by K. C. Finn
“Abort speech function,” says Nag.
“Aha!” Cries Gus the maintenance man, shifting from Boa over to Nag. “Is this the speech problem you’re trying to tell me about Boa?”
“It is,” Cae answers before the robot, giving Gus a nod. “Can you find out what information it is that they’re protecting?”
Gus sucks his teeth and rubs his large belly. “I can try,” he says. “But it’ll take some time to go through all their code.”
“Let us know immediately if you find something,” orders Cae.
He quickly beckons Kendra away from the robots and Gus, back out into the corridor.
“Our mysterious maintenance man interfered with the cameras and the cleaning robots,” Cae explains. “They’re blocking some sort of information about the lab through a program fault.”
“Then I guess Redd Richmond wasn’t lying,” Kendra adds. “This guy’s a serious mechanic. Maybe I should go give him that parole support now.”
“You do that,” he says. “Then I’ll meet you at mine to get changed.”
“Get changed?” Kendra asks.
“You haven’t forgotten?” Cae answers with a serious look.
Kendra’s expression falls into a glower. “You’re kidding me,” she begins. “We still have to go to that awful thing tonight? Even with a murderer on the loose?”
“We don’t all stop living just because somebody else is dead,” Cae retorts. “You’re the chief of police. It wouldn’t be much of a cotillion without you.”
5.
“Tell me again what this stupid cotillion’s about?” Kendra asks.
Cae puts his head around the doorframe and finds Kendra’s head poking up from behind his ornate screen. He gives her a small smile.
“You have to go you know, no matter how many times you say it’s stupid,” he reminds her.
She scowls at him and returns her attention to whatever she’s doing behind the screen, so he goes back into the corridor and resumes his place at the mirror. Cae adjusts his neck area yet again, looking at himself from all angles to see if any unwanted skin is showing.
“The Official Police Cotillion,” Cae says loudly so Kendra can hear. “Is a highly prestigious social event to celebrate the good work of the Police and Judicial Services. Every metropolitan zone has one. All the other local chiefs will be there, and other esteemed members of the local forces.”
“It’s a fancy dance for big wigs in the police world,” Kendra corrects.
“Precisely,” Cae replies. “And you are now a big wig, so you have to put in an appearance.”
He steps back into his bedroom, where Kendra is still behind the dressing screen. She looks up over the partition again.
“Well, you look pretty esteemed,” she says, her dark eyes travelling over his formalwear. “The white gloves are nice,” she remarks. Then Kendra catches sight of his neck. “What the heck is that blue thing?” She demands.
“It’s an ascot,” Cae says, adjusting the silky scarf around his neck yet again.
“And why is it choking you?” She asks.
Cae gives her a dark look. “Because the bow tie didn’t cover all my scars.”
Kendra’s expression falters for a moment. “Oh,” she says slowly. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget.”
Cae wishes he could forget so easily. The detective fidgets with the ascot again, the fingertips of his white gloves brushing against the scarred skin creeping up his neck from his chest. It has been a few months since he last exposed his acid-burned skin to the world, not since he rolled into the station after the raid on the Atomic Circus. Some of the officers who had seen his injuries that night have been avoiding him ever since.
“The car’ll be here any minute,” he says in a sharp attempt to change the subject. “However we look now, it’ll have to do.”
Kendra nods briefly, and begins to step out from behind the screen. “Alright,” she says. “But if you laugh I’m gonna strangle you with that neck thing.”
He has never really thought about Kendra being a woman before; her gruff, soldierly behaviour usually sees to that. But seeing her in a simple sort of gown, her usually plaited hair put up in a more feminine style, makes him think that the army might be doing wrong by degendering its forces.
“You look fine,” is the first thing Cae can think to say. Kendra takes the comment well, and sweeps out of the room. As he hears her descending the stairs, he feels like he should have said something more complimentary.
