"This is tedious, but it's what we're getting paid to do."
"And we need that money. Rent is due at the end of next week,” I agreed.
* * * *
Lan's autopsy, something we had a particular interest in, had already been done so that the funeral could be scheduled. The officials were interested in things like whether alcohol was involved in the crash, but we were more curious about whether there were any calluses on his hands and feet, scars, fillings in his teeth—the sort of thing that would indicate whether the body had ever been used. A clone, when it is decanted from the vat, is in physically perfect condition, subject only to the limitations of the DNA used to grow it. It's never had a broken bone, never been subjected to any real stress other than an automatic regimen to develop the musculature to a level sufficient for the clone to stand and move around without undue trouble. It's a completely new start, physically.
I knew this from personal experience, having had to deal with my virgin body after being reincarnated. The glitch in my right knee was gone, as was the permanent ringing in my ears from too much loud music in my teens, but I'd been so uncoordinated that it had taken me an entire afternoon to relearn something as simple as how to snap my fingers. My mind knew how, but my new body didn't.
In this case, Lan's clone wouldn't need to exhibit any particular physical ability, since its only job was to be convincingly dead. Given the fact that the body was mutilated, the more subtle physical clues would very likely have been obliterated. And if the cops weren't looking for evidence of foul play they might ignore it even if the coroner did happen to find something that looked a little off. Dental records might work in our favor, but we had not yet heard whether the jaws had survived the crash. If they hadn't, then one of our best bets for proving that the dead Lan was a clone was kaput. Even if the jaw had survived, it still didn't prove anything one way or another since the dead Lan could be the old one, and the live one could be the fresh clone. The law was a little hazy, but if a clone was initiated before the death of the original, it was generally considered reproductive cloning and was against the law. To stay on the right side of the law, you had to die and have a backup of your personality read into the clone. Applications could be made for an exception to the rules, but they were rarely granted.
My job at this point was to reinfiltrate Bettina's old neighborhood and talk to the people on her street. This time I'd be moving in the open, since I wasn't trying to sneak up on an unsuspecting Bettina. I'd already called and made an appointment with the couple that lived across the street. That would give me a legitimate reason to get past the guard.
The afternoon sun was low in the western sky and golden-red light spilled across the perfectly mown lawns. Each leaf on each tree fairly glowed with healthy vigor. It was so perfect it looked like a photo from an advertising brochure. Much better than my previous visit. Gorgeous, in fact. I was filled with envy. Nothing would do except to beg, borrow, or steal enough money to buy a house in the neighborhood. And I happened to know that one was available right across the street from where I was parked.
The illusion lasted until I opened my car door and heard the unnatural velvety silence. No hum of insects, no laughter of children, nothing. I made a mental note never to move anywhere where nature can't find a toehold. Leave the place to those who are phobic about reality. I prefer real dirt to the sort that doesn't even soil gardeners’ gloves.
The door I knocked on looked so antiseptically clean you could eat off of it. The woman who answered wasn't quite as perky as I feared, but her husband, who arrived the perfect 3.7-second interval afterward, made up for it. He was a living, breathing throwback to a 1950s sitcom, complete with comfy sweater.
"My name is Sawyer ... Jack Sawyer. I called earlier about your neighbor across the street, Bettina Harncort."
"Yes, yes, I remember,” the woman chirped. “I'm Jill, and this is my husband Ted ... Vaughn, that is. Please, come in."
I stepped inside and instantly figured out why husband-Ted was wearing a sweater. It was frigid inside the house. The outside temperature was somewhere in the vicinity of 90 degrees, yet the air-conditioner was running full-out to provide Ted an excuse to wear his sweater. Or perhaps it was that cold to accommodate Jill, and he wore the sweater as a defensive measure. Either way, it was odd.
