Under her scrutiny, Nero can’t deny it, can’t begin to defend his actions. ‘I listened to your statement,’ he says. ‘The mind tends to shut down memories that are too painful to be recalled. It’s a well-known phenomenon – a form of self-protection.’
‘Don’t tell me you bought all that.’ Chan gives a mirthless laugh. She stands up and begins to walk towards him; moving very slowly like she’s measuring every step. ‘Self-protection, eh?’ This time she seems genuinely amused. ‘Well now, let me tell you some things that do tend to stick in the mind. Like looking down and seeing a dead woman with your own face.’
‘Our brains sometimes play tricks,’ he says.
‘Is that right?’ She comes right up to him and he tries not to flinch when she reaches out to run her delicate fingers across the stubble on his face. ‘So, tell me,’ she says, her mouth almost touching his, ‘would that explain how I saw your head floating without a body?’
He looks away from the hostility in her eyes to the patch of discoloured skin around her wound. Her fingers dig into his chin as she forces his head back towards her. ‘What is it, Inspector,’ she says, ‘cat got your tongue?’
Sixteen
Kass is trying though mostly failing to work when Maxwell appears in the doorway. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything though everything about the woman means business. Finally, she walks further into the Incident Room but doesn’t sit down.
‘You’re back then,’ she says, breaking the silence and giving Kass an appraising look that’s somewhat lacking in the necessary deference to a senior officer.
Kass bristles. ‘I’m busy right now. Was there something on your mind, Constable?’
The expression on Maxwell’s face has more than a hint of insubordination. ‘I just want to say – no, to officially state, Inspector Kassöndrudóttir – that things have gotten pretty damned weird around here lately.’
‘Is that right?’ Trying to look unruffled, Kass sits back in her chair. ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me about your specific concerns?’
‘My specific concerns are that the body count seems to have gone sky-high but nothing appears to be happening. We’re the Homicide Department, for God’s sake but we’re becoming a joke with nobody laughing.’
She holds up both hands as if appealing to a higher authority. ‘The military’s more or less locked down this city due to the unrest and we’re all faffing about. We seem to have got precisely nowhere with finding who was responsible for the murders at the university – the very thing that set this whole state of emergency business off. On top of that, what’s the story about those shot-up bodies they found in that old factory? Does anybody have any ideas? And now I hear forensics seem to think the female was half wolf.’
‘Please keep your voice down,’ Kass says. ‘Let me remind you, Constable, that information is now classified. In any case, I’d say that’s a gross exaggeration. They’ve suggested it was a few genes. She would probably have looked entirely normal.’
‘Okay, but then there’s those three dead vixens someone shot up and left lying around? I for one can’t make any kind of sense of that SOC evidence. How about you, Inspector?’ Maxwell glares at her. She then points accusingly at the whiteboard. ‘And look – there’s not a single thing up there about any of it.’ She folds her arms and stands there demanding a response.
Knowing the woman is right doesn’t help one bit. ‘It might have escaped your notice, Constable,’ Kass says, rising to face her eye to eye, ‘but we’ve been a little thin on the ground lately. Inspector Cavallo has only just returned to active duty and I’m just back from sick leave myself. I’m afraid Constable Chan may be absent for some time. We’re obviously looking into both incidents as a matter of urgency but, so far, there are no active leads.’
Under normal circumstances she’d welcome Maxwell’s determination to get to the bottom of things but these are anything but normal circumstances. In an effort to deescalate the tension, she lays a hand on the girl’s arm. ‘You’re relatively new to this department,’ she says. ‘Believe me, I understand your frustration, but these things often take time.’
Maxwell just keeps on shaking her head. ‘That assassin bloke on the campus was killed with an old-style handgun; there can’t be too many of them in this city.’
‘Yes, but the ballistic report clearly stated they’d found no match to any gun on our system. The blood splattered on his clothing strongly indicates he’d just slit the throat of that poor girl. There won’t be many people crying over his dead body.’
