“What the fuck are you doing here?” The voice that came out of the lockplate speaker by the door wasn’t Murdock’s, but it was very similar. “Leave us alone.”
Well, shit. “Look,” he said, heaving a sigh. “I just want to talk to Kate for a minute. The press isn’t with me or anything.”
“It’s your fault my sister’s getting grilled over the fucking coals right now. You get the fuck out of here before I have a complaint slapped on your ass.”
Gray took a deep breath and counted backwards from three. “You and I both know that’s not got anything to do with me,” he said. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, and fuck knows I don’t want to cause her any more grief than she’s got already. I just need to see her, all right?”
“She’s got a baby she’s got to take care of, do you know that? Or maybe you don’t, since you’ve been spending all your time on the news this weekend. They don’t seem to understand that she was there doing her job as much as you were, you shit.”
“Hey.” His fists clenched momentarily at that, but he took another deep breath instead of saying something unproductive. “Look, I know the situation she’s in. I want to help, you know?”
“If you want to help you’ll get the fuck out of here and leave us alone! You…what?” There was a mumbling from behind her, someone else’s voice. Then, “Oh, fine. Jesus, come on in.”
The door hissed open on its magnetic track, and Gray stared into the startling gray eyes of a very angry Kate Murdock. Or no, not Kate – her hair was different, and she had a bit more weight on her. Curved, not lean like Kate was, but the face was the same. Candy Chambliss, nee Murdock, was Kate’s identical twin.
“She’s in here,” Candy nearly snarled. “Come on, before someone sees you.”
Gray stepped inside. Chambliss’s apartment was as nice as her address suggested, wide and spacious with bone-colored walls and mimetic pile carpet the color of oatmeal. The furniture was spare and elegant, the organic curves of a gray Bulotti living room suit forming a half-circle around a glass table. The windows would have opened up on a magnificent view of the Sound, but they were tightly shuttered against intruding eyes at present.
Kate sat on one of the two sofas of the living room, looking miserable in her oversized t-shirt and athletic pants. Her hair was down, a tangled mess of copper that hung in her face, and her eyes were rimmed red from crying. She looked very fragile like this, something Gray had expected but was very sorry to see.
“Hey,” she said softly, and gave Gray a little wave.
“Hey,” he said back, and walked across the floor toward where she sat. He hunched down by the end of the sofa so he could look into her face. “You doing all right?”
“Yeah, she’s doing just great,” said Candy from her spot by the door. “Just look at her.”
Kate made a little sound, but she shook her head. “I’m all right,” she said, her voice thin but brave. “I’m just…it’s really hard right now, you know. For me.”
“I can only imagine, Kate.” Gray shook his head. “I just…I’m sorry, I am. I don’t know why they’re doing this to you. You don’t deserve it.”
“Damn right,” said Candy.
At that, Kate shook her head. “No,” she said, “I do. I mean, from the state of the regulations anyway. I knew what I was getting into when I started to go after Tony, I mean…he resisted me for a long time.”
“Must have been hard for him,” Gray said with a soft smile. “You’re a hard lady to resist.”
Kate laughed a little at that, but the sound turned into a sob and she had to hold it back after a moment. “I don’t think I can talk about it,” she said. “Him, I mean. Not now.”
“I understand.” Gray got up and moved to sit next to Kate, something that made Candy come around and sit down on the sofa opposite them. Her stare bored through him, daring him to do something to upset her sister more. Hell, he was halfway convinced that she would throw him through those shuttered windows if he did so much as make a single tear fall. “Listen…I’m going to talk to H.R. tomorrow, see what I can do. I mean, right now they have listen to me, right? And I’ll speak out in your presence the next time I talk to the press.”
“You could have done that today,” said Candy. It was more like a growl than anything else. “But you didn’t.”
Gray looked at her. Candy’s eyes were smouldering, gray flames that were begging to burst forth and burn him alive. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t….think. I completely choked up there.”
Candy scoffed at that. “Not enough to keep from towing the party line.”
“I locked up,” said Gray, and he felt that kernel of shame start to blaze inside his gut again. “I just…I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep, and I…of course, that’s nothing compared to you, Kate, I know, it’s just…” He felt hopeless, like nothing he could say would help even a little, and it only made the shame inside him worse. “I’m just so sorry it happened to you both.”
Candy looked at if she were going to lash out at him again, but Kate spoke up. “Detective,” she began.
“Call me Dan, please,” he said.
“Dan.” Kate nodded. “Look, this hasn’t got anything to do with you. I read your report, and I was there when we found her. We all thought she was dead, and I don’t blame you. Do you hear me?” Her eyes lifted, but it was on her sister that her gaze was trained. “I don’t blame you.” Then she looked to Gray, and he saw how empty they were, how glazed with loss, and he felt the shame erupt into a yellow flame inside of him. “I don’t want anyone else to damage their career over it. I’ll just find something else to do, that’s all. Maybe I’ll go back to school.”
