by Peter Hartog
A map of the city, including a series of specific latitude and longitude coordinates filled the rig’s holo-screen. Leyla complemented it with the new list.
“Deacon,” I said. “Please give EVI and Leyla access to your HV.”
The Confederate pulled his phone from his jeans pocket. He swiped a few swift commands across its screen, then nodded back at Leyla and me.
“Thanks,” I said. “EVI, use my current location to connect to the HV in the living area. Show the list of Vanessa’s most recent purchases. Include the address, date and time stamps.”
The holo-vision flickered. A second chart appeared next to the one Leyla put together. I walked over to the large screen and gestured.
“What do you see?”
Deacon stepped forward, narrowing his eyes.
Leyla caught her breath.
“Three of those track the same!” she declared.
“A doctor’s office, Armin’s Coffee House, and some art supply store,” Deacon said, and then his eyes widened. “Well I’ll be damned.”
Leyla stared at the screen.
“The doctor’s office!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “That tracks with the second signal from Queens.”
She opened a separate window and drew up the building as well as the name of the practice.
“Doctor Tamara Ettelman, General Practitioner,” Deacon read, placing his hands on his hips. “That’s Mallery’s doctor. And we already know about Armin’s. What’s so special about the third place?”
“Make Me Blush Art Supply,” I stated with a fierce grin. “That’s where we’ll find Vanessa’s twin.”
The three of us left L’Hotel Internacional in a hurry. Besim remained behind to study the samples she and Stentstrom had taken from the workers. She hadn’t provided Deacon any further details other than that she would contact us once she had time to analyze everything.
The pod skimmed along the ’way, avoiding most of the early evening ground traffic already slowed by the continuous rainfall. Splotches of color emerged from the fog as we came upon billboards and buildings. I wondered if the rain would ever end.
Deacon sat next to me at the control panel, another cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Leyla was plugged into her rig, the tracking program consuming her attention. She sat in the back, humming some nameless tune while she worked. The hacker wore a pair of old headphones that were nearly the size of her head. She claimed they were necessary for her concentration. Apparently, Deacon and I made too much noise.
She missed me sticking my tongue out at her.
“Tom, you created one helluva shitstorm back at Kraze,” Mahoney’s image spoke above my phone’s display. I had called him on his private line. “Gaffney wants to press charges. He’s demanding your badge.”
I popped several grapes I’d taken from Besim’s apartments into my mouth, relishing their sweet tang as my teeth crushed the soft skin of the fruit.
“He can fuck off,” I stated between bites. “He’s still jealous I graduated ahead of him at the academy. Besides, how was I supposed to know we were going to take down the goldjoy mother lode? Isn’t he getting all the credit for the bust anyway?”
“He is, but he’s not happy about it,” Mahoney chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ve done what I can to keep him off your ass for now. The DA’s office is also doing their part. This case has become a helluva lot bigger than any of us anticipated. I’ve already spoken with Stentstrom but tell me what you know.”
I recapped everything, sparing no detail.
“All right,” Mahoney said. “In the meantime, I’ll get eyes on Flanagan. I’ve asked someone reliable to check into EVI’s diagnostic. If her security protocols have been compromised, we’ll get her back on track as soon as possible. Stentstrom used a ground courier to deliver Besim all the biological evidence, notes, and data he’s gathered on Vanessa Mallery since his initial examination.”
“My people will make sure the penthouse is secure,” Deacon stated, blowing a steady stream of white smoke.
“Good,” Mahoney said. “Incidentally, I had a nice talk with Stentstrom. He’d make a fine addition to SCU, if we can ever afford him. But that’s a problem for another time.”
“Just getting paid would be nice,” I grumbled, but without heat. “A man’s gotta eat.”
“Keep up the good work, Detective,” Mahoney chuckled mildly, ignoring my comment. “And let me know what you find.”
“Copy that,” I said, and cut off the call.
I stared at the phone for a moment, then shook my head.
“He’s got faith in you, Holliday,” Deacon said. I glanced at him with narrowed eyes, as my mother’s dream-voice echoed in my ears. “Saranda too.”
