It had its obvious drawbacks; there were no local convenience stores – if a citizen had settled in for the evening, then realised they needed a few home essentials, they had to make peace with the fact it was about a two-hour round trip. It certainly wasn’t a comforting thought if it was late and an early curfew was suddenly announced.
Hall slowed her cruiser to a crawl as she surveyed the door numbers. She squinted, trying to read the tiny numbers fixed above the lintels of each building. The road was bare; cruisers a rarity in these parts
It was one of the first things Hall had noticed when she’d come off the slip road and turned into the poorest district of Sanctum-One. It was also her first time venturing into its neatly-columned blocks. She stopped her cruiser in front of the apartment complex Alexandra Moretti used to live in – before her ‘death’. She became very aware of her cruiser being the only one as far as the eye could see. For some reason, she felt like a target. She felt eyes on her, from a few of the locals; a couple of curtain-twitchers, peering between grubby looking blinds; a group of kids sitting on the sidewalk; and an elderly gentleman with a small dog. She may as well have ‘cop’ scrawled across her bonnet.
She got out, the light breeze whipping through her hair. The air was crisp – and though it was a little chilly – she found it refreshing – better than the stuffy heat of her office. She closed the door and clicked her key, arming the alarm. She took a quick look around then tried the handle to make sure it was locked; the immediate judgement sent a wave of guilt through her, much to her shame. She caught the old man’s gaze and smiled. He didn’t reciprocate, suddenly finding his dog more interesting as it squatted to take a piss.
She shrugged, turning around to face the building. She just couldn’t imagine an investigator living here. The structure was designed to serve a purpose; no more, no less. There was no architectural ambition in its shape; no decadent balconies or fancy, garishly-lit vestibules. It was a home to exist in, not show off. She had no doubts that inside each apartment, its occupant would’ve added his/her touches to make it a home. Aside from this, she was baffled how a lead investigator had chosen to live here.
Hall thought of her own circumstances. Moretti had been a lead investigator, so her salary would have been more than her own. She wasn’t delusional enough to believe her own salary allowed her to live in abject opulence. But it did provide her with the option to live comfortably and a hell of a lot closer to the city centre. After the rent and living costs had been deducted, she could still afford to own her own cruiser – as beat up as it was. She shook her head, internally chastising herself. She was just the outcome of two parents – overbearing as they were – who had provided their daughter with a better start in life. She had no right to judge people she knew nothing about.
“You an old colleague?” a gravelled voice asked, behind her causing her to flinch.
She turned around. It was the old man with the dog; its black, beady eyes regarded her with caution before it made up its mind deciding she posed no threat to its owner. It approached to sniff at her boots. The old man looked to his dog, then raised his head, meeting her eyes in question. “I’m sorry?” she asked, giving him a nervous smile.
This time he returned her smile; his grin spreading across his weather-beaten face. His moustache, which sat thick above his top lip, bristled. He nodded towards the apartment complex. “A colleague of Alexandra’s?”
She laughed. “Is it that obvious I’m SPD?”
His eyes twinkled with humour. “Don’t see many cruisers this way, my dear. When you pulled up, I thought you were either a cop or a debt collector. Then you got out and I said to myself ‘she’s too pretty to be a debtor’.”
“I had noticed the absence of vehicles,” she said. “No, I didn’t know Miss Moretti. I’m just making some routine enquiries. I’m from the cold case department,” she lied.
He pursed his lips, his expression losing the humour in it. “Finally found her body?”
She narrowed her eyes. As much as he was pleasant, she didn’t know who he was. After her impromptu meeting with the spook, she wasn’t sure who she could trust. She showed the old man her I.D. card. “Investigator Hall, and you are, sir?”
“Geno Moretti; Alexandra’s uncle,” he said, strolling past her. “I suppose you’ll want to come in then?”
Lost for words, she followed him down the path, a few steps behind the dog.
~
Inside the complex, Hall was pleasantly surprised to find the apartments looked a lot better than the exterior suggested. The main communal area had its very own service droid; cleaning the landings, and servicing the local amenities. They skirted around one of them as it bleeped and buzzed; its internal CPU processing its current duties; oblivious to their passing. The dog stopped and growled at the droid, before catching up to its master.
Geno led her through thickly carpeted halls, furnished with potted plants; their rich scents of lavender and eucalyptus gave the interior a refreshing aroma. The walls were adorned with printed artworks, encased in tasteful frames. Geno turned his head, not failing to miss the look of surprise on her face.
“Thought it would look as shitty as the outside, huh?” he asked, amused. She didn’t answer assuming it was rhetorical.
They traversed along several more corridors until they reached the Moretti apartment. He swiped his card key through a narrow slit above the door. It unlocked with a quick snap, as bolts and levers within the frame slid free. Geno opened the door and gestured for her to lead the way. She smiled politely and stepped inside the apartment, the dog bolting past her, down Geno’s hallway.
