Analog SFF, November 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  "Chief Constable Crowe."

  Milburn almost slid out of his chair. Like a jack-in-the-box he jumped back to an upright seated position. “Blimey,” he said. He looked at DC al-Fasi who was looking back with very wide eyes, upraised dark brows, and an open mouth.

  She faced Matheson, her eyes still wide, all thoughts of sleep banished. “We'd best see that evidence, then."

  Matheson pointed at the wall he was facing. “If you'll turn your chairs about.” Except for Shad, we turned our chairs around. Shad simply jumped up on the back of his chair and faced the image of the Biograph Theater. The superintendent said to the toilet door, “Very well, Parker."

  The image of the Biograph faded and was replaced by Alicia Pelletier's article on the Oak Meadow Golf Club banquet.

  "Chief Constable Crowe was scheduled to be at the special golf tourney in Starcross on the day Flanagan died,” said Parker. “Instead he was registered under a false name at the Royal Clarence Hotel. Did you know the Clarence was England's first hotel?"

  "The witnesses, Parker,” Matheson urged.

  The image switched to a security video of two fellows behind a counter facing a bewhiskered fellow in civilian clothes, a large suitcase at his feet.

  "Desk clerk and office manager at the Clarence, sir. Chief Crowe and Ms. Thule have been meeting there once or twice a week since last July. The hotel staff pretend they don't recognize him behind that phony beard, but they all know who it is."

  "The customer's always right,” said Shad.

  "Go on, Parker,” I urged.

  "Yes. Well, they check in, go up to their room, have a wee drop, get naked, put on some erotica, and then—"

  "Yes,” Matheson said with a pained expression on his face. “As tantalizing as this is—thank you for that mental image, Parker—that is not illegal.” He waved a hand toward the image. “Besides, where's the mistress in this shot?"

  "On the day Flanagan died, Chief Crowe checked into the Clarence alone. The hotel clerk says the chief appeared to have been drinking rather heavily."

  I glanced at DC al-Fasi. We had her attention as well as her constable's. A new image appeared on the wall, that of the Clarence's north side. “This is from surveillance taken from Saint Martin's across from Dingles Berry Farm store on Catherine,” continued Parker. “This was an in-house camera not visible from the street or the hotel. This window is Chief Crowe's room that day.” The image centered on a third floor window of the hotel and zoomed in. Despite the blustery cold winds that day, the window to that room was open at the bottom. The curtains weren't completely drawn; a shadowy figure was noticeable between them. Then came Pilot Officer Darcy Flanagan swooping in and thumping into the side of the casement, somehow landing upright on the ledge followed by some severe staggering. Flanagan appeared to be laughing uproariously.

  "That bird's pissed,” declared Milburn.

  "Is there audio on this?” asked al-Fasi.

  The sound increased along with a great deal of wind and background noise. When Parker suppressed the background, we could hear Flanagan laughing. He was looking in the window, pointing with his wing. "Wot's this then!" we heard him holler, another raucous laugh, then there was a poomf sound, and the pigeon was gone. The window quickly closed.

  "The surveillance video doesn't cover Martins Lane below where Flanagan landed,” said Parker. “The camera that covered Martins Lane had been tampered with.” He ran the Dingles Berry Farm video again from when Flanagan pointed with his wing and laughed at the person on the other side of the window. In slow motion we saw a small puff of escaped gas, and Flanagan falling straight back from the window for only a couple of frames, a smeared red object against his right side.

  "Sharissa Thule was below the window to collect the corpse and the flexible baton load,” said Parker. “We have no video, but we do have Sharissa Thule."

  The image changed suddenly to the interior of Room 914. On one side of the table were Matheson and I. Shad squatted on the table's end. Seated on the other side was Sharissa Thule.

  "Ray was obsessed with bird bios," said Sharissa. "He was convinced the birds were seeking him out, ridiculing him, trying to do him harm. ‘They're out to get me, Shariss,’ he'd tell me. This one pigeon bio somehow found out about the trysts Ray and I were having at the Clarence. No matter what room we were in, that bird would be outside the window, marching around, laughing, and calling in to us. It was embarrassing."

  "Go on," prompted my image.

