yet. Investigations are sometimes a long game.”
“They’ve tried to kill me three times. I’d like this game to end quickly.”
He nodded, heading out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea. “That’s quite understandable.” He waited until Annie took her mug and then sat down by her.
“What’s Captain Snow doing to move forward on this?”
“Mmm. As you know she didn’t see fit to share that with me. But I imagine she’ll interview everyone at Union’s office, offer a reward. They should call us back in to see if we can identify our assailant, but we didn’t give them much to go on. Just a fox in dark glasses, hat and overcoat.”
She sat up straight, snapping her fingers. “And who works at that office.”
“We don’t know that. Do we?”
“Yes. We do.” Annie set down the mug, looking at him in excitement. “A hired gun wouldn’t know—or care—that the double checks were what the informant tipped off the Guard about. And he certainly wouldn’t have known that ‘only a couple people’ in the office handle checks.”
“You’re right.” He stroked his chin. “Snow probably has enough information to put that together, but maybe we can find a…safe way to get word to her.”
“The information’s going to be spread between her squad and the one that nearly arrested us, and there’s no guarantee they’re going to coordinate well enough to put it together in time to save your informant—or before they make all the evidence of the operation disappear.” She got up.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to Captain Snow. She doesn’t hate me as much as she hates you, so we have a better chance of her listening if you stay here.”
He grunted. “I�
�d love to object to that, but I don’t think I can. Even so, I should go with you.”
“I’ll be quick.” Annie opened the door and strode through. “I’ll be back in—oh!” She collided with a Rilima who’d been standing by the door, hitting him with enough force to stagger him.
By the time she’d processed what had just happened he’d turned to start running, but she moved faster, grabbing him and slamming him against the wall. He squealed.
“Who are you? What are you doing listening at the door?” She wrenched his arm behind his back, earning another more pained squeak.
“I wasn’t listening at the door, I was trying to work up enough courage to knock on it. Mother of devils, lady, let go of me!”
Gibson stepped out. “What in the world—who in the world is that?”
Annie tugged on the mouse’s arm again. “Who are you?” she repeated.
“Ow! I don’t have to say anything to you! I wanna talk to Scava.”
“I’m Scava. And I think you’d better tell her who you are.”
“I’m your informant. Make her let go of me!”
Annie and Gibson looked at each other, then back at the mouse.
~
“So you’re saying you’re our original informant.” They guided him inside, Annie only letting go of his arm once he’d been guided to the couch and forcibly sat down between them.
The Rilima nodded, readjusting his shirt collar and glaring at Annie. It was a nice but nondescript business white shirt with faint gray pinstripes, matching the rest of his outfit perfectly: gray slacks, gray jacket, the requisite splash of color only in the tie (a subdued burgundy). He stood an inch or two shorter than Gibson, making him average height for his race. Well-trimmed fur, the build of a man who got exercise but still sat behind a desk, cute but not quite cute enough to turn heads. He was, in total, the near-canonical embodiment of an accountant. “Yeah.”
She glared back. “I’d like to see some proof of that.”
He snorted. “Let me just get my ‘verified snitch’ badge out for you. Why should be I showing you proof of anything? Who are you? Why are you even here?”
“This is Miss Swift,” Gibson said. “She’s a consultant working with—”
“Swift? You’re Ann Swift, aren’t you?” the mouse said, expression shifting from irritated fright to wary recognition. “They really hate you back at the office, you know that?”
“The way they keep trying to kill me made me suspicious, yes.”
“I’m next on the kill list thanks to you two! What were you thinking with that raid on the warehouse?”
Gibson crossed his arms, mug still in hand. “Stopping your employers from shipping off people’s skins to sordid buyers overseas or off-world?”
“I didn’t tell you about that!”
“I did,” Annie said.
“How? You don’t know anything!”
The Melifen cut in. “You’re not the only source we have. Can I get you some tea, Mr…?”
“No. And I’m not giving you my name.”
“I didn’t give you my address, and you’re here.”
“What does that have to do with it? Union’s carried packages for you and you’re in our customer records.”
“Ah.” Gibson frowned. “You know, I would imagine you’re here for our help, so you might consider being friendlier with us.”
“I don’t want to be friendly. I just don’t want to die.” The mouse buried his face in his hands. “Sinvy. I’m George Sinvy.” He looked up again with a sharp, accusing expression. “But you know that already, don’t you? You told them, or let it slip somehow—”
“No, we didn’t, George. We honestly didn’t know who you were.” He shook his head. “We had a clandestine meeting earlier today with someone who was supposed to be our informant—you—but since we didn’t know who you were we didn’t know we’d been set up.”
“Great. Whatever happened at that meeting, it’s made Runford start watching my group like a hawk. He knows one of us is the leak, I’m in a group of three, and I’m sure he’s already ruled out that suck-up Adams.”
Annie furrowed her brows. “Runford. I think I’ve seen the name back when I worked for Union. A Vraini?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe our bomber in the overcoat. So he’s the one behind it?”