As soon as we were seated in the immaculate living room, Jill bounced back to her feet and announced that she was off to the kitchen to get drinks and what would I like and oh she thought she had cola and tea and lemonade and water of course but if I wanted anything with alcohol in it she would leave me in Ted's capable hands because she always either over-mixed or under-mixed the drinks but he always got it just right and wouldn't I like a martini because they were Ted's specialty and...
The verbal onslaught continued until my eyes glazed. I held up a hand and requested water in self-defense. I told myself that she was just nervous, but I didn't really believe it. Somehow I was certain that this was simply the way she was, take it or leave it.
Once the drink portion of our conversation had been properly dealt with, I took a dutiful sip of my water and said, “Thanks. That's just the thing for a hot day.” It came out sounding like a cliché. I took another sip and reflected that if I wasn't careful I was going to be dragged into their retro time warp. We would then sit and trade perfectly innocuous platitudes until it was time for me to go, and we would part at the door, telling each other what a nice time we'd had and we'd have to get together and do it again sometime and—I gritted my teeth and forced out the words that I had come here to say. “As I said on the phone, I'm trying to find Bettina Harncort. She seems to have left town rather suddenly, and we wanted to make sure that everything was okay."
They both gave simultaneous nods, but neither said anything. Their faces were unmarred by anything approaching human emotion. If Bettina's departure concerned them in the least, it didn't show.
"Did you know Bettina?” I asked.
Wrong question. They both immediately launched into a matched set of his and hers monologues about what a fine neighbor Bettina had been and how you couldn't ask for a better person, and so forth. After the first two or three sentences, it was painfully clear that neither of them had a clue whether Bettina liked water, lemonade, or martinis. Reading between the lines, I gathered that their idea of a good neighbor was one who never did anything unexpected or loud, and since Bettina had apparently done neither during her tenure as their neighbor, she was A-OK in their books.
I asked if they had ever seen a man across the street. They both glanced at each other before Jill answered with a slight frown. “But Bettina lived alone. I thought you knew that."
"There seems to be at least the possibility that a man came into her life recently."
Jill's frown deepened, approaching open disapproval. “I'm sure I wouldn't know about that. We don't pry into our neighbors’ lives, you see."
I was beginning to see the lay of the land, but decided to give it one more try. “Did you happen to notice anything when she moved out?"
They shook their heads as one. I believed them. They lived a cosseted existence, insulated from harsh realities. The neighborhood enclave was a safe nest for them, where the fears of the outside world need not intrude. Indeed, the only thing they feared was fear itself, because the real world could not touch them.
Or so they thought. I wondered what they would say if I told them just how easy it was to get past their guard and right up to their very house. But that would be cruel and pointless. Let them live their fantasy.
I left as quickly as possible. I paused on their front porch, trying to decide what to do next. I was in no hurry to move for the simple reason that the heat felt wonderful as it seeped into my bones, driving away the chill of the freezing house. After standing there a minute, I got an itchy feeling in the back of my neck and decided that I'd better move on. The Vaughns might not feel comfortable with me, a stranger, standing on their front porch.
C
rossing their yard, I decided to visit their neighbor to the left. The house was situated nearly as ideally to observe Bettina's house as the Vaughn's was. Not having called ahead, I didn't know what sort of reception I would receive, but it was worth a try.
There was no answer when I rang the doorbell. I turned and surveyed the curve of the street. The next house along on that side could see Bettina's house, but only just. My next best bet appeared to be the house across the street, Bettina's next-door neighbor.
The woman who answered the door was not cast in the same mould as Jill Vaughn. She looked somewhat out of place. There wasn't any one thing I could put my finger on, but even before she spoke she seemed more centered, more in contact with objective reality.
"Yes?” She fixed me with a very direct gaze.
I'd planned on starting with some light chitchat to try to put her at ease before I started asking questions. Her eyes dared me to try it. I changed tactics. “I'm trying to locate Bettina Harncort. She seems to have moved suddenly, and it's possible that she's in trouble."
