What could be in Lilia's file?
She was afraid she knew.
Lilia tried another approach. "Okay, I'll tell you what's in the file, and you'll tell me whether I'm right. That way, you're not giving away any confidential information."
"I don't have to even agree to that."
Lilia took a long shot. "But you want something. That's got to be why you're here."
"It could be that I wanted to see you again."
She was surprised enough to laugh. "That's not it. You want to make a deal, off the record, so you left your watchful stud at the office. Daylight's wasting; let's negotiate already."
He gave her a simmering look. "Not everything is negotiable, Lil."
"What do you want from me?"
If Lilia had thought she'd get the obvious answer, she was doomed to disappointment.
Montgomery glanced away, then back at Lilia. He spoke in a lowered voice. "I want to know why you think Fitzgerald's death wasn't an accident. I want to know what you're going to do about it." His smile flashed wickedly as she stared at him in astonishment. "And I want to know whether you have tattoos, as well."
Lilia blinked and Montgomery knew he had surprised her. He had no illusions that she didn't understand him. He also had no illusions that she'd readily confide in him.
He was proven right on both counts when she turned abruptly away to lie. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Bull," he said, using her choice word. "You know something and you've accepted this chance to give the award in Fitzgerald's name as an excuse to get close to where he died." Her lips set and she kept walking, as if she hadn't heard him. "What did you find on his palm, Lil?"
She glanced toward him. "You must already know. Didn't anyone read it?"
"There was only one piece of data on it, the name and address of a firm called Breisach and Turner. That doesn't make sense. Even the identification sector had been erased."
"I know."
"How? What reader did you use?"
She smiled slightly, and Montgomery knew she would say something unexpected. She held up her left hand and the palm embedded in it. "I datashared, of course."
"Last night you said you wouldn't datashare with a corpse."
"Gid's corpse was no longer connected to his palm." She shrugged. "It was a nice clean palm in a box when I got it."
Of course.
"But there could have been viral software installed," Montgomery said, unable to hide his disapproval. "You could have been infected—"
"It was Gid's." She interrupted him with anger. "Do you really think he had anything that I hadn't already shared?"
Their gazes locked and held for a charged moment, and Montgomery wanted to ask about their marriage, their relationship, her feelings for Fitzgerald. Never mind what Fitzgerald had known, even if it had gotten him killed—he wanted to know how Lilia had felt about Fitzgerald.
But there was no possible justification for him to ask whether she'd been in love with her husband or not.
Rachel would have told him not to care. He had a hard time listening to her counsel about not becoming emotionally involved with humans. Something about their brave vulnerability, about their mortality, tugged at his heart.
Lilia tugged at that and a lot more.
She spun to walk away from him, her back straight. Montgomery claimed her elbow once more. She stiffened at his touch, a less-than-encouraging sign. "Answer one thing for me."
"I don't have to answer anything for you."
"Then answer a hypothetical question for me. Off the record."
She spared him a look. "Off the record? Is there such a thing in New Gotham?"
Montgomery touched his ear where the stud should have been. "It can be done."
"You could have other recorders on your person."
"I'm off duty." He held her gaze. "I swear it, Lil."
She considered him, indecision in her eyes. "You can ask whatever you want" she said finally. "I don't have to answer."
"Have you ever seen viral software that could erase a palm's identification sector?" He felt her hesitation, so carried on. "Because I haven't. The wiping of his palm's data surprised me. I didn't know it could be done."
She paused, then took a deep breath. "No. Never." When he waited, she said more. "I've never even heard that it's possible."
"Not even on the Frontier?"
Lilia shook her head with such finality that he believed her.
She was the kind of person who would know about all sorts of bootleg software. "Was there any other data buried or hidden on the palm?"
Lilia's eyes flashed at his implication.
Montgomery knew he was losing her. "Do you have interrogation software installed on your palm?"
"I'm not saying anything more without an attorney."
"Lil—" He pulled her to a halt. She didn't comply easily and several people looked askance at them. He pulled her closer, catching her shoulders in his hands as if they were lovers having an argument. Her lips parted, but there was still fire in her gaze. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Do you or do you not have bootleg interrogation software installed on your palm?"
She started to pull from his grasp. "Let me go. I don't have to talk to you about this."
"Off the record."
She glared at him, her suspicion clear. "Even so."
Montgomery kept talking, hoping he could persuade her to confide something in him. "Because NGPD couldn't find anything beyond that address. Every sector was empty, according to the interrogation routine. Was there anything embedded in it, anything buried where official interrogation software might miss it?"
She studied him for a long minute. "Since when does anyone but me care about Gid's death?"
"I don't think his death was an accident."
Her gaze brightened. "Why?"
Montgomery shrugged, because he couldn't tell her all of the truth. "It never smelled like an accident to me."
"Isn't that persuasive," she muttered and made to turn away.
"There's something on your file," he said. "Tell me what you know and I'll tell you what I know."
She glanced back. "Maybe I don't know anything. Maybe you're lying."
