She scowled. “Nothing here is worth that ticket, DD.”
“Whoa now, let’s not be hasty. Here,” Delgado handed her an old-fashioned magnifying glass. “Look at what he’s using on the lock. What does that look like to you?”
She studied the picture closely with the glass. “It’s a key card. I’ll kill that damned supervisor. Ryder must have got hold of his master key, or maybe he got a spare key from the office.”
“That’s what I thought at first, but look at the edges. It’s too thick.”
She looked again. The card did look too thick, and it was wider than the average key card too. She sat back and shook her head. “No, no, no. It can’t be.”
Delgado shrugged. “I don’t like it either, but it sure looks like one to me.”
She looked a third time, not wanting to believe it, but the picture quality was just this side of crap. “What did he do, kill a cop?”
“I sure hope not.”
Chris stared at the photograph, willing it to give up its secrets, but all she did was strain her eyes. Ryder—if that was really his name—seemed to be using something suspiciously similar to a police ID to diddle the lock. The embedded master key in police badges could open most electronic locks. Of course, any officer doing so had better be ready to answer a lot of questions and justify their actions afterwards.
“What about the entry log?”
“Wiped.”
“Wiped?”
“Yeah, it’s easy. Even you could do it.”
She ignored the slight. “Anything else?”
“Just this,” Delgado said, and swivelled her chair to face her comp. She typed rapidly, and data flashed onto the screen. “These are the criminal records for the people mentioned on the message disk. I ran a search on the name Ryder for you—all spellings, in case you were wondering—but the only hits I got can’t be your boy.”
“How did you eliminate them?”
“Two were women, one was black, and the others were dead or still in prison.”
“Damn, I was really hoping Baxter had screwed up and missed something obvious.”
“Dave is better than that, Chris. You just don’t like his brand of charm.”
She snorted. Charm?
“You want me to print this stuff?”
“Yeah, and email a copy to me and one to Ken.”
Delgado did so with a few keystrokes. The printer in the corner hummed and began printing the files. “Anything else, Exalted Leader?”
“Okay, okay, you can cut it out. The ticket is yours, but I have a feeling I’ll be sending you more stuff on this case.”
“I’ll be here, where else would I be?”
The printer shut down, and Chris gathered up the thick pile of paper. She added it to the photographs and took her leave.
She was at her desk reading through everything she had accumulated on the case when Ken and Flint strolled in together chatting like best friends. Chris scowled at this evidence of a deepening relationship between the two, but managed to school her features before either one saw her. She looked at the time pointedly, when Ken went to fetch coffee.
Ken put a cup in front of Chris and handed one to Flint. “What’s up?”
“I visited DD earlier this morning.” She pulled one of the photographs of Ryder out of the pile in front of her and held it up. “This is the best shot of Ryder—if it really is him, because we don’t even know that yet—that we have. DD says she used every trick she knows to clean it up.”
Flint frowned. “It’s useless. My people can do better, but it won’t be as quick.”
“I’ll get you copies of the discs.”
Flint nodded. “I’d like to volunteer my services for the background checks and profiling as well. Our Behavioural Science Unit might come up with something we would miss.”
She nodded. FBI profilers were legend; she was glad to have their help, and Flint was welcome to the background checks. They were always a pain. Chris was grateful that she didn’t have to deal with so much grunt work.
“Good of you,” she said grudgingly. “There’s a lot to do, but first I want to get over to Collard Freight.” She slapped a hand on the files. “I want to know who these people are and why Ryder wants to kill them. We’ll talk to their employer, workmates, and families. I want to know everything about them before another body turns up.”
“You think one will?” Ken said, putting his coffee down and reaching for the files.
She glanced at Flint and they said together, “Yes.”
Chris drove to Collard Freight’s headquarters using her car so that her partners could go over the files on the way. Flint wondered aloud whether Collard had lost any more staff lately, and Chris made a mental note to ask about that. It was possible Ryder had a grudge against the company and had chosen to take his vengeance through its staff.
“This thing with Green Haven bothers me,” Ken said, as they waited for the lights to change. “It’s not unusual to use a shifter or two for security, but this many? How could Collard have missed their criminal records? It doesn’t make sense.”
Flint nodded. “I agree. Security positions require extensive background checks. They couldn’t have missed it.”
“Where does that take us?” Chris said. The lights changed, and she drove on.
Flint shrugged. “I don’t know, but something isn’t right. Either the company is crooked or someone that works there is.”
“It would have to be someone high in management,” Chris mused. “It takes juice to cover something like this.”
Flint nodded. “But why do it at all?”
“That’s the question all right.”
Collard rented space for its headquarters on the twenty-third floor of the Hastings Tower in Central City. The elevator deposited them on the correct floor and they trooped to reception to request a meeting with Mr. Hatch. The walls of the lushly carpeted reception area were a light shade of yellow. Framed photographs hung in strategic places to catch the eye and draw visitors to view them. Like the brochure Flint had showed her in Cappy’s office, they idealised Collard’s operations with photos of happy employees working aboard ships, or operating loaders.