When Cae follows Kendra down the staircase she throws his gas mask over her shoulder. It hits him hard in the stomach, and suddenly he’s reminded that Kendra’s usual manly aura isn’t just down to her appearance.
“Let’s complete the elegant look,” she says in wry tone, donning her mask.
When Cae reaches the bottom of the stairs he does the same. They look each other up and down in their formal wear and breathing apparatus and share a laugh. The doorbell rings from outside the clean air barrier.
Cae picks up their coats and leads the way through the partition into the hall. He opens the door to the driver, an older woman who has wrinkled, smiling eyes above her mask, and greets her silently.
Kendra moves past him briskly to get into the car, but Cae takes a moment to look around at the dark, smoggy night. Instinct leaves a cold chill in his spine. Something isn’t right.
“Get in the car Cae!” Kendra shouts in her usual sergeant’s tone. “I’m freezing in this stupid dress!”
The detective obliges, climbing into the vehicle and sitting opposite Kendra. He watches the window for a moment, looking at his own little house, and then at Kendra’s house next door.
6.
The annual Police Cotillion is held this year in Dartley’s very own ballroom, which is in the town centre. Every year it is a busy, lively affair. This year is no different, and when Cae and Kendra arrive the outer hall of the ballroom is already crowded with people. The pair give in their masks and outerwear at the coat-check, Cae surveying the crowd for familiar faces from the local constabulary.
“Blimey chief, you scrub up nice,” says a voice behind him.
“Belt up Spinner,” Kendra replies, and Cae turns to see a very sheepish looking PC offering him a glass of champagne.
“We’ve got the real stuff this year,” says Michael Spinner, nodding at his glass in a desperate plea to redeem himself. “All the way from South Europa.”
Cae takes a sip of the wine, knowing instantly that it’s an imitation. He smiles politely at Spinner. Kendra downs her glass and wipes her mouth on the back of her thumb. She drops the glass back into Spinner’s hand.
“Thanks,” she says. “So where do we go now?”
They proceed into the ballroom itself and, when Cae is out of Spinner’s sight, he quickly disposes of the cheap wine on a nearby table. A few people offer polite gestures and quiet hellos as he and Kendra pass by their tables. Eventually they reach some tables with fine red tablecloths at the front of a large stage area. The arrangement swings out in a semi-circle around a large dance-floor, where several pairs of people are already waltzing.
“This is us,” Cae says, reading their nameplates on a table nearest the stage. “But you’re expected to walk around and talk to people, so don’t get comfortable.”
“I’d really like to be investigating that murder right now,” Kendra says, gritting her teeth. “Instead I have to make small talk with these idiots.”
“Charming,” says a familiar voice behind her.
Cae is surprised to see the petite form that steps up between him and Kendra, but he recognises her blonde hair and glassy eyes instantly.
“Well, well,” snarls Kendra. “I’m surprised they let you in here.”
Smiling as politely as he can, Cae extends a white-gloved hand to the woman.
“Nice to see you Angelica,” he says.
Angelica Lane takes his hand for longer than she usually cares to hold it.
“Detective Rex, Police Chi
ef Nai, a pleasure to see you again,” she replies. Angelica flashes a perfectly white smile, and Kendra makes a derisive sort of snort.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Kendra says. “I have people to see.” She glares at Angelica. “Try not to sleep your way through too many officials tonight.”
And Cae is left alone with the blonde, whose smile falters on one side. “My, she aimed low with that one,” Angelica observes. “She really doesn’t trust me.”
“Well neither do I,” says Cae plainly, “I’m just more polite about it.”
Angelica lets out a small laugh. “You could’ve had me arrested Caecilius,” she reminds him. “But you didn’t.”
“I believe in giving the misguided a second chance,” he states.
She smiles at him fully again, brimming with that smug professionalism she’d possessed back when they first met. “How benevolent of you. How am I doing so far?”
Cae’s expression remains even. “I’ll let you know,” is his reply.