"Maybe you'd like to know for sure."
Lilia shook her head. Then she held out her left hand, palm up. The display glinted through the window in her glove. "Go ahead: search me. We both know you don't need a warrant to conduct a random review of a citizen's palm."
"You're suggesting that we datashare in public?"
She smiled coyly. "Some people like it that way."
Her expression reminded Montgomery of Fitzgerald's tattoo and sent unwelcome heat through his blood. All the same, he admired her audacity. "We both know that I won't find anything if I do."
"Because I don't know, after all. Case closed."
"It's in your head, Lil, not in your palm." He was guessing, but her quick intake of breath told him that he was right. "It's too important a piece of information for you to store it where anyone could snatch it, with or without your consent."
He felt her shock, then she squared her shoulders. It wasn't common for people to use the equipment they'd been born with—most relied exclusively on the installed palm to remember everything—and he admired her resourcefulness and logic.
"I thought you already assessed my file and decided I was honest. There's no risk of me lying then, is there?"
"No. I assessed your file and decided that you weren't lying about the shade's murder. I also noted that you're inclined to be a little more opportunistic and self-motivated than most shade hunters. There's a strong pattern of behavior there." He paused, arched his brow, and pushed her. "Maybe it's about the comp. Is the price what we're really haggling about here?"
She was disgusted, just as he'd expected. "You're offering to pay me?"
"Not in creds."
"You're trying to blackmail me."
Montgomery held her gaze. "There's something on y
our file."
But she was unpersuaded. She shook a finger under his nose. "No. You're just trying to use my own fear against me. I know, because I've used this trick before and it's a pretty good one."
"Sure about that?"
She took a quick breath, and he saw her conclude that she had little to lose. She was far less of a rebel than she liked people to believe—he was already aware that what drove her was a deep sense of what was right, and a fearlessness in challenging the law or the Republic on moral grounds. It was both foolish and noble, and he found it intriguing.
And dangerous.
There were two possibilities: Lilia either knew the truth about Fitzgerald's death or knew enough of the truth that she would use all means, legal and illegal, at her disposal to learn the rest of it. Montgomery was pretty sure that she had a considerable inventory of those tools at her fingertips, so to speak.
One way or another, Lilia was going to dig out the truth about Fitzgerald's death and on the way, she might uncover the truth that was important to Rachel. Chances were good that Fitzgerald hadn't been a suicide. Chances were even better that Lilia would get herself into trouble in New Gotham.
Montgomery meant to do what he could to prevent that.
For the greater good of fulfilling his mission, of course.
As Montgomery watched, Lilia folded her arms across her chest and commenced a recounting of her vitals. "My file says that I am Lilia Desjardins, citizen, illegitimate daughter of Lillian Desjardins, father unknown; born 2064 in Minneapolis; widow of Gideon Fitzgerald. It says that I graduated from the Institute of Radiation Studies, summa cum laude, in 2090 and was admitted to the Society of Nuclear Darwinists in the same year. It probably says that I have achieved the Third Degree, that I worked for two years for the Society, and have since been employed by the circus on the Northern Frontier."
"So far, so good."
"My captures and kills are probably there too, as well as my address and other personal details." Lilia shook her head. "It probably even includes the last measured length of my hair."
"Forty-two inches," Montgomery agreed easily. "Although I thought it looked longer last night."
"I'm almost due for my annual."
"December 9. You should make an appointment soon."
Lilia glared at him and Montgomery stifled the urge to smile. He liked how she was unafraid to speak her mind.
Even though it must have proven costly to her in the past.
He sobered, knowing it could be more so in the future. The lie he had found on her file indicated that she had powerful enemies.
She caught her breath and averted her gaze, tapping her toe. "It probably also says that I was the consort of Maximilian Blackstone, then governor of the fifty-third state, currently a candidate for the office of president of the Republic."
"It does." Montgomery decided to ask. "Is it true?"
"Of course. You can see Max's election advertising everywhere."
"I meant about your being his consort."
"I was sixteen; he was almost forty. He had money and power, and I had a cute butt. It was kismet."
He had to ask. "Was it love?"
She sighed. "Love is for amateurs and innocents, Montgomery."
"Not you?"
She smiled tightly. "Mine is a learned response."
Montgomery wasn't fooled. People could only speak bitterly of idealistic love if, on some level, they remained idealistic.
"You and Maximilian. Anything for a price?"
Lilia laughed, although she sounded more angry than merry. "If I'd known then what I know now, the price would have been higher."
Montgomery felt his eyes narrow. "How much higher?"
"Are you negotiating for presidential candidates on the side?"
"Just curious."
"Well, save your curiosity, Montgomery. It's vulgar."
He didn't know what to say to that. He'd hit a nerve, but he didn't know what it was.
They walked in silence past an entrance to the nether-zones and the commuting conveyors that would be found on the upper level. An evangelist was expressing his conviction that Satan walked among them. Most of the commuters simply milled around the evangelist, ignoring him and his free download. A few, though, paused to make a furtive purchase of his download.