“Well, then that makes two people,” I grumbled.
“Lighten up,” Deacon chuckled. “We’ve done some damn fine detective work in a short amount of time. We’re closing in on them sons of bitches. I can feel it.”
Leyla had connected her rig to the onboard nav-system. She superimposed her signal-tracking program over the map, then highlighted all three signal trace histories. A smaller window appeared next to each showing a current view of the street and building, along with its associated latitude and longitude. I had EVI tap into the closest street cams, but with all the mist and rain, there wasn’t a lot to see, just vague blotches and shadows with little detail. The third signal hadn’t appeared yet, but it was only a matter of time. If anyone was using EVI to keep tabs on us, that was just a chance I had to take. I was banking on Mahoney’s man to fix that problem sooner rather than later. There was no way on our end to disable the tracking feature for the implant in my head short of removing it painfully with a spoon.
EVI informed me that ballistics confirmed the .9mm used to kill Stanley and Romero belonged to the mercenaries. However, the bullet that killed Tony was from a .38. I wondered if Julie had changed the plan midstream. Crain was convinced it was she who had directed us to Kraze. It sounded like Julie and Orpheus were cutting bait. But why lead us there? Maybe I hadn’t figured out a clear motive for the murder yet, but I had my suspicions. The link between goldjoy and the human experimentation performed on Vanessa Mallery could not be denied. I expected Besim’s examination of the samples to corroborate that. There remained so many other questions, though. Why had Vanessa been killed down in the Financial District in the first place? Why not at home, and in private? The more I chewed on it, the more I felt she had been running toward something, rather than away from it.
The grapes were gone, and I picked up my coffee.
“Rumpelstiltskin, Orpheus, and Julie have been one step ahead of us the whole time,” I said between sips.
“Well, Julie certainly fucked Crain and his crew,” Deacon snickered without mirth. “You think the loss of that lab will shut Rumpelstiltskin down?”
“No,” I replied. “Look at everything we found there. That reeks of long-term planning, and a shit-ton of credits. Unless there are more vampires hiding beneath the city streets kidnapping kids and turning them into mindless drug slaves, busting that lab is a major setback for him. But I doubt he’s done for good.”
“He’ll have a helluva hard time hitting back,” Deacon said with a wolfish grin. “Taking out Crain has to hurt just as much as losing the ’joy. Rumpelstiltskin is vulnerable, maybe even desperate, and desperate people do stupid shit.”
“I’ll always count that as a win anytime drugs are taken off the streets. But is Rumpel even our murderer?” I asked pensively. “Or is he something else?”
“The fuck if I know,” Deacon replied, blowing little smoke rings.
“I think Julie and Tony knew something was going down the night of the murder, but arrived too late to save Vanessa,” I said. “Then there’s the ’joy-contaminated wine Besim drank at the nightclub. It’s the exact same vintage as the bottles found at all three apartments, except the wine at Vanessa’s turned out to be plain Jane. Whatever is in that wine must be really important.”
&n
bsp; “Well, we don’t have any,” Deacon pointed out. “Those cleaners got it all before we arrived.”
“True. Which brings me back to Tony.” I rubbed my jaw and sighed. “We’ve assumed he became a liability at some point, and I’ve been asking myself why, but I still don’t have a good enough answer.”
“Killing him was sloppy,” Deacon reaffirmed with a sour note. “Julie knew we’d find him. But if she hadn’t done it, we’d never know about Orpheus, or their ties to Crain and Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Yeah,” I conceded. “His murder pointed us right at Kraze. Julie knew what we would find there. With Crain gone, and the goldjoy lab under wraps, at least one mess got cleaned up.”
My voice trailed off as I considered the circumstances. One dead witness killed under the watchful eye of the ECPD. Two dead cops, and another witness, now a major person of interest, running from the law.
Then something clicked into place.