  "Ray tried to grab that bird a number of times, but he was just too fast. Smelled of whisky, too. Horrible thing. I said to Ray, why don't we stay someplace else? That'd make sense, wouldn't it? But, no. No bloody amdroid was going to make Ray Crowe give up everything to the damned bios. Ray was once on the Honors List, you know. Then that awards ceremony happened—that gorilla thing?"

  "Yes," said Matheson. “DI Jaggers and I were there. And ... uh ... DC Parker."

  She frowned at me, then Shad, then cocked her head toward the loo. Shad and I nodded and she shrugged. "Well, anyway, you know just what I mean. Getting embarrassed like that knocked Ray off center." She pointed at her right temple. "In the head Ray went a bit dotty. Then, after what that bird said..."

  "What was that?" Shad's image prodded.

  "That bloody rude pigeon said he heard all about us down in the pubs. Ray and me! The whole hotel staff was talking all over the bleeding city!" Sharissa Thule was looking a bit dotty herself. "All those pigeons, hotel staff, pub crawlers, who knew who else was talking? Bloody damned amdroids! I teach third form! What about my reputation?" She looked down and her hands were wringing the life out of a pink tissue. She took a deep breath and released it in a ragged sob. "He wasn't dead, you know."

  "Who wasn't dead?" Shad's image asked.

  "Flanagan. The pigeon bio. When I picked the bird up to put him in the tote he says, “What's all this then?” and he laughed. Sort of choking, but he laughed. I wanted to rush him to hospital, call the medimechs—something. But Ray, he was right beside me in a minute. I held the bag out to him and said, ‘He's still alive.’ Ray looks in the tote and the bird looks Ray right in the eye and says, ‘Darcy Flanagan is dead.’ Just like that. Darcy Flanagan is dead."

  She took another tissue, blew her nose, and slumped forward on her elbows. "Ray, he looks around, makes sure no one's about, reaches into the tote, wraps his big hands around the bird, and squeezes. Not long. Only a little squeeze and the bird was gone."

  The image froze and Parker said, “We talked to the FME and that little squeeze addresses the FME's concern about that rib bone's change in direction; the one that went through Flanagan's heart."

  "When Chief Constable Crowe was detective chief superintendent,” said Shad, “he and his former spouse Lurella lived in a modest place on Napier Terrace near the catacombs. That was where Pilot Officer Trainee William Foster of Pureledge, Ltd. was hit with insecticide. He still carries the scars of that assault and his natural body expired in stasis as a result of the attack."

  "We have the sworn affidavit of Lurella Roberts, eyewitness to the assault against Foster. Years later,” continued Parker, “when another pilot officer trainee named Romila Kumar was on break at the Clarence and disappeared, Crowe and a different mistress, one Kati Prien, were upstairs in the hotel having a tryst."

  I looked across at Milburn. “We've located the former police records collator, Danielle Mintz, whom Chief Crowe ordered to dispose of the Kumar case materials and cook the Heavitree mainframe to eliminate any mention of the case. It was she who dropped Kumar's dead bio into the Exe. Judging by her description of the weapon, Kumar's bio was killed with the same gas gun that took down Flanagan. She cleaned the weapon and Chief Crowe returned it to the Royal Diane Museum where the curator has the chief on record as a weapons restorer. He has access to whatever he wants whenever he wants it. To get a reduced charge,” I concluded, “Ms. Mintz has agreed to testify against the chief."

  From deep within the superintendent'
s WC boomed Parker's dulcet tones, “On foot Sharissa Thule went to Parliament Street and tossed the body up against the southeast wall. She believed it might look like a flying accident. Whoever drove her there either drove between the camera surveillance photons or drove stealth."

  Matheson looked at al-Fasi. “And the only vehicles authorized to use image neutralizing software in the county?"

  She glanced at Milburn and nodded as she returned Matheson's gaze. “The only vehicles so authorized in the constabulary are the Major Incident Support Team stealth units under Chief Constable Crow's direct command."

  The superintendent looked at me. “Getting away with it wasn't enough. He wanted to make a point. It's Artificial Being Emancipation Week and Chief Constable Crowe, valued member of Natural Life, wanted to make a point. He was the one who suggested giving Jaggers and Shad the evening off leaving Parker to catch the Flanagan case. Crowe notified the press to watch out for a really funny story at the High Street end of Parliament, waited fifteen minutes, then had the Exeter Station notify ABCD. The calls were made with a toss phone, but we have the phone records, and soon the phone thanks to Ms. Thule."

