Bone Wires

by Michael Shean

  As for Lindsay Yin, she’d turned out to be one of his victims at first; he’d tortured her for weeks, but she’d never buckled or cried. Muller was impressed by that, apparently, and according to his holos decided to turn her into his protégé. That had been in Detroit, where he’d last been before coming to Seattle. In Seattle Muller befriended Cuaron, who was so overrun with surgery patients since opening Atomah that he’d started cutting dangerous corners; young women who had come threatening lawsuits over botched work were dispatched straight away to Muller, who set Yin on them with her knife. That knife was very interesting, too, being a rebuilt industrial cutter with an extremely high-powered, miniaturized cell. Rare, but mundane enough – and it followed the wound patterns on the victims closely enough that Evidence declared it an extremely probable match.

  Anderson, as it was discovered, was just a victim of Yin’s displaced rage at being ditched for someone else; it wasn’t likely she’d known about Angie, otherwise she’d have gone after her. And then there was Askew. The artist, who was already crazy as fuck, was hired on to make the holographic sculptures in Atomah’s showroom – but having his mad obsession with industrial cleaner, he was being paid primarily with a stock of expired DermaKnit that had been procured by Old City salvagers from Renton General Hospital. This was a calculated move on Cuaron’s part; having long spoiled, it was only halfway healing Askew’s skin irritation, which made him come back to Cuaron with increasing frequency. Pretty soon Askew was filming the murders himself and capturing the gut-sculptures that Muller was having Yin make in the wee hours of the night. The whole fucking thing had turned into a knot of evil like nobody could believe.

  With a single hunch, and a hastily-procured warrant, Gray had managed to solve a string of murders that had gone back twenty years and nearly three hundred victims after counting Yin’s work and Muller’s wartime offenses. It was incredible, really. So neat, so tidy, and with twelve hours of allotted resources unspent. It was like going to take out the trash and finding a mass grave in your dumpster next to a big pile of unmarked cash. Even though Muller had again disappeared, Interpol had been called and the hunt was on. The company was of course leading the manhunt in Seattle, but they’d kept Gray at Central instead of in the field.

  The reason, of course, was the press; they’d gone absolutely apeshit. They’d dubbed the whole thing the ‘Spine Thief Murders’, with Muller as the ‘Spine Thief’ himself. Despite being the primary killer in this case, Yin had already been eclipsed. There was some irony for you – but then again, Charlie Manson never had a knife in his hand either. On top of the firestorm of press coverage on the murders themselves, the press was keeping a very solid eye on Gray himself. Between his actions at the Gallery – both going in during the aftermath – and his slick, ultra-fashionable exterior, Gray was the boy of the moment. NewsNetNow had had two separate interviews with him, one of which had been with Maya Frail herself, and Trans-Global Tonight had interviewed him on Monday evening. Now it was Tuesday morning, extremely early, and though he needed sleep so very badly he found he couldn’t close his eyes. Gray lay there, staring at the ceiling in the dark. He had scored the homicide case of a lifetime – maybe two – and now he couldn’t sleep. What the hell was the matter with him?

  “Hey,” came a sleepy voice beside him. Heavy curls brushed cool and soft over his shoulder as Angie pulled herself up onto his chest. He felt her warmth against his skin, the thin fabric of her nightshirt brushing against him.

  “Hey,” he murmured, and he leaned down to kiss her temple. She’d been staying over all weekend, having come over to his place as soon as the news hit the network. They hadn’t slept together, at least not in the sexual sense. He hadn’t seen her in anything less than pajamas, and he was okay with that. Right now he still saw the bodies hung from hooks in the gallery kill room; he felt that if he saw her naked his mind would place her there as well, and he didn’t want to deal with that. “Am I waking you up?”

  She made a soft sound and nuzzled his shoulder. “No,” Angie murmured, draping a long leg across his hips. “I was just having a dream, that’s all.”