At this point her eyes should have gone vague as she retreated into her memory to remember that Bettina lived next door and to quickly scan all available memories to see if she could figure out what sort of trouble Bettina might have gotten herself into. That didn't happen. Her eyes stayed locked on me. “What sort of trouble?"
"A man seems to have entered her life, and he may not be on the up and up,” I told her.
"Did Bettina give you notice that she was leaving?"
"No."
"Then maybe she didn't think it was any of your damned business,” she said sharply.
"Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be. But if the man has committed murder, then the rules of the game change quickly. She may be in danger, herself."
She'd fired a warning shot at me and I'd fired one back. Now that we'd staked out our positions, the next move was up to her.
Something subtle changed in her face. “If Bettina has a new man in her life, then good for her. It's not for you or me to decide who she should spend her time with."
"Your position is admirably clear.” I pulled a card out of my pocket and handed it to her. “If by some chance you happen to hear from her, tell her that Jack Sawyer would like a word with her. Thanks for your time.” I turned and stepped off the porch, headed for my car. It's easier said than done, but there are times when it's better to end a losing conversation on your terms rather than let the other party continue to defy you.
Before I'd even gotten halfway across the yard, I had my phone out, dialing my twin. “Yeah?” he began.
"Bettina has a neighbor to the left of her house. The street address is...” I looked back over my shoulder at the mailbox and gave him the address, “Do everything you can to get on the phones for that house. Do it immediately. Unless I miss my guess, the woman I just spoke with is going to call Bettina very quickly, indeed. Find out where that call goes, and we will know where Bettina is."
"So you have kicked the proverbial hornet's nest,” he observed.
"I hope so, yes. It's clear this woman knows Bettina and knows at least some of what has happened."
"But not all."
"I don't think so. I more or less accused Lan of murder. It rocked her. She almost decided to talk to me, but decided to remain loyal to Bettina. If I'm right, she'll try to get in contact with Bettina to ask her what the hell is going on."
"And to tell her that there's a stranger asking pointed questions about her."
"That, too,” I said.
"I'm on it,” he said, and hung up.
* * * *
My retreat from Cedar Ridge was clean and efficient. I even waved politely at the guard sweating in his kiosk on the way out. He had air-conditioning, but it was unable to compete with the open door where he leaned out to speak with visitors. The man was suffering for his paycheck, and I sympathized with him.
I had seen the guard dog trotting through the woods on the way out of the neighborhood. Some primal part of me wanted to kill the misbegotten creature, but the more rational portion of my mind recognized that he didn't bear me any personal animosity; it was just business.
That didn't mean that I was overcome with sufficient warm fuzzies to want to adopt the little monster.
The afternoon sun was just above the horizon. The combination of the direct rays and the reflection from the hood of my car was making my retinas smolder. I couldn't wait to get somewhere quieter and much, much dimmer. As if that wasn't enough, my stomach was starting to complain.
I wasn't even halfway home when my double called me.
"I,” he informed me archly, “performed perfectly. She, on the other hand, took her damned time making up her mind to call Bettina."
"It's about time something went right,” I growled.
"My sentiments exactly. Not only do I have the number she called, I have a recording of the call itself."
"That's illegal,” I pointed out.
"And tracing the call isn't?” he replied caustically.
"Point taken,” I said. “So where do we stand?"
"Where are you now?"
"Give me a second, there's a mile marker coming up ... okay, I've just passed marker ninety-three, westbound."
"Take the next exit and start making your way south. I'll fine tune you as you go."
"Is Lan with her?” I demanded.
"You and I both know that there are no certainties in this business, but I'll give you multiple nines percent probability that he is."
"I can live with those odds,” I told him as I slowed for the exit ramp.
* * * *
Surveillance is an uncomfortable business. Particularly in temperature extremes when you can't sit there with the engine running to power the heat, or in this case, the air-conditioning. I could feel sweat tickling down my ribs. Everything stuck to me—my shirt, my pants, the seat, even the door I was leaning against to keep from falling over. My face was melting. I could feel it dribbling off my chin. I was convinced that if I looked down, I'd see streams of molten flesh, looking not unlike runs of wax down the side of a candle.