Angelica makes a small motion as though she’s about to leave, but then she pauses, taking another look at Cae. Her glass-like eyes glow.
“Would you like to dance, detective?” She asks.
The detective considers this for a moment, even though his immediate instinct is to say no. Angelica is a prison liaison officer, connected more closely to the criminal world than anybody else in the grand ballroom. She might be useful to him. Cae’s bright blue eyes travel over her quickly in her spectacular silvery gown.
“I suppose it would keep you out of trouble,” he muses aloud.
Taking that as a yes, Angelica immediately takes his hand and leads him to the floor. Cae hasn’t danced since the last cotillion a year ago, but the waltz is always the same, and he picks up the slow, predictable steps again after a few bars.
“I didn’t have you down as a dancer, Caecilius,” Angelica says as they weave between other couples on the floor.
“Then why did you ask me?” He replies.
“To see if you’d say yes.” Angelica smiles at some other official who they circle around, then puts her gaze back on Cae’s face. Her reflective eyes take on the deep blue colour of his ascot.
“Have you heard anything about a strangling?” Cae asks abruptly, becoming aware that other people are watching him from the tables beyond the floor.
“What a charming conversationalist you are,” Angelica says cuttingly. “No I haven’t. Why, should I have?”
Before Cae can speak again the music stops. Cae and Angelica break apart and look to the stage. A small man rushes up to the microphone, tapping it until it springs to life with static.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the man. “We regret that the cotillion cannot continue this evening.” A series of disappointed murmurs erupts around the room. “Please, everyone, this is an emergency. We ask you to leave the building as calmly and quickly as possible.”
A rapping on his shoulder makes Cae swivel on his heel. Kendra’s face is deathly serious.
“You need to come right away,” she says, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. “Spinner’s dead.”
7.
“This killer has a motus operandi,” shouts Caecilius Rex, opening another bottle of his preferred low-alcohol liqueur. “Spinner was strangled just like Li Ewan.” He has had some time to think whilst Kendra stopped by her own home next door.
Kendra emerges from his kitchen, now dressed in her usual fatigue-like style. “My air filtration system’s broken at home,” she says, handing him his house keys.
“Really?” He asks.
The ex-soldier nods. “I had to keep my mask on while I got changed. My whole house is toxic.” She flops herself ungraciously into a chair opposite him.
“When did that happen?” Cae asks.
“While we were at the cotillion,” Kendra replies. “When I stopped in earlier to get my dress and bring it here, everything was fine. Now the house is filled with smog. I called the firm. They’re coming in the morning so I’ll be late in to work.”
“Interesting,” says Cae. “Those systems hardly ever break down without-‘
“Sabotage,” Kendra completes. “You think this killer’s aiming to take the whole station down, one by one?”
“No I don’t think it’s the same guy,” Cae answers, taking a sip of his creamy concoction. “There’s a pattern here. He would have strangled you.”
Kendra shakes her head. “Toxic air is still death by asphyxiation,” she argues.
“I take your point,” he says. “I don’t like bodies piling up like this.” Cae fiddles with his ascot and finds a drop of blood on his white gloves. He shows the spot to Kendra. “I’m going to have to take this thing off,” he says awkwardly. “Do you mind?”
“It’s not like I’ve never seen your neck,” she says with a shrug.
When Cae removes the silk neckerchief he can tell Kendra is trying very hard not to look at him. The underside of the blue ascot is daubed in little flecks of blood where it has irritated the fragile burned skin on Cae’s chest; he is grateful to let the sore skin breathe nevertheless.
“It’s awful that you keep finding the bodies,” he says.
Kendra is busy pouring herself a drink. “Don’t remind me,” she replies. “I talked to him what, ten minutes before he died?”
“Talked to” doesn’t seem the right phrasing. Perhaps “barked at” is more accurate, but Cae doesn’t intend to make Kendra feel any worse about her last interactions with the two dead men.