  “I know how that goes.” Gray was shocked at the flatness in his tone. He hadn’t expected the butcher scene at the gallery to have affected him so much, especially when dealing with Angie. He’d…expected to be happy. He’d wanted to sleep with her – well, fuck her into the ground, really, but there’d also be breakfast and cuddling and whatnot. He slid his arm around her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, nuzzling his shoulder a bit before lifting herself lightly on an elbow. He felt her eyes on him in the dark. “You all right, Dan?”

  “Yeah.” Gray drew in a sigh, let it out all at once so that it came in a gush. “I just close my eyes and see it all over again, that’s all.”

  “I heard it was really bad,” she murmured. Nails scratched gently on his bare chest, twirling about the slight thatch of blonde hair there. “You want to talk about it?”

  “Christ.” He let his head lift, then fall again on the pillow. “The last thing I want to do is talk about it, Angie. I’ve been talking about it all weekend.”

  “I saw you on NewsNetNow with Maya Frail.” She laughed softly. “I think she liked you. She didn’t try to blow you in the green room, did she?”

  It was a distraction tactic, playing jealous a bit. He was grateful for it. “Now why,” he said, trying to summon a smirk in his voice, “Would I want her to do that, when I haven’t even gotten my hands on you yet?”

  “I dunno…” Her nails drummed against his chest, five teasing points in rhythm. “Seems to me that she’d be awfully hard to resist. And besides.” She reached up and took hold of his hand, moving it from her shoulder to her ass. “You got your hands on me now, don’t you? Anytime you want, honey. I’m yours.”

  I’m yours. The words shot a thrill through him like an electric current. I’m yours. Nobody else’s, and for damned sure not creepo executive in the VIP room of her club. “I wonder,” he murmured. “You thinking of leaving the club?”

  Angie snorted a little at that. “I think Benny would have a coronary,” she said. “You’d have to come out and have the wagon pack him away. Besides, what would I do?”

  “…Well, I mean…I’m getting a promotion tomorrow. Maybe you could stay with me for a bit. Until you get back on the horse with your classes.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you’re being cute,” she said, patting his chest. “And if you’re not, let’s talk about it later. You’re not in the right place to be making major changes, baby. But don’t you worry…” Angie took his hand from her rump and wrapped his arm around her, cuddling up. “I don’t have any interest in doing private dances for anyone else.”

  “Yeah,” he said gently. Gray felt his heart warm with those words, with her presence against him, the sweetness of her voice. He could get through this. Luck was just with him, that was it. He had the girl, he had the case, he had exposure, and tomorrow he was going to have a whole new level of respect at Civil Protection. Tomorrow his every goal so far would be realized. Tier IV. The Amber Shield. It would all be his.

  Angie had drifted off, cute little snores curling up into his ear. He smiled, and his uncertainty slid into the back of his head. Luck was with him, and if there was anything to believe in, it was that. Luck was always with the winners. As he fell asleep, there was no question for Gray that this was exactly what he was.

  “…And I don’t think that there’s anyone in the city of Seattle today who will say that he is not the model of what we’re trying to do at Homicide Solutions, and at Civil Protection in general. So without further ado, here’s the man of the hour. Daniel Gray, everybody!”

  A wave of applause rolled toward him, and with it Gray found himself on his feet. It was the next day, and he was sitting on the stage of the Alex Hegas Convention Hall on the bottom floor of Central, surrounded by the company brass and faced by employees and press alike. Calvin Men
doza, the VP of operations here in Seattle, stood by a podium and had summoned him with those words. Mendoza clapped along with the crowd, his expression one of plastic pleasure and definite expectation as Gray stepped up.

  Gray looked out across a sea of faces as he stepped forward, a sea from which the flashing of holographic imagers and still cameras glittered like a wall of jewels in the relative dark, and felt the curious mingled stab of pleasure and anxiety that all people who come out on a stage to speak for the first time tend to feel. What to say? What to do? What to think? But there was no thinking here. He couldn’t afford to think. Best just let avarice take over and do the talking for him.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen – my fellow employees and members of the press. It’s been a long couple of days, so I’m not going to take much of your time here today – honestly I don’t know what I could say that hasn’t already been said better by Mr. Mendoza. I think the important thing here is that this whole thing has been discovered, and the culprit exposed – and I can tell you that I know that wherever he is, whatever skin he decides to wear, Klaus Muller will be found and he will be brought to justice. I believe in that, and so should you.”