Sinvy nodded. “Him and Walbin.”
“Walbin?” The wolf looked aghast. “The squirrel? My old boss’s boss? He was the one in Garanton?”
“He was. Works here now.”
“He was—always so…nice.”
“Nice? Walbin? Yeah, if you get past the murdering to protect his side business in skinning people’s dead relatives part, I’m sure he’s a real treasure. Look, I need protection. You’ve got to get me to a safehouse or out of the country or something.” He looked askance at Annie. “Hell, you’ve got to get to a safehouse or out of the country or something. Why are you even still here?”
Gibson finished the last of his tea. “That’s almost an excellent question, George. None of us should be here. We’re going to all check into a hotel now.”
“What?” Sinvy and Annie said simultaneously.
The cat stood up. “Well, you’ve given us a rather clear warning.” He smiled brightly, and gestured around the house. “This address is in Union’s customer records. They know who I am, they know who Miss Swift is, they’ve seen her with me, and if they’re casing her apartment—which I have to imagine they are—they know she hasn’t been sleeping there. I think it’s an excellent time for a ‘holiday at home,’ and you’re our special guest, George. I’m going to pack a light bag, we’re going to go by your place and you’re going to pack a light bag, and we’re going to go by Miss Swift’s place and she’s going to pack one.”
“You said they were casing her place!”
Annie nodded at the mouse, folding her arms.
“If you’d like, you can stay in those clothes for the next day or two, or even week or two, but I think we can avoid any other surveillance.” He grinned at Annie. “After all, we’re both really good detectives, aren’t we?”
Sinvy folded his ears down.
SEVEN
~
IT TURNED OUT THAT Annie lived closer to Gibson’s house than Sinvy did. The Rilima glanced around the neighborhood nervously as they approached her building, muttering in a dark tone. “This place doesn’t look safe at all.”
“Until people from Union started coming after me it was safe enough.”
“Can’t you afford to live somewhere else?”
“No.” She tried to say it with sufficient force to imply and this conversation is over. Sinvy fell silent as they walked up the staircase, so it must have worked.
Gibson led the group. He stopped at the top of the stairs, glancing in all directions. So did Annie.
“What are you looking for?” Sinvy whispered.
“Anything out of place.” They stopped again in front of Annie’s door, listening, then Gibson nodded for her to unlock it.
She put her key in and it turned without resistance. It hadn’t been locked.
Gibson grimaced, motioning for her to step back, and opened the door slowly, as silently as he could. It stayed silent for half the arc, then squeaked gratingly the rest of the way. Sinvy jumped, letting out his own squeak. Both wolf and cat glared at him.
After another moment of silence, Gibson exhaled. “There’s no one here. See if anything’s out of place.”
Annie stepped in past him, looking around the flat, then headed to the desk, opening the drawers. “I think they’ve been through this but there isn’t much here that’d be interesting. Or worth stealing.” She looked through her closet. “If there’s anything they’ve taken I can’t see it. Yet.”
The cat nodded, sighing. “Well, get that bag packed, and we’ll be on our way before they come back for a second round.”
Sinvy stood by—but not in front of—the door, hunched over fearfully. “How do you know t
hey’re not watching right now?”
Gibson shrugged cheerfully. “We don’t. If they are we’ll know very shortly, though.”
Scanning the closet, Annie realized she didn’t have that much to take. And she didn’t own a true travel bag, nothing like the luggage she used to own—she’d sold it shortly after moving here. Sighing, she found the small backpack she’d had back in school, its once bright pink paisley pattern worn and faded to an unattractive pale red, and started unceremoniously shoving clothes into it. She put cursory effort into folding the blouses, but they barely fit into the remaining space and had to be tucked around the other contents in ways that would create untold creases. Maybe the hotel would have an ironing board.
“That’s your bag?” Sinvy’s tone hovered between skepticism and mockery. “You look older than secondary school.”
“Shut up.” She locked the door behind them, even though it felt like it’d be a futile gesture.
Sinvy’s place stood on the other side of the downtown area, well over an hour’s walk; instead, Scava paid for a carriage to take them there. The neighborhood was at least as nice as the one Scava’s house was in, but far more urban. Rather than individual homes, five- and six-story residential buildings lined the streets, most sporting a clean modern style, all sharp square angles and floor-to-ceiling windows. The hallways in his building were polished black stone, the walls—at least on the lobby level—polished white. And, of course, his building had a lobby. And elevators.
Annie couldn’t stop staring at the fixtures, even as the elevator doors closed. “Are these rentals?”
“Yes.”
“They have to be, what, eight or nine hundred vars a month?”
“Thirteen hundred.”
“You can afford that on an accountant’s salary?”
“I get good bonuses.”
The doors opened.
“You mean bribes, don’t you?” Her voice rose in indignation.
Gibson held up a hand. “Quiet time,” he whispered. “Which apartment are you in?”
Sinvy pointed. “603.”
Nodding, the Melifen padded forward. Annie and Sinvy followed close behind.
