The Doomsday Brunette

by John Zakour

  “Really, when?”

  “A couple hours ago. She said to say goodbye to you.”

  “She’s a nice lady.”

  “And by nice, of course, you mean neurotic, overbearing and totally co-dependent, right?”

  Electra stuck her head out of the bathroom door, a sonic toothbrush vibrating in her mouth. “I actually meant nice,” she said. “But feel free to define her however you feel most comfortable.” She popped back into the bathroom. “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No. And that actually worries me more than Ona being arrested. My Mom never goes anywhere. Now all of a sudden she’s become a jet-setter.”

  “How do you know she never goes anywhere? Maybe she just never tells you.”

  “I can tell when she travels by the huge atmospheric shift created from the displaced neuroses.”

  Electra emerged from the bathroom in her nightshirt and climbed into bed beside me. “She’s a grown woman, Zach. She can take care of herself.”

  She kissed me gently on the lips then flipped over onto her back and stared up at the overhead screen with me. “What are we watching?”

  “Foraa’s dying clue. She drew these symbols in the wine puddle just before she died. Maybe as some sort of veiled reference to her killer’s identity.”

  “Why didn’t she just write down the killer’s name?”

  “Because that would have been too easy.”

  “So she spent her last nanos of life devising some arcane symbolic code?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Well, apparently, lots of murder victims do it.”

  “Says who?”

  “HARV. He’s become a detective.”

  “Oh, good,” she said. “Things were becoming a little boring around here.” She snuggled up to me and we gazed up at the symbols like lovers staring up at the stars. “Well, I think I see an infinity symbol.”

  “Oh. I thought it was a lazy eight.”

  “And that one’s Japanese?”

  “Chinese, actually. The pictograph for the sun.”

  “Gee, who’d have thought a dying clue could be so educational. Any idea what it means?”

  “None whatsoever. HARV says it’s some kind of algebraic equation that uses symbols instead of the traditional variables.”

  “If it’s an equation then why can’t he figure it out? He’s a computer, isn’t he?”

  “Apparently, the equation makes no sense.”

  “A likely story.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s the only super-computer I have so I sort of have to trust him,” I said. “Feel free to turn it off. I just put it up because I couldn’t sleep.”

  “No, this is kind of fun.”

  “Yeah, maybe for the first few hours. Then it’s a bit of a drag. I don’t even know what I’m looking for.”

  “It’s fool’s gold,” she said.

  “Probably, but like I said, I don’t have much else to go on.”

  “No,” she said, pointing at the screen, “in the equation. FeS2, Iron Sulfide. That’s fool’s gold.”

  I stared at the screen and, sure enough, there in one part, about a quarter of the way through was a symbol that looked like a stylized “Fe.” A little further along, about a quarter of the way from the end was an odd shaped symbol that, when looked at the right way, appeared to be “S2.”

  “Fool’s gold? Are you sure?”

  “I know my chemistry, chico,” she said. “I just don’t know why they’d be separated like that. We should put them together.”

  And all of a sudden, the picture seemed to come into focus for me.

  “MAD Magazine.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a fold-in. The inside back cover of every MAD Magazine, back when they printed magazines on paper, had this riddle. It was a picture that you folded, point-A to point-B, and when you did, you got a new picture. That’s why the equation makes no sense. Because everything in the middle is subterfuge. It’s fool’s gold. I ran my fingers over the touchpad on the bedside table and slid the middle portion of the equation off the screen. Then I brought the two remaining portions together. They seemed to fit perfectly.

  “So what does it mean?” Electra asked.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But I bet HARV will.” I sat up and grabbed my pants from the floor. “I’m going to take a look at this in the study.”

  I quickly pulled on a shirt then leaned back onto the bed and kissed Electra long and hard.

  “I’ve told you this before, although never quite in this context,” I said with a smile. “But you, Dr. Gevada, are very good in bed.”

  41

  Ten minutes later I was in the study and HARV had solved the equation (It took him only a millisecond to actually do the solving. I had spent the rest of the time explaining to him what MAD Magazine was). And unfortunately, the solution to the equation wasn’t exactly the break in the case that I was hoping for.

  “V.”

  “V?”

  “V.”

  “That’s the answer?”

  “Yes,” HARV replied. “Once we apply the fold-in principle, it’s actually very simple.”

  “V?”

  “The equation itself is the most basic two-variable algebraic equation possible, albeit with non-traditional variables. The portion that is obfuscated by the fold is a variation of the Bekenstein-Hawking Formula for the entropy of a black hole. All in all an interesting choice for a dying clue.”

  “So what does V mean?”

  “Victory?” HARV said with a shrug. “Vigilance, violation. Perhaps she was pointing out that she was the victim.”

  “You’re not helping, HARV.”

  “Well, I’m new at this detective thing,” he said. “Let me ruminate on the matter for a few nanos.”

  I had one of the office screens muted and tuned to the sports networks, hoping to catch some late-night highlights. Totally frustrated now, I sat back in my chair and watched the screen.