‘Maybe, but we haven’t got the whole picture for sure. What about all the stray DNA they found on both of the deceased? Who else was involved?’
‘There’d been plenty of contamination. The man was found in a dumpster. On top of that, a riot broke out while they were in the process of removing the bodies – lots more contamination there. Again, we’ve got no matches so far.’
She starts to pace the room but finds Maxwell’s in her path. ‘Thing is, even if we were to take samples from every student on that campus – and I for one would rather not stoke those particular flames – any DNA matches that turned up would be next to useless in a court of law.’
Maxwell pulls up a chair and sits down heavily. ‘Okay, then what about all those factory corpses; what the fokking fokk happened in that place?’
‘Well, as you know, we’ve identified one of the bodies thanks to Mr Bresson’s extensive dental treatment.’
Maxwell keeps pulling at her upper lip. ‘Yeah, I saw that,’ she says. ‘His wife seems to have swallowed that story he’d spun her about being a paramedic working nights.’
‘What’s that expression about seeing no evil?’
‘Oh, you mean the three monkey thing. See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Least, I think it’s that way round. Doesn’t matter.’ After a while Maxwell adds, ‘Seems quite apt for what’s going on in this city with everybody trying to turn a blind eye.’
Her sigh is long and heartfelt. ‘And another thing,’ she says, ‘why have they sent wolf-woman’s body over to the Institute for Biological Research?’
Kass can’t hide her shock. Before she can think of a response, she hears Jue Hai in her ear. ‘Nero’s stud is currently unresponsive.’
‘He’s been told not to overdo things – this being his first week back,’ she says.
‘Yes, well, I think one of you need to come down here and take a look at what’s just come in.’ He sounds excited – oh God. ‘If you don’t see this with your own eyes, you might not believe it.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Kass says. She looks at Maxwell. ‘Forensics have something for us. Why don’t we go see what they’ve got?’
The lift doors open to a climate that’s almost as cold as outside. Kass pulls her jacket closer. Jue Hai must have been looking out for them. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he says, like a party host in fancy dress scrubs. He frowns when he sees Maxwell standing behind her but then remembers his manners and gives her a darting smile.
‘I expect you know Constable Maxwell.’ Kass doesn’t wait for his answer. ‘Well now, don’t leave us in suspense,’ she says, ‘what have you got for us?’
‘It’s another one the factory bodies,’ he says. ‘You probably heard the female got whisked away from us once we’d suggested her DNA wasn’t entirely human.’
Maxwell pulls a face. ‘Yeah – how scary is that.’
‘Anyway, I decided to do a little bit of reconstruction work on the fellow that was shot between the eyes.’ Kass concentrates on keeping her breathing regular. ‘Simple enough stuff,’ the pathologist tells them trying not to look too pleased with himself. ‘I just needed to get his face looking more like it would have done before someone blasted it with a photon. Let me show you.’ He shares a look with Maxwell. ‘Digital recons are okay up to a point but the results are never as accurate as doing it in the flesh – so to speak.’
They follow him over to a partly uncovered body. The s
kin on the man’s face has been replaced making him look like a wax dummy – unfortunately a wax dummy that’s now recognizably Williams. ‘I can even open his eyes with a little gadget I’ve invented. I’ll demonstrate if you’ll give me a moment…’
Kass steps back. Like Frankenstein’s monster, the dead man’s eyes pop open.
‘Wow – that’s really clever,’ Maxwell says. ‘Looks like he’s just woken up.’
‘A small electrical impulse,’ Jue Hai says, beaming. He straightens his face. ‘Anyway, after that I just had to scan his face and feed the image into the system. Guess what?’
‘You got a match.’ Maxwell gives a little round of applause and he dutifully bows.
Jue Hai points to the man’s ID image on the overhead screen. ‘His name is Hank Williams and – here’s the interesting part – he was working as a chauffeur for Rockingham when the commander was abducted.’
‘No?’ Maxwell covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Wowee!