He stared at her, unable to say anything. Gray knew very well that she wouldn’t get any kind of a decent corporate job in Seattle after this, not after the kind of ethics violations that the company was leveling at her. This was just a ticket into obscurity – or worse than obscurity, she’d be living in the Verge after this. Probably squatting, or some other godforsaken thing. “Listen, you let me worry about that,” he told her. “You know the position I’m in right now, they’ll listen to me. You’ll see. In the meantime…” Gray took a deep breath, then, and reached inside the pocket of his hoodie. “I know that they’ve suspended you without pay, and if the charges carry through you won’t get your stock options or future benefits. So I wanted to give you this.”
Gray took out a fat envelope, inside of which were a collection of paper bills. “This is the bonus money they gave me for case completion,” he said in measured tones. “As far as I’m concerned, it belongs to you. You were on the scene, and you should have gotten this as much as I have. Now there’s fifteen thousand in there, enough to keep you and the baby comfortable while waiting for this thing to shake out. If you need any more, you can talk to me and I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime…” He let it go at that, holding the envelope out for her to take. Kate stared at the envelope for a long time. So did her sister. Gray’s arm was starting to get tired when she finally spoke. “I don’t know what to say,” Kate whispered. “That’s…it’s…” And she looked up at him. “I can’t, Dan. I can’t.”
“The hell you can’t.” He shook his head. “Either you take it, or I’m gonna burn it. This money doesn’t belong to me, I said.” Gray held the envelope out a bit farther. “Please. I need to know that you’re going to be okay. Do it for me, if nothing else.”
Kate looked between him and her sister, who looked very grave. Candy nodded, and she looked at him with muted confusion in her gray eyes. Kate took the envelope then, clutching it in both hands which had begun to shake. “I just…I don’t…” She lowered her head, and tears began to glitter on her blotchy cheeks. “I’m sorry!” With that she got to her feet and ran into the next room, where the sound of muffled crying began in earnest.
Gray stared after her for a moment before looking back to Candy. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he expected her to tear into him – but inst
ead she was looking at him with an expression that was mingled disbelief and curiosity.
“Don’t be,” she said. “You did something very good right there, Detective. Very…right. I don’t know if you’re doing it to help her, or make yourself feel better, or what – but it was the right thing to do.”
He nodded. “I should go,” said Gray, and he got to his feet. “Can I call here if I’m able to make something happen at the office?”
“You can,” Candy said with a nod. “But call my office line instead.”
“All right.” Gray took the mask out of the pocket of his hoodie and fit it over his face; the flat gray membrane shivered and took on the blank features of the generic model. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he said, though the lips of the false face didn’t move. “I’m sure I can do something.”
“Well.” Candy got up and escorted him to the door. “I won’t forget this, that’s for sure.”
Gray nodded goodnight, then walked out into the hallway. He felt a little lighter now, and though he probably did do this to make himself feel better the result could not be denied. Now he could go home. Now he could see Angie. Now he could feel a little bit like the hero people had been saying he was. Call it vanity, but it would help him get along.
When he got home, Angie wasn’t there.
Gray shouldered his way into his current apartment for what was most likely going to be one of the last few nights, expecting to find her waiting for him on the sofa. But she wasn’t there, and he realized why when he found the note stuck to the refrigerator with a slap magnet.
Dan,
Had to work tonight. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got home. Saw you on the network, you handsome man. We’ll celebrate in the next few days.
And then, underneath that in big red letters,
I’m so proud of you!
She had signed the note ‘Angie’ with a little heart over the letter ‘i’ and that charmed him in ways that it really probably shouldn’t, given his hatred of things over-cutesy. But it was Angie, so she really could do no wrong. And the note smelled so good! She must have been carrying it around on her, or had the paper in her pocket, because it smelled so much like her - ah, well, he thought as his irritation dissolved entirely, I guess I can’t be too disappointed. After all, he’d see her in a day or so. But as he made a takeout call to the Chinese place down the street and sat down on the couch with a bottle of Corona, he found his thoughts tracking toward the club and her dancing on that stage again. With people around her, leering at her. Wanting her.
He took a long draw off the bottle, seeing her in his mind, the way she was the first time that he went up to the Autumn Heights like the a world-class iceman. The image made him angry, and he couldn’t say why. Gray didn’t think he should be angry; he wasn’t the jealous type. Or at least, he hadn’t been. But the thought of her scent, and the adulteration of it with smoke and beer and everything else, made dark thoughts bubble up to the surface of his mind.
Well, that was ridiculous. He would just have to do something to adjust his focus, and he certainly wasn’t doing it in the house. He shed his work suit, then, and he went right back out to get a drink somewhere. Gray didn’t usually have a favorite spot, but he had heard the other night on the Clubwatch segment of NewsNetNow that the Cyclops Lounge, over near Pioneer Square, was up and coming. That place was pretty fashionable these days, fashionable enough that he wouldn’t be considered slumming if he showed up, and not so fashionable that his brand new star would be dimmed. Right, then.
He got down to the place at about eight, dressed in his best suit – silver silk that was spun in orbit, inordinately expensive for him. Well, at least it had been until today. He had on a royal blue Ivan Ingram tie, narrow and notched, the color so vivid and luminous that it looked almost backlit. One lapel cap, gold with a single onyx. Freshly polished Andrew Bolivar shoes. He wasn’t looking to be the iceman tonight, he was looking to make the scene.