“Julie wasn’t just trying to clean up a loose end,” I said. “If I’m right, she planted the lighter in that fire pit. Somehow, she beat the cleaners there, or had someone do it for her. She might even know about Vanessa’s diary. Eventually, we’d turn to Kraze. Regardless, the lighter was a subtle manipulation to get us to where she wanted us to go sooner rather than later. But that wasn’t enough for her. She had to ensure we’d follow her, so she killed Tony to direct our focus on Kraze and away from him. She knew we couldn’t resist once we puzzled it together. Our murder eyewitness gets killed execution-style just as we realized we have more questions for him. And once we find his corpse, we’re hell-bent on hunting Julie down.”
“Marrazzo was a fucking addict, Holliday,” Deacon countered. “His testimony would’ve been invalidated in court because of his toxicology report. Your little theory is nice, but it don’t explain why she killed him.”
Deacon was right. No, the only person who could’ve corroborated it was Julie, and she wasn’t about to help us.
So why kill him?
Unless…
“Yeah,” I said slowly as another piece fell into place. “Yeah, he was. EVI, bring up the emergency responder’s report on Tony Marrazzo and Julie DeGrassi for me.”
A separate window appeared on the HUD, displaying both reports. They outlined in succinct fashion the conditions at the scene, statements from both Tony and Julie, as well as the care provided to both eyewitnesses. My eyes scoured the reports like a drowning man clawing for his last breath.
“Goddamnit, I am such a fucking idiot!” I slapped my hand against the control panel in frustration, knocking my empty mug to the floor.
“Look at Tony’s report!” I pointed at several lines of text. “‘32-yo/m no sign of injury, answered questions clearly’ and ‘Pt calm, no signs of intoxication.’ Tony wasn’t high on ’joy. And you can bet your ass Julie wasn’t either. Hell, that probably isn’t even her real name.”
“No shit,” Deacon grumbled. He retrieved the mug and tossed it to me. “Just like Rumpelstiltskin ain’t a real name, or Orpheus. Just a bunch of fucking clowns hiding behind masks.”
I moved to the beverage station to refill the mug.
“Crain was right,” I muttered to myself. “Julie doesn’t care if we know about her, or Orpheus, or their ties to Rumpelstiltskin! We’ve all been played like a fucking violin.”
“Come again?” Deacon asked.
“It’s all been a set up,” I stated as I came back front, holding the mug with one hand as I gestured at the holo-map. “You said it before, Deacon. This whole thing is an elaborate game. I think Julie and Tony went to the club that night, partied with Crain, then Tony jacks up on goldjoy, and Julie somehow gets tipped off something bad was about to happen to Vanessa. Julie pretends a headache, they leave Crain hanging, but instead of going back to Tony’s apartment she leads him down the alleyway, knowing Vanessa is in trouble. Hell, I bet Julie called it in to ECPD that night, just as a safety precaution in case things went south. Then they arrive at the scene and are bailed out by the first responders. Only Julie didn’t realize the massive adrenaline rush Tony got from seeing the killer offset the effects of the ’joy in his system. Instead of being impaired by the drug, Tony sees everything, raw and unfiltered. Julie discovers this when he’s checked out, bides her time, and then strikes.”
“It don’t explain nothing we don’t already know,” Deacon said, flicking ash on the control panel.
“Because he didn’t just see Vanessa in that alleyway,” I responded triumphantly. “He recognized the murderer, and that was bad for Julie’s business. I bet Tony didn’t know shit about Julie’s dealings with Crain and Rumpel, the secret experimentation with Vanessa, all the surveillance, the nightclub, the wine, the goldjoy operation. But I also think he was more than just Julie’s boyfriend. He was an easy alibi when she needed one, and her eventual fall guy. He and Julie were together for a few months. Now, why cultivate a relationship with Tony Marrazzo? For a quick fuck during her off-hours when she wasn’t doing Orpheus’ dirty work? No, everything we’ve seen from Julie so far indicates a very cold and calculating person. She must’ve needed him for something else, something that connects Tony, Rumpelstiltskin, and Vanessa together.”
I set the mug down on the control panel and folded my arms across my chest.
“EVI, please replay our entry into Tony Marrazzo’s apartment…minus the breaking and entering, of course,” I added quickly, “even though at the time I did have probable cause. Make sure you delete that part.”
Deacon shook his head, eyeing me with amusement.