The apartment was dull; the air thick with the stale smell of cigarette smoke. She looked up, noticing the once-white ceiling had a tinge of yellow to it. She reached the room at the end of the hall, then stood awkwardly, waiting for Geno who followed close behind. He removed his coat and invited her to take a seat in one of the two armchairs. She noticed one of them had an ashtray balanced precariously on one of its arms. It was obvious that one was Geno’s, so she opted for the other one.
She sank into the soft cushion, expecting it to be a lot firmer than it was. It felt like it was trying to swallow her, so she shuffled forward to rest on its edge.
“I’m making some coffee, you want a mug?” he asked, making for the kitchen.
“Yes, please.”
While Geno busied himself in the kitchen, she studied the room. There wasn’t much; two chairs; a coffee table in between them; and a bookcase on the far wall by the window – stocked more with random junk than with books. She saw there was a couple of picture frames sitting on the middle shelf. She got up and walked over to take a closer look. The dog settled comfortably in his bed, watched her – his eyes following from behind shaggy brows.
She took one of the pictures from the shelf and used her sleeve to wipe off the dust that covered the glass, like a dirty skin. A pretty blonde, embracing a young boy stared back at her. They were kneeling down on grass, smiles adorning both their faces; pressed together in a loving squeeze. There was no mistaking the eyes of the woman looking at the camera. There was something different. Aside from the fact this woman had two eyes, they looked more human; full of life. It was hard to imagine this happy young woman was the same deranged, psychotic terrorist that had pointed a gun to her head.
“That was taken about a year ago,” Geno said, carrying a tray laden with coffee and a plate of cakes. He was smiling, but Hall couldn’t help notice the sadness in his expression. Geno gestured to the two chairs with his chin. She put the photo back and joined him.
Geno took a sip of coffee and then lit himself a cigarette, offering the pack to her. She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”
He settled back into the cushioned back of the chair and blew out a few smoke rings, which spun and wavered towards the ceiling. He followed their trajectory until they broke on the nicotine-stained paint, then lowered his head; his eyes sharp beneath his brows. “So, ho
w can I help you, dear?”
Hall made a point of getting her scribe out to make notes – for appearance's sake – as she didn’t work for ‘missing persons’. “I was wondering if you could help me shed some light on your niece’s disappearance… to possibly fill in some gaps regarding events.”
Geno narrowed his eyes, the friendly expression waning a little. “My impression, given my treatment by the SPD, is that you have more important cases to work on,” he said.
“What makes you say that?” she asked. “Every crime in the city is taken with the utmost seriousness by the SPD.”
Geno leaned forward and took a long drag from his cigarette. He frowned, clearly sceptical of her naïve comment. “Your investigators came by for a time, taking statements, carrying out door to door enquiries. Heck, they even went to the effort of a small manhunt… but then, after they found Julian it all stopped.”
“Stopped?”
“Once the forensics came back on our little Julian, they lost all interest in finding Alexandra.”
“I’m here right now, Mr Moretti, asking questions on the whereabouts of your niece,” she said.
Geno stubbed out his cigarette and picked up his cup, his worn fingers linking around it so tight she could see the whites of his knuckles. “Yes, but why now? It’s been eight months since she disappeared… since they found…” He grimaced; the memories still raw.
“There’s a lot of missing people in the city, sir. I can only apologise for the time it’s taken to pursue the case. You must understand our staff are stretched pretty thin.”
“After I hadn’t heard from the precinct dealing with the case… I think it was about a fortnight… I began to make regular calls. It was no use though. I got bounced from pillar to post, passed from one officer to the next,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “It didn’t matter who I spoke to, they all said the same thing.”
“And what was that?”
He furrowed his brow, his lips curling in disgust. “They were prioritising their searches for citizens who weren’t child killers.”
Hall didn’t have a reply, because there was none. The evidence did pin the murder on Moretti. The fingerprints on the murder weapon – found at the scene – did belong to Alexandra Moretti. As much as this proved she’d killed her son, Hall didn’t think it was reason enough to quit the case. A little boy had been murdered. If anything, the evidence gave them a suspect in a murder enquiry, instead of a dead-end in a missing person case. It didn’t make sense, and it certainly didn’t give the SPD an excuse to treat Geno Moretti the way he claimed.
“As I’ve said, Mr Moretti, I can only apologise for the conduct of my colleagues. A missing person is still a missing person. I would say it was more of a priority if said missing person was a murderer.”
Geno slammed his palm onto the table, startling her. “My niece is not a fucking murderer.”
Hall jumped but kept her composure. She narrowed her eyes. “With all due respect, sir, Alexandra’s prints were found on the murder weapon.”
She could see tears brimming in Geno’s eyes. He wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand. “I couldn’t give a fuck, Miss Hall. My Alexandra loved that boy more than life itself.”