  You don’t believe that, a voice whispered in the back of his head. You don’t believe that at all.

  Shut up, brain, he thought to himself. Don’t fuck this up for me.

  Why? Because you have everything you want? You’ll just want more. You know very well this has been all tied up way too neatly.

  “You should believe in Civil Protection, because without it, this man might have continued to murder its citizens – your sisters, your wives, your girlfriends, your mothers.”

  Like he will now that he’s out and loose, you mean.

  “We’re here to make sure that people like him are found and punished, and you can bet that Homicide Solutions will never rest…”

  Unless the market share will climb because of it.

  Shut up shut up shut up! Gray took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, burying whatever the hell it was saying in the back of his head before continuing on. “…Never rest in its commitment to the people of Seattle to keep them safe and to hunt down those who would commit such outrages against them in the future. And on behalf of Civil Protection, let me say that I thank the citizens of Seattle and the administrative council in giving us the opportunity to make this city a safer one for everyone who lives in it.”

  All hail the bottom line. You fake bastard.

  Gray was sweating by the time he was finished, partially from the lights overhead and from the anxiety that was inexplicably building in his gut. What the hell was this? What the hell was he feeling? He gave the assembly a fragile smile, and Mendoza – who, like all corporate executives, could smell potential trouble from a hundred miles away – stepped up to applaud him off the podium.

  “Dan Gray, ladies and gentlemen,” called Mendoza, all smiles and light while he nodded Gray back into line – and into the line he went, sweating still, wondering what the fuck just happened to him.

  He stumbled through the rest of his day, thinking about what had happened. Pictures were taken, for which he tried his best to smile and look dapper. Later on hevisited Tommy LaRazzo, the Vice President of Homicide Solutions, in his big office with the giant wraparound monitors that he often used for windows, who congratulated him and exchanged his Blue Shield for the Amber. Gray sat numbly in the H.R. office as his new payscale and benefits package was spelled out for him, as well as his new options for housing. He felt nothing but a kernel of sweating shame inside him, even when he went to his new office which was an enormous change from the cubicle he had used just the day before.

  Why did he feel this way? Why wasn’t he dancing on the fucking desk, high-fiving the other Homicide guys that were grinning and offering to take him out for drinks? He sat in the chair behind his new desk, looking straight ahead at the large display that set in the opposite wall like a porthole, and stared at its blank surface for a while. At his reflection in it.

  “It’s your conscience,” came a voice, and for a moment he was about to mentally admonish himself before he realized that the voice did, in fact, belong to a human being. Gray looked to the doorway, and saw Carter lingering there. He was wearing his nice suit, having been there for the presentation and all. Wouldn’t do to look rumpled for the press.

  Gray stared at him a moment before saying, “What?”

  “It’s your conscience.” Carter walked in and dropped into one of the two chairs facing Gray’s desk, crossing his legs as he did so. His hands folded over the topmost knee. “I mean what you’re feeling. Why did it have to be so many, why didn’t I see she was alive. You never lost a man on duty, I know.”

  “No.” Gray drew a deep sigh. “It was pretty bad. I’ve never seen a murder actually happen, you know. And there was all that blood, and the bodies…and then…”

  “And then you shot that girl in the face,” Carter said. “Listen, I know they say it’s easy when you’re righteous, but I’ve certainly never felt that way.”

  It was strange, because he’d never shot someone either and Gray had thought over the weekend that maybe that would have been a problem – but it wasn’t, not really. He really didn’t feel badly about it at all. “I dunno,” he said. “But Bradstreet’s dead, and Muller’s gone, and then there’s Kate Murdock…”

  Carter let out a low whistle at the mention of Kate’s name. “Better not let LaRazzo hear you say that,” he said, and he got up to look outside into the hallway for a moment before closing the door. Gray watched as Carter came back to his seat, crossed his legs again, and gave him a square look.