A beeping somewhere indicates a message on Kendra’s phone. She fumbles through the many pockets of her khaki trousers until she finds the offending device. She flicks the screen into life, her hazel eyes widening.
“Security stills from the ballroom,” she says eagerly.
Cae puts down his drink and climbs over onto the arm of her chair. Kendra pulls up a large run of images of the outer hall of the ballroom. The camera focuses on a small door at the back of the hall leading to the staff area. The first still shows Kendra passing through the door.
“What were you doing out there?” Cae asks, astonished.
Kendra looks at him accusingly. “Getting some more of that champagne,” she says defensively. “I couldn’t find any of those snooty waiters to get one from.”
Cae leans in over Kendra’s head as she flicks the images on. The next one is from eight minutes earlier, and shows Spinner entering the same doorway.
“And where was Spinner’s body when you found it?” Asks Cae.
“In the storeroom with the wine,” Kendra explains. “I guess he had the same idea as me.”
“Then we’re lucky you didn’t go in there first,” Cae comments.
Kendra goes on through the images as they go farther back in time, until one more entrant to the staff door catches her eye.
“We have a winner,” she says.
Cae hones in on the skinny, black-haired man entering the doorway. He is dressed as a waiter, but his haircut matches that of the maintenance man and once again he is shielding his face from the camera as though he already knows where it is.
“Oh god,” says Kendra slowly. “He was still in there when I found the body.” She slides through the other pictures. “He doesn’t leave, even after the body comes out.”
Cae shifts uneasily on his perch. “We were both in there looking at the body. Are there any exits from the staff only section?”
“Nope,” says Kendra. She grits her teeth. “He must have been in there with us the whole time. We should have instigated a search.”
“It would have been impossible whilst all those people were evacuating. Keep going through the slides,” Cae says eagerly. “When does he come out?”
Kendra races through the other slides as the building clears of people and police. She looks at Cae, a flash of mutual urgency passing between them.
“He doesn’t.”
8.
“This had better be important,” says the caretaker of the ballroom sluggis
hly. “It’s almost midnight, you know.”
“Yes, and we’re very sorry about it,” Cae says quickly. “But a man was murdered here today, and a crime scene is always open to the police.”
The caretaker grumbles something about the police that Cae would rather not hear, and when the double doors are opened Cae and Kendra race into the clean air section. Wasting no time in taking off their masks, they surge straight for the staff quarters.
There are four rooms off the little corridor; the storeroom where Spinner’s body was found is immediately to their left. Kendra snaps on the lights and Cae pokes his head into the first room to the right, only to find it full of cleaning supplies.
“You take left, I take right,” Kendra says quietly.
They move sharply together and split off into the rooms, but no sooner has Cae entered his room than Kendra is shouting something from behind him. He turns and jumps to her side and they look down on yet another body.
Except this one is alive, which is proven when Kendra kicks him in the leg. The black-haired man’s thin frame is lying face down on the floor of what appears to be a small sitting room for staff. He groans for a moment, then seems to gather himself.
“Wait,” he says, and his voice is much younger than Cae had imagined. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He starts to turn over, rubbing his head, which is severely bruised on one side. “You don’t-‘
But the young man, who is in fact little more than a teenager, says nothing more. He stares at Cae and Kendra aghast and for a moment they stare back, taking in his sharp blue eyes, his young face. A face they know.
“You’re the GRAVITY boy!” Kendra exclaims.
Cae stares on. He remembers the boy from both of his deadly visits to the Atomic Circus, the criminal marketplace that he and Kendra had shut down just a few months ago. The first time the boy had been used by the other criminals as a trap, filled with a drug substance that made him too heavy to lift, and Cae had been captured whilst trying to rescue him. The second time the boy had done the rescuing, saving Kendra from a mob of armed criminals and helping her to rescue Angelica Lane.
“It really isn’t what you think,” says the boy, his young face filling with fear.