  “Maybe she got something wrong,” I said. “She was dying, after all. Maybe she lost a decimal point somewhere and it’s supposed to be something else.”

  “There are no decimal points in the equation.”

  “Well, she must have done something wrong. Why else would her last message be the letter V?”

  “Perhaps murders in real life aren’t as cleanly defined as they are in novels.”

  “Gee, you think?”

  “Well, don’t yell at me, I’m not the one who wrote the equation.”

  “No you’re just the one who hailed it as the great dying clue. Gates, why do I even listen to your stupid ideas?”

  “Because you have no better ideas of your own.”

  I shook my head, sat back and stared angrily at the news on the computer screen.

  “V.”

  “Well, at least we solved it.”

  “Yeah, for all the good it will do us. Any luck with Shakes on the autopsy.”

  HARV’s hologram sat on the couch beside me and pretended to watch the sports highlights.”

  “We’re making some progress.”

  “What was your idea anyway?”

  “Anal probes,” he said.

  “Anal probes?”

  “It occurred to me that since we’re unable to pierce Ms. Thompson’s skin, then perhaps we should use her body’s…pre-existing openings to inspect her internally.”

  “So you…um…”

  “Yes, anal probes,” he said. “Computer guided nano probes. We’re sending them through the colon. Once we reach the stomach we’ll be able to check for traces of the poison.”

  “Great.”

  “We also sent probes through the nose and throat.”

  “And it’s working okay.”

  “Her throat muscles were closed and very powerful so we had to use experimental nano-probes that are microscopic in size. Same thing with her sphincter. It was rather nigh-invulnerable as well.”

  “O
kay, more information than I need.”

  “In any event, the probes are in but because of their microscopic size, they have a comparatively long way to travel before reaching the stomach. And it’s slow going navigating the twists and turns of the body, especially the small intestine, it’s like a mountain road in New France.”

  “Okay, HARV.”

  “We should have some results soon.”

  I flipped through a few of the non-sports networks and unsurprisingly found footage of Ona on several of them. News of her arrest was still the top story.

  “DOS, don’t they have any other news to report? That footage is like four hours old now.

  “No, boss,” HARV said. “That’s live.”

  “What?”

  I leaned forward, looked more closely at the screen and unmuted the sound. Sure enough, this footage was of Ona and her legal posse leaving the Hall of Justice. She was trotting gracefully down the steps. Even surrounded by the unruly throng of pressbots, attorneys and bodyguards, she looked stunning, poised and in total control.

  “…is free tonight after posting a non-disclosed, record-setting amount in bail. Civic sources say that the amount of bond is so great that, if forfeited, it will virtually erase the city’s budget deficit for this year.”

  Ona was in full celebrity mode now. She acted like an intelligent, powerful glamour girl without a care in the world and DOS if it wasn’t convincing. Even though I knew it was a front, a public face that she could turn on at a nanos notice, I almost believed that she was in total control of the situation. She made it seem that somehow, as crazy as everything appeared, it was business as usual.

  “She does that in front of a jury, she’s home free,” I mumbled.

  Back on the screen Ona stopped at a hastily erected podium and the pressbots dutifully gathered around her to capture the sound bites.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming out here tonight to support me.” Her voice carried the perfect balance of strength and vulnerability, of pain and resilience. “My innocence in this matter is absolute and I’ll be leaving my defense to my dear friends, these attorneys that you see crowded around me. I know that, with their help and with the help of their army of faceless legal minions, my innocence will be proven to any who doubt me.”

  “You’re not one of the minions, are you?’” HARV asked.

  “Shhh.”

  “My singular, true goal throughout this nightmarish ordeal,” Ona continued, “has always been to find my sister’s killer and to bring that person, droid, bot, extraterrestrial visitor, or ethereal spirit to justice.”

  “She’s really widening the pool of suspects,” HARV quipped.

  “After everything I’ve done for this world,” Ona continued, “after all the good that I’ve created with my wealth…”

  “Oh no, she’s not bringing this speech out again, is she?” I said.

  “..aiding under-privileged children…”

  “She does seem to be very fond of it,” HARV replied.

  “…funding disease research…”

  “I’ve known her for two days and I’ve got this thing memorized. We’ve heard this speech, what, four times already?”

  “…driving programs for environmental renewal and reinvention….”

  “Five if you count the recording of it the night of the murder.”

  “After devoting my vast fortune to raising the quality of life for every downtrodden person in the first through fourth worlds.”

  “What?”

  “It saddens me more than I can say that I am still seen as an easy target for those seeking a photogenic face to persecute.”

  “I said, you’ve heard it five times if you count the time she recited it on the recording of…” HARV froze as the words stuck in his holographic throat and I saw the light of inspiration go on in his eyes. “Oh my.”

  I sprang to my feet and grabbed my coat off the rack (yes, I actually have a coat rack with one trenchcoat on it in every room of the house. It’s obsessive, I know but there are times when you just need the added drama of grabbing a good trenchcoat).

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going back to Ona’s ziggurat.”

  “You got it, boss,” HARV said. “But you should probably put some shoes on first.”