Kass does her best to seem surprised. ‘I seem to recall Hank Williams was a country singer who died back in the nineteen-fifties,’ she says. ‘My dad used to play his songs to me. I’d lay odds that can’t have been his real name.’
‘With respect, you seem to be missing the bigger picture, Inspector.’ Maxwell can’t seem to stay still. ‘We’ve now established a direct link between Rockingham’s assassination and those factory murders.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Kass says, ‘all very intriguing.’ She knows her voice, her vocabulary, doesn’t belong to her and one or both of them might have spotted it. ‘Good work, Jue Hai,’ she says. ‘Well done.’
‘Well done – this man’s a genius,’ Maxwell says.
‘It was a fairly straightforward procedure,’ Jue Hai says, nonetheless beaming at his new fan. ‘Hardly in the same league as the work Jóra did on the female.’
‘I hear her remains have been shipped over to the IBR,’ Kass says.
‘Yes and all Jóra’s research has been removed from our system.’ Jue Hai leans in closer. ‘One of the generals even came down here and swore us all to secrecy.’
‘Who was that?’ Kass asks.
The pathologist shrugs. ‘The man didn’t exactly introduce himself.’
Seventeen
Orien Laskaris recalls that his father – “The General” even to his sons – always used to say a man is what he wears; dressed in his new working attire, Laskaris wonders what his current appearance might be saying about him. He shakes his head at the thought.
“Reasonably smart but not too formal” was the phrase used by the female briefing officer. From what he’s seen so far, the rest of DSD haven’t registered the smart part of that particular memo. ‘The idea is you blend in,’ the young woman added, failing to specify with what. Then she honed in on his head. ‘You might want to let your hair grow a little.’ He was tempted to remind her that human hair continues to grow even after death.
His new rank rankles more than the sartorial changes involved; there could be no denying Chief Inspector Laskaris has considerably less of a ring to it than Colonel Laskaris had. On being given this posting, he’d double-checked the hierarchal ranks within the civilian police force and concluded that he should have been given the rank of Superintendent at the very least. Despite all those fine words about needing a man like him to head up a department in complete disarray – the whole thing feels very much like a demotion.
Laskaris looks down at his overshined boots and wonders if he should have bought a pair made from those new impervious materials people are always bragging about. No, these boots have served him well for the last eighteen months; why should he pander to modernity at the expense of tradition? Besides, he hadn’t been offered a clothing allowance.
Reporting to the General only a few days ago, he’d had a spring in his step, harboured lofty expectations, raised still further by the presence of Governor Hagalín at the man’s side. It was quite a struggle to mask his disappointment at being seconded to DSD.
Seconded – that was another word he didn’t care for. It suggested something less than optimal – something decidedly second best. Truth is, this transfer wouldn’t have been his first or even his second choice of career moves.
He’d set his face as they gave him the news. Hadn’t been given a choice – but then when all’s said and done, you didn’t argue with the state governor.
This morning there’d been a bit of a kerfuffle getting through the atrium’s enhanced security measures; it seems someone hadn’t verified his presence on the system. Cursing sotto voce, he’d had to stand aside while a stream of others gained entry ahead of him. It had taken twelve long minutes to sort out the confusion– hardly the most auspicious of starts.
Laskaris surveys the office he’s been allocated – far from ideal that it’s some distance down the corridor from the rest of the Homicide team. There’s no question that he’s out on a limb in here. A suspicious man might wonder who had overseen the process.
Unlike the usual glass box offices, he’s facing a solid door and solid walls with no outside windows to let in what daylight there is. That said, the room’s not a bad size and seems to contain the necessary accoutrements. Looking around at the functional furnishings and blank walls, it helps to regard it in the same way he might a hotel room he’s unlikely to be spending a great deal of time in.
