The Elaki looked at him over one shoulder. “Tina Turner.”
“What?”
“This music be the Tina Turner. You like to hear the stuff?”
The Elaki pushed a button and the music got louder. David smiled politely and looked around. The floors were a dark linoleum that looked like sheets of hardwood, except, as far as David knew, hardwood did not come in sheets. On the walls were state-of-the-art speakers. Tables, old scarred tables, were covered with bits and pieces of teddy bears, paintbrushes, bottles of chemicals, paint. Bolts of fabric were stacked on a bench.
David lifted an eyebrow.
“Restoration,” Sifter Chuck said, and turned the music back down.
The Elaki pulled a battered gold velveteen recliner away from the wall, moved a bag of mohair out of the seat.
“Iss chair for the Cochran, Luke. Please to sit, I know the human gets tired. May I offer you the Elaki coffee?”
David’s throat was sore, and he was slightly queasy. Elaki coffee sounded good; it might even settle his stomach.
“Please.”
Sifter Chuck slid across the room, working deftly with a pot and some water.
“Iss my Luke Cochran dead?”
“Why do you think he’s dead?” David asked.
“You are the cop of the homicide. This means murder, no less.”
“What happened that night? The night the car went over the guardrail?”
The Elaki did not answer, seeming to concentrate on the making of the coffee—one thing at a time, very Elaki-like. He did not appear flustered, did not scoot from side to side on his fringe. He moved steadily over the pot, and David smelted fresh ground beans and cinnamon. Elaki coffee, properly made, was the best in the world.
“You have tasted the New Orleans chicory brew?” Sifter Chuck asked companionably.
“No,” David said.
“It is interesting, that. With the milk. I would like to make the combination, New Orleans strength, Elaki rich and smoothness, but have yet to make it bind. Am getting close, though.”
David closed his eyes for just a moment, lulled. The room was comfortable. He could not remember ever being comfortable in strictly Elaki living space. Oddly enough, he liked the smell of the chemicals, and the polished hardwood, or linoleum, or whatever it was. There was something homey about the disorder, or maybe he was just getting old. Time was when anything out of place made him crazy.
He looked at his watch.
“Patience,” the Elaki said. He poured liquid into tiny black cups. “The story I have of the Cochran is something you will like to hear.”
David took his coffee from the soft black fin of the Elaki and remembered his father, handing him hot chocolate, while he curled up and watched him work, building the model sailing ships. He realized suddenly why he was comfortable, why he liked the smells, the dust, the disorder of a workshop happily used.
“I am tell you whole story. Leave nothing out.”
There was something about Sifter Chuck that made David want to believe that he was going to get the whole story, even though he knew better. The first thing he thought when someone said I’ll tell you everything was that essentials were being held back. It was a hoop-eared neon ad for “prime yourself, it’s a snowjob.”
“You wouldn’t hold anything back now, would you?” David did not know why he said it. It was bad strategy; he’d just blurted it out to test the waters. God, he felt weird today.
Sifter Chuck rose up on his bottom fringe and gave David a quick, serious look; then he waved a fin, rigid mid-section going slack.
“You are policemans official. I hold nothing back.”
And then both of them laughed—David out loud, the Elaki, belly rippling. It was impossible for David not to like this guy.
At least they knew where they stood.
The Elaki crumpled sideways, propped against a wide, dusty windowsill, so that he was on eye level with David.
This is for my benefit only, David thought. The Elaki could not be comfortable. He prepared himself to be snowed.
“This young Cochran Luke is the employee for me for many of the months. Work hard, most cheerful, and highly motivated for profit.”
“You mean he’d do anything for money?” David said.
“Most anything, this is yes. He not bad inside, not completely. But when it be time for law bending, he is apt and able. This human Luke be the friendly sort, affable. Generous with friends. Too much inclined for the chitchat—typical for the human failing.”
“You two do a lot of law bending together, did you?” David asked.
Sifter Chuck twirled a fin, the equivalent of an Elaki shrug. “Is antique business.”
“What happened the night Luke disappeared?”
The Elaki refilled David’s coffee cup, then settled back in front of the window. “First we must go backward to the groundwork. My Luke is worker boy at university. You know this?”
David nodded, sipping coffee. He felt way too relaxed, almost sleepy. Sunlight came in hot and hard through the window, taking the edge off the chill he’d felt all morning.
“This job pay most well, considering.” Sifter Chuck waited.
“Considering what?”
“Nature. Research assistant helper. Go to Elaki family—study on violence. Ask questions the survey.”
David frowned. A study on violence? Surveying Elaki?
He didn’t feel sleepy anymore. “Why would Elaki answer questions asked by a college junior like Luke Cochran?”
“Isss good this question. Much is the Elaki pridism.”
David would have called it racism.
“You might ask me what are the questions on survey.”
David felt slow on the uptake. “You really need a straight man here?”
“Please pardon?”
“No, pardon me. Okay, Sifter Chuck. What kind of questions did he ask?”
“Gangs.” Sifter hissed, saying the word in the same tone of voice that most people reserved for “tarantula.”