  DC al-Fasi nodded to herself and looked at Matheson. “Did this Kumar's body die in stasis, as well, superintendent?"

  "No. The fellow snapped mentally, crippled another bio, and had to be put in an institution. Poor chap's still there."

  "The chief has a lot to answer for,” she observed.

  "He's a cop. A chief," said PC Milburn to DC al-Fasi. “The stink on us'll never go away."

  "It might,” said Shad as he jumped off the back of his chair and began pacing on the floor at a crisp waddle. “Devon & Cornwall Constabulary, Exeter CID, and ABCD together, brothers and sisters in blue: we go to the chief constable's office in the name of the law and take this crooked cop and murderer down in front of the nationwide media."

  Milburn frowned, thoughts playing across his face. “How you going to get the media in there with us?"

  Detective Superintendent Matheson arched his brows innocently and said, “It's just possible, constable, that someone without the permission of either Exeter Station or my office might possibly provide a live feed to the event in HD widescreen.” He looked at Shad.

  "Complete with EnviroSound and narrated by a celebrity of some note,” Shad added.

  DC al-Fasi leaned forward and nodded at Shad. “Quite a package you've got there, sergeant. I hear you were the duck in all those telly adverts a couple years ago."

  "He will be again, soon,” I butted in. “The insurance corporation that was honored to have the duck mascot is bringing him back."

  "Never did like that bloomin’ lizard,” she said. “Always talking like a yob.” She looked at me and said, “Heard about you too, Inspector Jaggers. Took down some bad ones in London when you were with Metro.” She looked at Matheson. “Superintendent, I hear you practically have to get killed to get in this unit. Everybody here—their natural bodies—killed in the line of duty, right?"

  "That's correct,” he answered.

  DC Fatima al-Fasi reached into her pocket and suddenly we could all detect her bio marker beacon. “I had to leave Weymouth, go clean out of Dorset, and do a little truth elongation to get into Exeter CID as a nat. Marker shield cost a bloody fortune at Bio Shack. Been in Exeter CID three years. Heard all the bio jokes, seen too many ABs getting what for and hard done by. I love police work and hate my job. If you'd take me, I'd be honored to serve alongside the likes of you chaps.” She smiled really wide. “You blokes go after some really big game."

  PC Duke Milburn drummed his fingertips on the arm of his chair. He let out a breath he had apparently been holding. “Well, I guess that just leaves the stink on me. I got no career in the cops after taking town a chief, superintendent, even if I get the bleeding Victoria Cross for it. Do you have to be an AB to be in ABCD?"

  Matheson's brows arched. “No. It's not a rule."

  "It's either join the ABCD or hit the road sellin’ bleedin’ toilet brushes."

  "I'll call London and see.” Matheson shook his head. “We need to focus, people. Although I hate to discourage such an unexpected upturn in recruitment—I'd be pleased to have both of you—there's just one small matter you two need to get out of the way before climbing down to our rung of law enforcement: The arrest of Chief Constable Raymond Crowe. We aren't allowed to make arrests in ABCD."

  Al-Fasi and Milburn stood. “Well, we'd best get cracking then,” she said.

  "Parker,” I called. “We're ready to go."

  The toilet flushed, the sink water ran, and Parker emerged drying his hands on about ten paper towels. Both al-Fasi and Milburn froze.

  "Hi,” said the gorilla.

  They muttered something unintelligible in response somehow acknowledging Parker as lead on the inquiry.

  "Shad,” called Matheson, his face suddenly serious.

  The duck turned, “Yes sir?"

  "During the arrest, with the feed, try to...” He cocked his head gently toward Parker. “You know."

  "No sweat, superintendent. It's all been taken care of.” He looked at the gorilla. “Right, Parker?"

  "All taken care of, sir."

  "Really? I mean, really taken care of, Shad?"

  "Water off a duck's back, boss."