Montgomery cleared his throat. "No more guesses about your file?"
"You mean there's more?"
He nodded.
She snapped her fingers suddenly. "Maybe there's a hotlink to some of those news stories about the angel-shades I captured earlier this year. That was a big deal, for a day or so. And there would have to be a hotlink to the Society's denouncement of my find, not to mention the trouble I'm in with them."
Montgomery arched a brow, waiting.
She studied him for the barest moment. "You're not going to talk me into spilling my guts over a technicality. I don't believe that there's anything more on my record, unless it's something so trivial that even I've forgotten it."
"You're wrong." He spoke with surety. "It's too important to have forgotten, if it's true. Either way, I think you should know that it's there."
He saw the little frisson of fear in her gaze.
She knew what it was.
She knew it shouldn't be there.
Which meant that it was true.
Montgomery fought to hide his own shock. The child was dead, but it still cast a shadow.
Had Lilia's child been "harvested" right in the maternity ward? It was a horrifying notion, one that must have been devastating. He watched her with new respect. Not all women could have recovered from that emotional loss, much less have come up fighting.
On the other hand, how could she have become a Nuclear Darwinist? Didn't she have a problem being on the side of those who had declared her child a shade? But then, the fact that she worked for the circus and not for the Society implied that she didn't adhere to the Society's agenda.
Had Lilia fallen in love with Fitzgerald, and changed her mind as a result of that relationship? It made as much sense as anything, which wasn't quite enough.
She lifted her chin in challenge. "Then go ahead, Montgomery; tell me what my big secret is."
"We're either sharing information or we're not, Lil. Do we have a deal?"
She shook her head immediately and he wasn't really surprised that she turned him down.
Disappointed, but not surprised.
"No. I haven't had the opportunity to study your file and decide what the chances are that you're lying to me."
"You don't have that right."
"Actually, I don't need it. I've seen enough to know that there's no way that you'd violate your sworn duty to the Republic. Never in a million years. You're in for the pension plan if ever I saw anyone who was." She took a deep breath and glared at him. "You must have been ordered to forget your ear stud so some muckity-muck wouldn't be implicated further downstream. This is a lie or a setup or something equally unsavory that won't ultimately work to my advantage. So, we don't have a deal."
"Fair enough." Montgomery nodded crisply, then turned away. "You know where to find me when you change your mind."
He felt her watching him, and made an effort to remain visible for a long time. The farther away she thought he was, the better. Then she'd be less likely to be looking for him.
Montgomery had four hours before he had to report for duty and he intended to follow Lilia for every minute of it. He hoped Lilia found the inevitable trouble when he was around to help her.
He was already starting to think that was a long shot.
VII
It was impossible.
Lilia's deepest darkest secret could not be on her file. She'd been promised. It had been years.
Montgomery was bluffing.
Lilia knew it had to be so, but she still had a cold lump of dread in her gut. She wouldn't give Montgomery the satisfaction of changing her plans, though. She wasn't that easily rattled.
It didn't help th
at Lilia was deeply suspicious of that last crumb of data that had been left on Gid's palm. She had to check it out, although she was well aware that someone could have predicted her response to a solitary data snippet. Her mother would have suggested that she had been set up. Lilia wasn't quite that paranoid.
Most of the time.
New Gotham was changing her perspective, but quick.
How exactly had it happened that there had only been one bit of data left on Gid's palm? Was Montgomery the one guiding Lilia's steps?
Or dragging red herrings across her path?
Lilia wished there was a way to know for sure. As near as she could figure it, solving the mystery of Gid's death was the best way to manage that. She licked her lips, tasted Montgomery's kiss, and shivered deep inside.
The man was distracting in either guise; she'd give him that.
Breisach and Turner's office proved to be in an old building that faced a paved parkette. The few trees around the park looked sad, their trunks surrounded by concrete, their branches valiantly stretching for the sky. Lilia recalled the trees pushing through the cracks in the pavement in old cities everywhere and had to admire the relentless optimism of nature.
The lobby of the building was bright, clean, and devoid of character. The suite numbers of the occupying businesses were posted beside the mailboxes, the list written in a careful hand.
Handwritten.
On paper.
Lilia gawked for a moment at ancient technology. She tried to touch the paper but it was covered by protective glass.
Paper. Huh.
Number 202 was the office for Breisach and Turner. There was a plastic sign by the elevator that said it was out of order. The sign was sufficiently old that the red letters had faded and it had a patina of dust. Lilia hadn't expected otherwise. With the price of juice, electrical conveniences were scarce and the building probably wasn't large enough to justify the expenditure for slave-shades to power the elevator.
She spent the climb reviewing her cover story. Given that she didn't know what had made Gid a murder victim—if indeed she was right that he had been one— Lilia wasn't in a hurry to confess that she was his widow. The people at the only address in his palm might know more than they'd like anyone to realize.
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