Being a private investigator isn't as glamorous as the movies make it seem.
The Wayfarer Inn was the kind of place that made my apartment look upscale. Bettina—and hopefully Lan—had adopted the same cheap and anonymous tactic that Amanda was using. They had only driven about an hour—long enough to get to a rundown little town comprised of aging, middle-class residential neighborhoods, pawnshops, and questionable car-repair joints.
I was keeping an eye on a dark green sedan, second from the end, to make sure they didn't escape. We had confirmed that it was Bettina's car. Other than that, matters were out of my hands for the moment. My only function was to observe.
The door to room twenty-six popped open, and a woman appeared in the doorway. I assumed that it was Bettina, since she was the only woman we knew to be staying in the room, but I had not seen a picture of her and couldn't make positive ID. She turned back, facing into the room, obviously greatly agitated. Her mouth was moving, but I couldn't hear anything. It was obviously emotional, though. She finished her say and turned to stomp to the car.
She hit the remote and the trunk came unlatched, swinging half open. She snatched at the lid, flinging it fully open. The trunk, in the perverse way of inanimate objects, bounced off the stops and hit her on the head as she leaned in to deposit the clothes bag she'd been carrying.
I didn't need to hear the words to know what she said then. The pantomime was clear enough even from my distance. She grabbed the back of her head with both hands, dropping the garment bag in the process. The bag slumped onto the tarry asphalt, which set off a new round of cursing on her part, though she continued to hold her head.
Being preoccupied with her, I'd missed Lan Hielsby coming out the door. He pulled her hands from her head to look at the wounded area. She slapped his hands away and pushed blindly at him, causing him to stagger back a few feet.
/> I had my phone propped on the dash, camera aimed so as to cover both the room and car. “Bingo! Dead men walk. Are you catching this?” I asked.
"Looks like there's trouble in paradise,” my twin observed. “Wish we could have heard what she was saying."
"We're just observers at the moment,” I reminded him. “Flies on the wall."
"Flies that need better hearing,” he grumbled.
"I still wish you could have gotten into the terminal in the room."
He sighed. “They've had it turned off. I can't do anything without electrons. For that matter, I still haven't gotten into the computer at the post office. Looks like we've bypassed the need for that, though."
Lan was clearly pleading with Bettina, but she was backing away from him. He made a grab for her just as a car rounded the corner of the building and screeched to a halt right behind Bettina.
"Okay, that's our cue,” I said, pushing open the door of the car.
I sprinted towards the action at top speed, but was not fast enough to catch Amanda, who had bounded from her car headed straight for Lan. She was on him in a flash, clawing at his face. Lan was built big and clearly spent a fair portion of his time at the gym maintaining his physique, but he was unequal to the task of defending himself against the fury being unleashed against him. He fell backward, striking his head on the curb.
I grabbed Amanda from behind in time to keep her from kicking him. “Whoa, girl, whoa ... he's gotten the message. You don't want to be dragged in on an assault charge."
She sagged backward against my chest, panting for breath. “I'm going to kill him,” she growled.
"That won't be necessary,” Bettina said in a dangerously quiet voice as she stepped past us and delivered a kick that would have shamed a mule. “I'll do the job."
Still circling Amanda with my left arm, I reached out and took Bettina's shoulder with my right hand just as she was cocking her leg for another kick. “He's down. He's not going anywhere. There are three of us and one of him. We can restrain him until the police get here."
Bettina turned and looked at Amanda. “We've both been fools, but I've been the bigger one. I'm sorry. I should not have interfered in your relationship, but it happened in such small steps that I didn't realize that things were out of control until it was too late.” Her gaze shifted to me. “You're the detective? Sawyer?"
Analog SFF, December 2006 Page 11