Elaki had a terror of human street gangs. An unfounded fear. Gangs were mostly a nasty chapter from the past, relevant as the Devil’s Hole Gang was to the 1900’s—in other words, history. The Bloods, the Crips, the Chinese Tongs—all had gone into legitimate business in the early years of the twenty-first century when the dinosaurs like IBM and Radio Shack finally rolled over and gave up. They went the route of the Japanese Yakuza, meshing with legitimate business, until trying to separate the two was like trying to pick the nuts out of crunchy peanut butter. They did not want bad press anymore. They had started with group loyalty and some unexpected leadership in the form of Minette Lydia Kincaid. They left the streets for the profits of the “info” highways, and never looked back. Small, localized gangs would always be a problem, but not like they were before the turn of the century.
“Gangs really aren’t a problem these days,” David said mildly. “Except in some dug-in enclaves in certain cities, and those are war zones; they don’t spill over.”
“Have seen the movie,” Sifter said.
David sighed. Too many Elaki ideas of Earth came from movies. Earth couldn’t export enough of them—or convince the Elaki that what you saw on the screen wasn’t necessarily what you got. There were Elaki appreciation groups—read fan clubs—for old-time actors like Mandy Patinkin and the two Elaines, Boosler and Barkin, and for newcomers like Michael Kirk Douglas and the Bombay Boys.
All Elaki had an irrational fear of Earth street gangs, and there was still enough low-level activity from newcomers to feed their fears.
David shook his head. “I can’t believe the university would fund research on gangs, not these days.”
The Elaki slid sideways on his fringe. “Exactly the point. Why the dog does not bark—isn’t there one?”
David put his coffee cup down. “Keep talking.”
“Isss like this. Hello, little Elaki Mother-One. I am researcher from Criminology Department, local university. We have t
o identified all these warning signs of prediction victims. And from answers here, sorry to inform but it looks like next victim be you.”
David put his coffee cup down.
Sifter Chuck cocked an eye prong. “Gets this now, you do? For a sum of the cash, can let this family know how not to become the victim of.”
“You’re saying this kid was running an extortion racket?” David thought of Cochran’s mother, evasive about Luke’s money, but refusing to take cash or gifts. She’d said it was because he needed the money. But a kid with a car like a Visck wasn’t hurting. Maybe this was the case of an honest woman who wouldn’t turn her son in but wanted no part of his dirty money.
“Not alone, him,” the Elaki said.
David looked up. “What?”
“Him just the risk man. Is run by university professor. You don’t believe?”
“How does this bring us to a blood sanction in Elaki-Town?”
“These Elaki they survey and pay up or not. But if pay up, do expect the protection to be. And a young female pouchling, also the student of university, gets a gangland gun-down after the pay up big time.”
“You’re talking about the Race Street shooting.”
“Yes, this be the one.”
David nodded slowly. That one had rippled far and wide, but never a hint of the extortion angle. From what he remembered, the Elaki Mother-One and the victims pouch-sib had been completely uncooperative with the police—business as usual.
They’d deal with it on their own. And it looked like they had.
“So he’s dead, then,” David said. He thought of Miriam. He was glad Mel wasn’t around.
“Not dead,” the Elaki said. “All is background this. Now for unfolding night events.”
Story time, David thought, settling back. This was where the Elaki would get tricky.
“Three are sent for the fetch. There is much talk of blood sanction. This is not function of Izicho, so is community business. Must have unanimous quorum for blood sanction, and is much personal risk. Izicho do not like community sanction—for to hog power unto selves. So if displeased, could be concussion. This is the word?”
“Repercussion, I think you mean.”
“Ah, yes this. Also, do not wish human law troubles. Elaki-Town is commerce center, no wealthy no worker Elaki privilege lazy behinders. Work here for living, all human almighty dollar provinces. Blend well, we thinks.”
Nothing much about Elaki-Town suggested blending, but David did not comment.
“And big trouble much, because of the woman.”
David sat forward. “What happened to the woman?”
“Much is the mystery.”
“What do you mean?” David could not keep his foot still.
“She there, then she gone. Disappear. No one knows. Could be some know and don’t talk. She is the innocent in the clear, and much is made of her involvement. She be witness, not legitimate to kill. If she is to die, this be bad act, open to moral sanction anybody’s direction. If not, she will know Luke’s fate. This, plus my own pitch of talk talk intervention is the savior of Luke Cochran. And maybe of her.”
“You telling me Cochran survived?”
“Yes. Is rioting swarm, and deep is the fear. Very many Elaki, milling in streets that have been made dark. All with the many opinions. But victim gang shoot most popular, valued female. This also to down-and-out Elaki-Town. Bad victim choice for the ultimate survival, Luke Cochran. Is riotous mass, and difficult to be heard. So even though he is talked clear by me myself, also must escort personally out.”
“Doesn’t seem possible,” David said.
“No. The backs will turn, not to witness the shame of him, unpunished for murder or the crime betrayal. So go then and go quickly, and do not see the woman again. But damn sure the Cochran is to be the safe escort out of the Elaki-Town. He goes and goes fast. He be okay. I know this.”
“Then where is he now?” David said.
“I wish to be first to know.”
David sighed. He knew the feeling.