She leaned forward and gave him a look of reassurance and understanding. “I’m not here to discuss the murder, Mr Moretti. I’m only here to find out where your niece is.”
He glared at her; his face red with anger. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, Miss Hall. You don’t understand what it’s been like. The shit I get; judged for being related to a ‘child killer’.
Hall nodded. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But I do sympathise. I’m not here to pass judgements. It’s not my place to do so. I’m only here to get the facts.”
Geno opened his arms. “I don’t know what more I can tell you, other than what I said in my statement.”
“If you could indulge me, I’ve not been privy to your statements.”
He raised an eyebrow in question. “Really? Strange, I would have thought the investigator leading the search would have access to all the information.”
Fuck, she thought. Too much information. “What I mean… is that I’ve deliberately not read them. I want to make my own conclusions before I take a look. Perhaps fresh eyes are what this case needs,” she said, wondering if she’d laid the lie on a little too thick.
He nodded, appearing to buy it. She needed to be careful. As much as he was suffering, his grief didn’t make him stupid. “Hmm, if you say so, Miss Hall. Where do you wish to begin?”
“When was the last time you saw her?” she asked, beginning with the most obvious question.
“About a week before her disappearance.”
“Did the three of you live here together?”
He shook his head emphatically. “No, no. I rented one of the apartments a couple of blocks from here. I would stay over a couple of times a week to look after Julian… you know, if Lex was working late, or got called to an emergency.”
“Are you living here full time now? What about your own apartment?”
“I was staying here the night she disappeared.” He trailed off, his eyes becoming glassy like he was reliving the memory. “I haven’t been back to my own apartment yet. I’d been staying that week. She said she was working a sensitive case and needed me here.” He chuckled. “I wasn’t complaining; meant I got a few extra days with…” His eyes brimming with tears; the dam threatening to burst.
“Sensitive case?” she asked, quickly moving onto another subject.
He nodded, his expression suggesting it was of no importance. “That’s all she said.”
“When did you last see Julian?”
“The day he disappeared. An Investigator came around with two armed officers. They said the boy was to go with them, as he was in danger. I told them he was safe with me, but they insisted, stating their orders had come from the Proxy himself.”
The Proxy? This was getting interesting. Why would the Proxy involve himself in an SPD matter? “Do you know the name of the investigator?” she asked.
“It was Reid, Alon Reid. I was told shortly after they’d left, their vehicle was attacked and the boy was taken. The two officers were killed and Reid was grievously injured.”
Grievously injured? This was the first time she’d heard this. She would have remembered her boss being out of commission due to injuries sustained whilst on duty. In the short time she’d known Reid, he didn’t seem the type to put himself in the line of fire – at least not without good reason. The more she thought of it, she was sure he wasn’t even part of the homicide department eight months ago. She would need to ask him when she eventually got hold of him.
This case was beginning to stink the deeper she delved. Geno continued.
“Afterwards, I demanded to know why they weren’t able to keep their promise. To keep the boy safe.”
“What did Reid say?”
“I never got a chance to talk to him. I persisted, but after I got a visit from some representatives from NewHaven…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I managed to get hold of him, it wouldn’t change anything. Our little Julian isn’t coming back,” he said, bitterly.
“I’ll do my best to find your niece.”
He smirked. “That’s if she wants to be found…”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean by that, do you know where your niece is?”
Panic flickered across his face for the briefest of moments, then it was gone. He waved a hand, rolling his eyes. “Look, Miss Hall, I’m tired. Could we do this another time?”
Hall wasn’t letting go. He’d slipped up. He knew where she was, she knew it. He was maybe working with her, been harbouring her this entire time, she thought. “Has she been living here? Mr Moretti, might I remind you, withholding information, vital in aiding a major murder enquiry, is a serious offence?”
He slammed another palm onto the table. “Get the fuck out of my hom
e before I do something I may regret.”
Hall stood up. They were venturing into murky territory. She came here for answers, not pick a fight. “Something’s not right with this case, Mr Moretti, and I’m going to find out the truth. You can cooperate now, or I can get a warrant for your arrest.” She walked over to the bookcase and pointed to the photo of Julian and his mother. “I’m going to find justice for the death of an innocent little boy, whatever it takes.”
A dark expression marred Geno Moretti’s features. “Forgive me if I don’t hold the abilities of the SPD in a particularly good light, Miss Hall. From what my Lex says, it’s rotten to the core.”
Hall levelled her finger at the old man. “I’m not fucking rotten, Mr Moretti. I believe in justice, whether you do or don’t. I’ll find those responsible for Julian’s death.” She dropped one of her cards on the coffee table. “Here’s my card. If you change your mind before I return with a search warrant, give me a call. You’re running out of time.”
Neon Revenge Page 14