The ER’s report was replaced by the recording. We watched it in silence. The high-resolution rendering was from my point-of-view.
“There,” I pointed at the screen. “Pause play.”
It was in front of me the whole time, right in plain sight.
My grandfather used to say the devil always played in the details.
“What?” Deacon asked, brow furrowed. “What are we looking at?”
“EVI, enlarge and enhance this section I am circling,” I instructed, drawing my finger across the image.
“There’s the wine rack,” the former Protector stated, narrowing his eyes. “And a coffee table with a bunch of shit on it. So?”
“Don’t you see?” I said as a slow smile spread across my face. “That ‘shit’ is marketing material for Wrigley-Boes Pharmaceuticals. Tony worked for Wrigley-Boes. That’s the connection! This pharmaceutical company is somehow wrapped up in all of this.”
“Julie used her relationship with Tony to get into Wrigley-Boes,” Deacon said, as comprehension lit up his eyes.
“That has to be it!” I replied. “Tony’s the furthest from their research and development team. A front-man, one of dozens on the payroll, pushing the product, but with no clue as to how any of their pills are produced, or what’s in them. To allay suspicion if anyone at Wrigley-Boes got worried, Julie picked some young stud with no brains and a penchant for getting off, who couldn’t possibly know anything important. So now she has access to his workstation, his badge, anything to gain entry to their system and facility. Tony must’ve somehow figured this out after the murder, and she had to take care of him before he blew the whistle on her and the whole goddamn thing!”
“Ho-lee shit!” Deacon laughed. “Assuming you’re right, of course. But that still don’t answer who murdered Vanessa, or what Wrigley-Boes got to do with this.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” I replied, my heart racing. “But it’s a damn good start.”
The coordinates designating Make Me Blush Art Supplies blinked.
“Gotcha!” Leyla shouted from behind us. “It’s the third signal, Doc! Transmitting from the art supply store!”
“Great job, kiddo!” I cheered.
I finished two more mugs of coffee, then checked the SMART gun in its rig.
My skin prickled with excitement. I sensed we were closing in on Vanessa’s killer, and finally unraveling the mystery behind it all.
Chapter 30
Make Me Blush Art Supplies was a quaint corner storefront on the first floor of a twelve-story building surrounded by retail boutiques and cafes. The store boasted a glowing holo-sign of rainbow calligraphy as well as two red awnings for two separate entrances, one on Broadway and the other along Dey. Behind the glass frontage sat pretty displays of half-painted canvases on easels, paints and brushes, and all manner of clays, frames, ceramics, mosaics, furniture and other crafting tools for the artistically-minded. The place appeared to be the fabled Shangri-La of all things artsy in Empire City, at least to my philistine eyes.
With a PhD in English Literature, I’m a devout follower of the written word. When it comes to art, I’m as ignorant as the next guy. I couldn’t tell you the difference between abstract, contemporary, hyperrealism, Chagall, Picasso, the guy with syphilis, or the other guy. Visual expression had always been Kate’s area of expertise. She enjoyed dragging me around the Metropolitan Museum of Art on shitty days like today in the vain hope of teaching me culture.
“I would not wish any companion in the world but you,” I whispered wistfully, my white wispy breath streaming from me before it was carried away by the October wind.
The thought tasted like ash in my mouth. I sighed as thin raindrops pelted my bare head, each one a jarring reminder of the business at hand.
“You say something, Doc?” Leyla’s voice buzzed in my ear.
She was playing quarterback from the pod and had already hacked into the store’s security feed.
“No, kiddo,” I replied. “Just admiring the view.”
A Metro pod whooshed past several stories above me. Setting my shoulders, I crossed the street, weaving around vehicles stopped at the holo-traffic signal while avoiding the larger puddles. Despite the weather, a steady stream of pedestrians flowed along the sidewalk, mostly young, up-and-coming business types, and trendy fashionistas wearing the latest outfits, all searching for the next distraction.
A pleasant blast of warm air mingled with the musty odors of wet hair and clothing met me as I stepped inside the store. Deacon waited nearby, glowering at a pair of twenty-somethings who chattered animatedly about last night’s raid on Crain’s nightclub.