TWENTY-SIX
David decided to go on the offensive with the university professors. One, they’d have been waiting for a knock on their door since Cochran disappeared, so they were going to be in a sweat; two, they hadn’t volunteered any information, so they were covering their asses; and three, his prejudices told him that they’d be a precious pain, up on their dignity, and arrogant.
And he had no time to waste.
There were two of them—the female, a full professor of psychology with a minor degree in criminology, and the male, an associate who was Cochran’s advisor, and part of the research project that had employed Luke Cochran on work-study. He’d seen them both in the hallway, and something about the woman had rung his bell—cop vibes, whatever you wanted to call it. He’d learned to treat those feelings with respect.
For that reason alone, he considered letting someone else take her on. He didn’t like her. He was going to have an attitude. But instead he sent String and Mel across the hall with the guy, and set Dr. Dunkirk aside for himself.
David took a last sip of cold coffee, watched Della approach his desk.
“How’s she doing?” he asked.
Della shook her head. “I don’t think she’s cooking, David. I don’t think she cares. She took the smokes, and the sandwich, passed on the bathroom—which you know they never do if they’re at all nervous. Asked me for a note pad, and last I looked, she’s sitting in there making notes for her next lecture. You could leave her all night, I don’t think it’ll accomplish a thing.”
David nodded. A tough one, and he wasn’t surprised. He’d felt like hell when he’d come in, but a rush of adrenaline had him looking forward to this.
He wiped his palms on the knees of his pants. “What about the guy?”
Della grinned. “Mel and String got him cornered. They don’t be careful, he’s going to go mute. He sure sweats a lot, for a college professor.”
“What was his name again?”
“Albee. Dr. Kirkland Albee.”
“Okay. Set up the holographer and the Miranda Pro, and I’ll be right in.”
“You going to scare even this lady, you keep that grim look on your face. You feeling bad?”
He nodded.
“Use it, baby. You want some aspirin, let me know.”
“I got Tylenol Twelve in my desk.”
“Hell, David, that wussy stuff ain’t no good. You really hurting, let me give you some of those Platinum Advils. Your body will feel better three minutes after you suck those babies down. I also got an Excedrin Inhaler. Works fast, but doesn’t last as long.”
David shook his head and waved her off. If he didn’t feel better after the interview, he would take all three at once. He rummaged in his desk for the Tylenol.
Professor Dunkirk was all smiles when David walked into the room on the heels of the technical setup. Which was damning, David thought. She ought to be pissed. Her good-natured cheerfulness was a definite misstep.
Error number one, David thought, and felt better. He reminded himself that the woman might be innocent.
But he looked in her face and knew better.
“I’m Detective Silver, Homicide.”
She kept smiling, outwardly unfazed by the homicide tag. Weird weird weird.
“I have to tell you, Detective, I have a degree in criminology, and I’m actually pretty excited about being interviewed. Gives me a chance for some first-hand observation.”
David sat down. “The first thing I’m going to do is advise you of your rights.”
“The woman already did that.”
Voice a bit testy, David thought. He looked at her a long moment. Checked the machine. “Good.”
She frowned. Stared at him. She was a plain woman, big-boned and self-confident. Her hair was thick, dark brown, held back in an unsophisticated ponytail by a red rubber band. She wore khaki trousers, and a flannel shirt with a white T-shirt underneath, even though the outside
temperature was in the upper eighties. Her shoes were heavy lace-ups. Her complexion was ruddy, skin rough and patchy. Eyelashes pale, no makeup.
She would look at home behind a tractor, or on a loading dock.
She raised a square, callused hand. “I’m doing my best to cooperate here. I’ve studied police work, police methods.” She grinned—strong, white teeth. “I’m on your side, Detective, okay?”
It was gentle, but she was chastening him. He looked at her coldly.
“I’ve got enough on you for obstruction of justice, easily, so you’re definitely going to be held.”
“Obstruction of—”
“It’s a b.s. thing, as you likely know. But we’ll keep you with it till the DA decides what level of homicide to go with. Where we move from there depends a lot on how much you tell me, how much help you can be.”
Her mouth hung open, and David could see a clot of spittle at the edges.
“What are you talking about? Are you sure you don’t have me mixed up with somebody else?”
He glanced at his notes, though there was no need. “Professor Elizabeth Dunkirk, Saigo City University, teaching and research position.”
“But what is all this about?”
David gave her steady look. “It’s about Luke Cochran, Dr. Dunkirk, and you’ve already wasted five minutes of my time with your posturing.” He shifted sideways. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew his body ached and moaned, but he felt good. He was going to get his teeth into this one.
He lifted a hand. Languidly. “I’ll tell you the truth. I think you’re a waste of time, and it’s time I don’t have. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation, and I’ve got a missing person. Looks like we’ll have more luck with your friend next door, and that’s good enough for me. You want your paralegal, I’ll put the word out, and we’ll put an end to our little session right now.”
Her eyes went wide; her feelings were hurt. He looked at her hands, which were steady. Interesting. They should have been shaking—anger, fear, something. He was giving her the rough end; she ought to be upset. Her words said “upset,” but her body did not.
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