“May I help you?” the receptionist said pleasantly.
Chris flipped open her ID. “Lieutenant Humber, Robbery Homicide Division.” She indicated Ken and Flint. “Detective Hart, Agent Flint of the FBI. We’re here to see Mr. Hatch.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened at Flint’s introduction. “Oh no… oh, I mean you can’t see him.”
Chris’ eyes narrowed. “We can’t?”
“You need to make an appointment.”
“This is police business, very urgent. Call him and ask that he see us now.”
“You don’t understand,” the receptionist said, becoming flustered. “He’s not here. He’s currently touring our facilities on Luna.”
“He’s on the Moon?” she said incredulously.
The receptionist nodded still frowning, but then she brightened. “His personal assistant is here. Should I call him?”
“An assistant is better than nothing,” Flint said.
Chris nodded, but she could already feel her planned Q and A session going south. “What’s the assistant’s name?”
“Mr. Caldewell. Should I call him?”
“Go ahead.”
The receptionist did so, and a minute or so later a tall lean man of about thirty years hurried to meet them. He was a handsome man, his milk chocolate complexion shone with the health of long gym sessions, reminding Chris she needed to set aside some time this week for a workout. Flint’s arrival had made her uncomfortably aware that she had let things slide. It was time to dust off her gloves and get back in the ring.
“Agent Flint,” Caldewell said hurrying toward them and reaching to shake hands. “What can I do for you?”
Chris scowled as Caldewell chose Flint to address himself to. Flint shook the offered hand and explained that Chris was the lead on the invest
igation.
“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” Caldewell said, shaking hands with each of them to make amends. “How can Collard help you?”
“Your office might be a better place to talk.”
“Of course, forgive me again. I’m not used to entertaining the police. Follow me.”
Caldewell led them to his office and asked his secretary to provide an extra seat for Ken when he realised he didn’t have enough. His secretary, a fresh-faced woman wearing glasses that nicely accentuated her eyes, wheeled a chair into Caldewell’s office and nodded when told to hold all calls.
Caldewell sat behind his desk. “There. How can I help you?”
Chris crossed her legs, and interlocked her fingers in her lap. “I’m sure you already know why we’re here—the Shifter Slayings?”
“I had hoped to be proven wrong.”
“Why do you think Collard has been targeted this way?”
Caldewell’s eyes widened a little. “I wasn’t aware it had been targeted.”
“Then you believe that the death of four of your employees is a coincidence.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
She cocked her head. “How else should I put it?”
“Their employment at Collard is hardly the only thing linking them. They were all shifters, so perhaps you should be looking at AML, or at people with similar feelings about non-humans. You might look harder at other shifters—these people live dangerously, Lieutenant. They fight amongst themselves. I doubt I need to remind you of how gang violence has spread in the years since the Urban Revolt.”
“Other avenues are being pursued.”
Caldewell nodded. “I’m sure they are.”
“Were you aware that the four dead men had criminal records?”
“Of course. I would be a poor administrator if I hadn’t known such a basic thing about them. If fact, they were employed because their pasts matched the criteria Collard was looking for at the time.”
“Why employ criminals in such a sensitive area as security?”
“Ex-criminals, Lieutenant. It’s an important distinction.”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I thought I was. You’ve heard I’m sure, the old adage that says: Hire a thief to catch a thief?”
She nodded.
“That’s the reasoning behind hiring ex-criminals for our security department. It has worked out very well. We have always had one or two shifters on staff; they handled night patrols at our facilities. One of our supervisors noticed that losses were much lower when shifters patrolled our sites. Shifters have some advantages over our human employees you see, especially at night.”
“Oh?”
“They can see in the dark like you wouldn’t believe,” Caldewell said enthusiastically. “They’re better than guard dogs at sniffing out intruders, and unlike dogs they can use their radios to call for help. We decided to run an experiment. Armed with the knowledge that shifters were good at this kind of thing, we thought ex-thieves would be even better—a thief to catch a thief?”
She nodded. “I understand the thinking, but what of the temptation inherent in such an arrangement?”
“We did have one or two opportunists,” Caldewell admitted reluctantly, “but they were soon weeded out. It’s a funny thing, but our own shifters found them out. They seemed to take the betrayal personally, and insisted upon calling the police when we would normally have dismissed the culprits and left it at that.” He shrugged. “In any event the experiment was successful, and we hired shifters to take over security.”
“What of the people already working for you in that capacity?”
“We moved them into supervisory roles, or we let them go if that’s what they wanted…” He frowned. “You don’t think one of them is responsible for the murders do you?”
“It’s a possibility. Will you give us permission to go through your personnel files? I’m particularly interested in the victims, but any data you have on employees affected by your new security policy will be invaluable.”