  "Indeed. And to think that only hours ago I was contemplating fleeing to the Himalayas disguised as a yak.” Matheson reached forward to pick up his phone link. “Well then. I think I'll just ring up a few media fellows and give them each an anonymous tip about a great big arrest about to go down.” He held up a pale green slip of paper. “Shad, this is the feed frequency?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Good. Good work, Parker,” he said. “All of you,” he said to Shad and me. To al-Fasi and Milburn he said, “Good hunting at Middlemoor."

  * * * *

  The arrest went nearly as planned. Considering the disturbed lethal violence CC Crowe had exhibited on more than one occasion, attempting to resist arrest should have been expected at least by Shad and myself. We were the most experienced detectives there. Arguably Parker was not prepared either, which didn't matter a whit. Parker looked prepared.

  When our tiny band reached the second floor of Force Headquarters out at the Police College and entered the chief's outer office, DC al-Fasi simply led us past the chief's secretary and a couple of higher-ups patiently waiting in the outer office for their audiences. Milburn followed al-Fasi, Parker followed Milburn, and Shad followed Parker, his internal camera providing real time action to stations across the planet. I brought up the rear in time to see the chief constable rise from his desk to his full two hundred uniformed centimeters, an old fashioned telephone receiver in his hand, mouthing the word “What,” his attention on Fatima al-Fasi. She was cautioning him as his face began growing a most unhealthful shade of bluish-red.

  "Raymond Crowe,” said DC al-Fasi in a clear voice, “you are under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something you may later rely on in court—"

  "You!" Crowe growled as he saw Parker standing to al-Fasi's right. "You! Bloody you!" With one massive hand he pulled his entire telephone free from its old-fashioned cord and threw it at Parker, who caught it in his right hand and just as quickly flung it back, bouncing it off the chief's head. Chief Crowe teetered on his heels for a split second, then dropped behind his desk.

  "What did you see, DS Shad?” I asked immediately.

  "I saw DC Parker physically assaulted by the suspect and forced to defend himself, inspector,” Shad came back as he flew up onto the desk to get a down shot of the chief out colder than January lager, as the lads used to say back in old Puss in Boots Flight, wot, wot?

  PC Milburn put in a call for paramedics, Shad put in a call for Matheson, and I put in a call for Val.

  * * * *

  Three final notes on the Parliament Street inquiry. First, once Raymond Crowe was convicted of premeditated murde
r, DC Fatima al-Fasi and PC Duke Milburn applied for ABCD Interpol, Exeter. London sent it up to Baghdad and Baghdad sent it down to London who sent it down to Exeter. The two of them would, in the opinion of Baghdad, be most valuable in ABCD Exeter and were assigned to that office.

  Second, Shad decided to stay on. Agent Stanky worked a deal in which Shad would take a few weeks off from crime busting and spend that time training his replacement while a clone of his famous duck suit matured. When the first of the new adverts was on the telly all the reviewers said they couldn't tell the difference. Val and I could. There never could be another Guy Shad.

  Finally, there was another award ceremony, and among the Devon & Cornwall law enforcement recipients was recently promoted Detective Sergeant Ralph Parker, ABCD Interpol, Exeter. HRH Princess Mehitabel insisted on presenting the awards herself, which had all of us in Matheson's office sweating beanbags—all of us but Shad and Parker. Shad said, “I said it's been taken care of. During the arrest of CC Crowe, did Parker disgrace himself and the office in front of the camera?"

  We had to admit that he had not. Save for a bit of blood dribbled on the chief's carpet by the chief's own head, the carpet was as clean when we accompanied the chief on his stretcher out the tower entrance as when we entered his office. We had thousands of subsequent media camera shots as evidence, many of them showing DC Parker in rather conservative heroic poses.

  Neither Shad nor Parker told Matheson what had changed. At the award ceremony in the Royal Diane Museum auditorium the next spring, as Princess Mehitabel pinned the gong—King's Police Medal for Distinguished Service—to Parker's green sash, I looked down at my green-sashed duck partner and whispered to him, “Give. What did you do to Parker?"

  "Madame Fifi's,” he whispered back. “The amdroid stylist place on Parliament Street?"

  "Yes?"

  "Fake fur covered gorilla diapers, Jaggs. The fake fur blends right in with his coat. On special. Check it out. You should see the really cool stuff they have in there for cats, too. Fawkesmas Day comes but once a year."