The Cyclops Lounge was one of those places that was carefully engineered to look like a hole in the wall. Down on the Square there were all kinds of these ridiculous townhouses that had been preserved for the sake of history, never mind the fact that they were all ancient and poorly built in the first place. The streets ran over their ground floors, leaving their doors to open to basement tunnels. At one point the city had used them as underground shopping space, and then it had lapsed away – now the tunnels were being used again, modernized and expanded, and the townhouses had been largely refurbished into more habitable structures. Keep them old on the outside for the tourists, sure, but the interiors were a different story.
He let the Vectra drive him into the parking structure that fed the entire square, and he came down the street where the building stood. On the far side of the street, surrounded by the towering structures, he saw the Corona Hotel where he had met Angie at the Nautical Star for dinner. He muttered faintly to himself as he looked for the club, which had a simple holographic eye floating over its door in place of a shingle – no other decoration, but there were people coming in and out that were dressed for a night out. Girls in plastic harness dresses, and over-the-shoulder things that made them look like goddesses from an Olympus that had become a fetish club some time ago. Boys in their best suits, looming and frowning, raptors on the hunt. The beautiful and damned on display.
The bouncer let him through, probably more on the recognition of his face than of his outfit; he did not have to flash his badge. Where the outside of the club had been engineered to look ancient and well cared for, the interior was all modern. Polished steel walls rushed high up overhead rippling with holograms and light, no second level save for the dance floor that hung from cables anchored to points at the four corners of the building. A wide bar took up the back of the place, curving around to the right; in the corner, above the lighted shelves of bottles that ran across the back, was the massive, stylized hologram of an eye whose iris shifted through an array of colors, textures and prints. The booths and tables were spotted with the same crowd that he saw outside; young and professional, but not quite executive. His kind of place, Gray thought, and he bellied up to the bar.
Gray had hoped that, in getting the attention of the lean man behind the bar, he might be able to get his drink and slink unnoticed into a booth – and largely he was able to do so. The bartender clearly recognized him, but he didn’t say anything to Gray but the usual prompts. He didn’t ask for Gray’s cashcard when the Heineken was pushed across to him, however, and Gray gave him a grateful nod before heading off to an empty booth. He took his seat and sipped from the plastic bottle, watching the girls in their fetish-goddess outfits as they giggled and talked about God knows what, and he found his attention wandering back to the gallery and its slaughterhouse room. For a flicker of a moment, the walls were splashed with blood; for a flicker of a moment, the bodies of the partygoers hung from the stage above.
Gray closed his eyes. Beer wasn’t going to do it. He figured that his experience at the Gallery would come back to haunt him, but he didn’t expect that it would come so quickly, or so fast. His blood sang in his ears as he pushed back against the wave of nausea that rose in his gut that came with this fleeting vision. No, beer wasn’t going to work at all. Best to get some scotch.
He flagged down a waitress that had come out from the back, who was wearing a holographic visor that replaced her eyes with a single stylized one floating between her brows. He stared at her a moment before breaking out his cashcard and having the lovely cyclops bring a couple fingers of Balvenie back to his table. He sipped at it for a while, trying to indulge in the ancient tradition of banishing demons with spirits on hand. He’d gone through four fingers before numbness had begun to settle in.
As if Gray had fulfilled some kind of contractual condition, or perhaps dulled himself enough that he hadn’t noticed their coming, someone appeared in the seat opposite him. Gray looked up; the man sitting in his booth was lean and very well-dressed, the unmistakable crenelated
lapels of his silver Leganza suit marking him as someone with both money and style. He was lean, muscular, rough good looks and eyes like wet lapis that shone as he looked at Gray – but his smile was made of ice.
Gray looked at him a moment, focusing through the budding haze. “Evening,” he said.
“Oh, evening.” The other man canted his head a bit. “Detective Dan Gray, isn’t it?”
Something clenched like a fist in Gray’s stomach. “That’s me,” he said. “Can I help you?”
The icy smile subsided somewhat, which seemed oddly enough like a good sign. “When someone starts putting my name around,” he said, “I like to know who it is.” The man reached inside his jacket and came up with his wallet, flipping it around to reveal a gleaming golden shield hovering over his ID badge. Tier Six, a Gold Shield. This man was a senior detective. “Bud Moody, Vice Management. You’ve heard of me before.”
Gray felt his spine rearrange itself into a stiff column; he sat up, hands folding on the table. Christ, he’d visited Hell just last week, and now the Devil was coming to visit. “Sir,” Gray said, aware that he was sitting at attention now. “Good evening.”
“None of that, Detective,” Moody said with a chuckle. “We’re both off duty. Call me Bud.”
It took a moment before Gray’s brain engaged, but when it did he felt himself slipping into business-casual mode. “All right, Bud,” he said. “What’re you drinking?”
Moody quirked a brow. “Hey, you’re the hero of the moment,” he said. “Shouldn’t I be buying the drinks?”
Bone Wires Page 15