He remains standing – he’s never been of a sedentary disposition – tapping an impatient finger on the desk in front of him. Once again his gaze is drawn to the wall’s only embellishment – an old-fashioned clock. Maddeningly, its hands remain stuck at thirteen minutes to six. Right twice a day according to the old, unfunny joke. The last thing he desires is that thing’s incessant ticking but what on earth was the point of having something both obsolete and broken on his office wall? Even standing on a chair he’s unable to reach it.
A loud knock on the door interrupts his thoughts. Laskaris moves the chair back into position before barking a single word: ‘Come.’
Of course he hadn’t expected a salute but the dark-haired man who enters strolls in far too casually for his liking. ‘I’m Inspector Cavallo,’ the fellow says, ‘Nero Cavallo.’
So this is the Italian he’s been hearing about. Well-built and unusually tall – probably from somewhere in the northern parts. Smiling now, the inspector holds out his hand clearly expecting him to shake it. Though in two minds, Laskaris obliges.
The man’s grip is strong as if he’s trying to prove something by it. Despite the superficial bruising, there’s no denying Cavallo’s is a handsome face.
‘Glad to make your acquaintance,’ Laskaris tells him. Releasing his hand, Cavallo suddenly looks completely out of it; it takes a good thirty seconds before the Italian’s dark eyes appear to refocus.
Could be drugs? Alcohol? Still unwell despite being declared fit for duty? Injured on active service – for that the man deserves respect and the benefit of the doubt – for the time being at least. Checking his file, he’d found a gaping hole in the man’s medical records. Whilst recuperating from his earlier wounds, Cavallo had been kidnapped from his hospital bed; turned up days later claiming not to remember a damned thing about his captors. Amnesia seemed rather prevalent in this department.
Recovering his wits, the inspector gives a wide smile. ‘I just wanted to say welcome to Homicide, Chief Inspector,’ he says. May have been well-meant but it seems entirely inappropriate that someone of a lower rank should be assuming the role of host. ‘Nice room you have here,’ Cavallo adds, looking around him. ‘Has to be at least four times the size of mine.’ His accent had been more noticeable that time. With unblinking eyes, the man turns to less-than subtly appraise him. Though the effect is disconcerting, he meets the inspector’s gaze.
‘It may take me a day or two to get up to speed, Inspector,’ he tells him, ‘but, rest assured, I will get there in the end.’ Neither of them blinks.
To put more distance between the two of them, Laskaris walks over
to stare at his console. ‘Was there something more specific on your mind, Inspector?’
‘No, no; just wanted to pop in and say hi, Chief Inspector.’
“Hi” – was it such a stretch to use the word hello? Had there been a hint of insubordination in the way he’d used his rank?
He’s relieved when, taking the hint, Cavallo heads for the door. The man hesitates on the threshold. ‘Would you like me to wind that clock up for you?’
‘No need. I can assure you, Inspector, that object is not destined to be a permanent fixture in here.’
‘It’s a fine antique,’ Cavallo says, appraising it. ‘Must be worth a few credits.’ Some thought appears to be amusing the man. ‘Shame you’re a bit tucked away in here,’ he says, a smile playing on his lips as he leaves.
Laskaris strides across the room to prop the door wide open. He watches Cavallo and that sauntering walk of his until he’s out of sight. Whilst women can sometimes be an enigma to him, Laskaris has worked alongside hundreds of men from all walks of life. This man’s very name means black horse. Dark horse would seem more appropriate. He prides himself on being able to judge character in short order and right now his instincts are telling him that Inspector Nero Cavallo is hiding a great deal more than a simple case of post combat stress.
Eighteen
When Kass walks into Nero’s office; he can see she’s in no mood for idle chatter. All the light bouncing off her spectacles makes it hard to see her eyes but everything else tells him something is weighing on her mind. ‘Why don’t you and I take a walk around the block,’ she says. ‘I’m told it’s good for the constitution.’
‘I’m all about what’s good for the constitution,’ he tells her, reaching for his coat.
Before they’re even out of the building, she says, ‘What the fokk is all this about them foisting some new Chief Inspector on us?’
Within Each Other's Shadow Page 9