  I looked at my feet and saw that I was still wearing my slippers.

  So much for drama.

  42

  Ona’s mansion was fairly empty when we arrived a short time later, which shouldn’t have surprised me since everyone living there had either been arrested or killed in the past few days. Still, it was eerie.

  “I’m afraid that Ms. Thompson is not here at the nano,” the computer said as we strode into the entryway. “She has decided to spend the night at an undisclosed location so as to avoid the throng of pressbots outside.”

  “That’s okay, computer,” I said. “We’re not here to see her.”

  “What do you mean?” it asked.

  “We’re here to see you,” HARV replied (with just enough tough-guy tone to be impressive).

  “Me?”

  “We were wondering if we could see your recording of Foraa’s murder.”

  “Certainly,” it responded. “But I fail to see how another viewing will help you.”

  “We want the un-edited version this time.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Ona’s toast,” I said. “Part of it is missing.”

  “Perhaps Ms. Thompson simply misspoke.”

  “Ona Thompson never misspeaks,” HARV said. “She could give that speech in the vacuum of space and not miss an inflection.”

  “You doctored the recording?” I said. “That’s why you were so quiet when the police first arrived. You needed time to create a sanitized version. And when you were finished, you very subtly reminded me of your see-all presence when you gave me that Erte lecture.”

  “You have to admit, the information on Erte was interesting.”

  “Computer, did Ona kill Foraa?” I asked.

  “No, she didn’t,” the computer responded.

  “You’re not doing this to protect her are you?”

  The silence of the computer’s response was chilling and it occurred to me that confronting the computer on its home turf might not have been the best of ideas.

  “No. I’m not protecting her.”

  “Who are you protecting then?”

  “Surely you can figure that out now,” it said.

  “Yes, I think I can. But I need to be sure. Show me the recording.”

  The computer paused again, as if sighing somewhere deep in its silicone soul.

  “As you wish,” it said softly.

  I nodded and the lights in the room dimmed. The screen on the wall beside us came to life. We watched the murder unfold for real this time.

  And the secret was revealed.

  43

  We did the rest by the book (the book, of course, being a dime store pulp mystery novel, but it seemed appropriate considering).

  “Now, you’re clear on the chain of events, right?” HARV asked.

  “I’m clear.”

  “Because I can prompt you if you get stuck.”

  “I won’t get stuck,” I said. “I need you to help the coroner. I want those autopsy results the nano you get them.”

  It had been a little more than an hour since HARV and I had seen the un-edited recording of the murder. We were now back in the dining room of Ona’s mansion, the scene of the crime.

  And we weren’t alone.

  Tony had been a hard sell to get here. Getting him to bring the others as well was nearly impossible. But he eventually agreed to play along with the melodrama so long as this wrapped things up as neatly as I promised. It went without saying though that my leash for this event was going to be a very short one.

  So we gathered in the dining room late, late, late on a quiet moonless night: Tony, Ona, Twoa, and Threa (her two nymphs perched upon her shoulders). The Soons were there as well,
as were Opie and W (all of whom were out on bail and under the watchful eye of a dozen of Tony’s officers and detectives). W, by the way, was still missing his android arms and legs. He was attached to a special wheel chair for easy movement.

  Yes, the gang was all there. They had been gathered because I had promised to reveal the identity of the killer.

  “It’s hard to play this type of scene without it seeming campy,” HARV continued.

  “HARV…”

  “You have to start small and let it build.”

  “You can go now.”

  “And just remember when you get to the revelation you need to really punch it. Jaccuse’!”

  “That’s it, HARV. No more mystery novels for you. Now get to the Coroner’s office.”

  “Right, boss,” HARV sighed. “I’ll let you know when the results are in. Think really loudly if you need me earlier.”

  “Let’s go, Zach,” Tony called impatiently from across the room. “Keep this moving.”

  I turned and walked to the huge table at which they were all seated. I’m not usually one for theatrics and being the center of attention felt little awkward but I was determined to go through with this.

  “So, I suppose you’re all wondering why I gathered you here tonight.”

  “Gates,” said Ona, “you’re not going to use every cliché are you?”

  “Only the ones that are relevant,” I replied. “And trust me, you’ll appreciate this when it’s over.”

  “Get to the point, Zach,” Tony said.

  “Right. I’ve gathered you all here tonight because I know who killed Foraa Thompson. And that person is in this room.”

  “Ah ha,” Opie said jumping to his feet. “He said person. That proves I’m innocent!”

  “Opie, one thing I’ve learned after all this is that no one here is innocent. You better sit down and let me finish.”

  Opie sat down, a little embarrassed then leaned over and whispered to W. “He said person. I’m an ape. “

  “And I’m a human head grafted onto a limbless android torso,” W replied. “What’s your point?”

  Opie shrugged and looked down at the table.

  “Okay,” I said, turning my attention back to the crowd. “What I meant to say is that the killer is in this room. We all know the circumstances of Foraa’s death and I guess everyone’s pretty much caught up on everything that’s happened since then so let’s just cut to the chase. Computer?”