  “Now listen, Dan,” he began, “I’m going be straight with you. All right?”

  “All right.” Gray leaned back in his big padded chair, unsure of what was going to happen next.

  Carter took a deep breath before speaking. “Now listen,” he said, the words coming out on exhalation, “Murdock knew what she was flirting with when she and Bradstreet hooked up. I mean don’t get me wrong, I don’t think she should have gotten the axe either, but this sort of thing blows up in your face. It was the same way when the Department was still in operation. You don’t fraternize, especially now. I’m surprised you’re worried about her at all, to be honest, considering what damage she could have done to the company if this had come to light all on its own.”

  “Yeah, but it wouldn’t have,” said Gray. “And what would be the problem? It’s not like they were breaking the law.”

  Carter was quiet for a moment. “Are you talking about Kate Murdock here, or are you talking about yourself?”

  Gray looked at him. “I’m sorry?”

  The other man grunted and shook his head. “I should’ve known that you were more worried about your own ass than someone else’s,” he said. “You’re afraid they’re gonna find out you’re fucking that little bumba from the strip club, aren’t you?”

  “I told you not to call her that,” Gray said, and was a bit shocked at the edge he found in his own voice.

  “Oh yeah?” Carter’s brows arched. “She gonna quit dancing now that you’re her new hero?”

  “I think we should talk later,” Gray said, while the blood in his head started to heat up quick. “I don’t – I mean I know what you think you’re saying, but that’s not what’s going on here, all right?”

  Carter have him a look that would have shamed a cat with its sheer lack of approval. “Uh-huh,” he said. “Well, I guess that’s all I got to say about it, then. Congratulations on your promotion anyway, Dan. You might not have the ethics you seem to think you do, but that was some damned fine police work anyway.” With that he got to his feet, looking like he’d just smelled something nasty, and closed the door behind him once again as he stepped out into the hall.

  Gray sat there at his desk again, staring at the closed door, and drew a deep breath. Carter didn’t understand, he wanted to say, but the truth was that he was absolutely right. Gr
ay was worried. He was worried about what people would say about a Tier IV detective sleeping with a stripper, at least while the cameras were on him. Still, he was far more worried what they would say if they knew what he did, deep down, despite the badge that he now took out and looked at. The shield glowed serenely, like a carved piece of a distant sunset long past, and shook his head. It was fake, he knew, the resolution of this case. He didn’t know why he knew, but he knew it. Balls to bones. Civil Protection was happily wrapping it up without asking all the necessary questions. Burning stored bullshit and other people’s careers to create a big enough smokescreen to hide…whatever it was that he was missing.

  He took a deep breath and reached out to pick up the phone. He’d have to call Angie and tell her he’d be home late. He had to visit the bank.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gray arrived at the apartment of Candy Chambliss at eleven-thirty that night, late enough that he could sneak into the building without attracting the attention of the press vans that were lurking outside its walled-in courtyard. It took some doing, but he’d stopped by a high-dollar costume store and picked up a holographic mask that he then fed a generic facial profile downloaded from a do-it-yourself costume node on the network. The face he wore was bland, something he hid under jeans and a hoodie, and while it wouldn’t fool a police scan it wasn’t likely a reporter could spot it as a fake from a distance.

  The apartment building was in Queen Anne, which made it fairly expensive; Chambliss was a corporate lawyer for an uptown firm. She was also Murdock’s sister. Gray took the mask off when he got to the door and knocked three times, waiting for someone to answer. He stared into the camera eye set into the door, making sure whoever was on the other side had a good look at him. He was hoping that it was Murdock there alone, since in his experience a sibling that was also a lawyer was just going to be a lot of trouble. But whatever kind of a problem her sister might be, something inside him told him that this was the right thing to do. To talk to Kate, and try and get some kind of closure for the two of them. Maybe there was even something he could do for her.