Caldewell frowned. “I can see how that might help you. I ought to ask Mr. Hatch first, but I’m sure he would agree. The sooner the killer is caught the better for all of us.”
“Exactly.”
“I’ll have Jody—that’s my secretary—escort you over to personnel. You’ll be given full cooperation.”
Chris stood. “Thank you.”
Caldewell led them out of his office, and gave his secretary her instructions.
“If you’ll follow me please,” Jody said.
Chris looked back and found Caldewell still watching them. Flint had noticed too, and was frowning thoughtfully. Chris allowed Jody to pull ahead before asking what was on her mind.
“What’s wrong?”
Flint gently shook her head. “I’m not sure anything is, but I think Caldewell was stringing us along. He’s too eager to please.”
“It made a nice change I thought.”
Flint snorted. “I don’t trust him, or Collard. There’s something wrong here, I’m sure of it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling, but there’s something not right. You’re planning to interview the people at Collard’s warehouse and distribution site, correct?”
“That’s the plan.”
“I want to sit in on the interviews.”
She shrugged. “I have no problem with that, as long as you inform me the moment you have something solid on Collard. I don’t like being left in the dark.”
“I can do that.”
A humanoid robot managed Collard’s personnel department. The upper body of the android was that of a well-dressed woman in her mid twenties—very life-like—but when Chris checked, she found that below the waist it was part of the desk and only seemed to be sitting behind it. Jody gave the thing its instructions and left.
The android smiled. “You have full access to my files, Lieutenant. How may I be of service?”
Its voice sounded completely human, and the smile looked natural, but its eyes were empty. Soulless. Its empty-eyed stare made a chill run up her spine. It was like having a corpse smile at her. She forced herself to look away from it, and the uneasy feeling passed.
“These things give me the willies. Deal with it, would you, Ken?”
Ken nodded. “We need access to the personnel files of the following employees: Daniel Bryce, Steven Derrico, Andrew Fain, and Vincent Fairman.”
“Clarify: hard copy or electronic download?”
“Hard copy—discs only, please.”
“Thank you. I am transferring the relevant documents to disk now. Do you require anything else?”
“Yes please. We require information on all non-human employees currently employed by Collard at its facilities in Los Angeles, and details of human employees they replaced. Copy to discs again, please.”
“Thank you. Transfer is in progress.”
Chris shook her head. “Why do we say please to machines, and program them to say thank you?”
Flint shrugged. “Because we’re human, and being courteous is polite.”
“But they’re not even people.”
“They’re programmed by people to talk to people.”
“I suppose so. I don’t have a problem with robots that look like robots, only ones that try to be human.”
“Androids you mean. Do they make you that uncomfortable?”
She shrugged self-consciously. “Yeah they do. Maybe it’s because I’d never met one until I came to live in the city.”
Flint raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Where did you grow up, Alaska?”
“Not even close. I grew up on a farm in Orange County. My family has owned and worked it for generations, but I wanted out. I couldn’t wait to go to college and leave the stink of horses behind.”
“I love horses,” Flint protested.
“You wouldn’t say that if you had spent years mucking out their stalls. Ranch farming is my Dad�
��s life, my Mum’s too, but it’s not mine.”
“I heard your father is something of a celebrity.”
Why was Flint interested in her father? Chris glanced at Ken, but he was busy trying to look invisible. “What’s your point?”
“No point, Lieutenant. I was just wondering what is was like growing up with a witch for a father—”
“It was flaming embarrassing mostly.”
“—and whether you had inherited his gift.”
That stumped her for a moment. She had always resisted learning anything at all about magic from her father. When she was little, she couldn’t help noticing strange people visiting her Dad at all hours. She had thought it was kind of neat that he had superpowers, but when she was old enough to understand that being a witch’s daughter made her a freak in other people’s eyes, she had refused to have anything to do with magic. It hadn’t saved her from being taunted at school, but she had found ways to deal with that—she became a master of dirty fighting.
“Magic isn’t one of my talents, Agent Flint.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“His gift seems to have passed me by. I have never cast a spell, and I wouldn’t if I could. Is that plain enough for you?”
Flint backed-off. “No harm. There’s no need to become defensive about it. I was only asking.”
She frowned. Why did Flint want to know if she practised magic? Maybe it was just idle curiosity, but somehow she didn’t think so.
When the discs were complete, Ken gathered them up and they left the building. Rather than head back to Central with their booty, they decided to check out Collard’s warehouse and distribution centre. All the victims had worked there; Chris wanted to see the site for herself. Flint thought something was iffy at Collard, and she didn’t seem the kind to jump at shadows. It reinforced Chris’ own wish to meet those who had worked alongside the victims.
* * *
3 ~ Tattooed Lady
“I can’t believe they’re actually going to do it,” Mark said at the breakfast table that morning.
Shifter Legacies Special Edition: Books 1-2 Page 55
