Angel strode to the elevators, Viktor trailing behind. She could feel the pixie’s eyes on her back.
As soon as she touched the elevator pad, the doors cycled open. Minutes later they were stepping into the office of Harry Smith. The desk was empty, except for a brushed metal photo frame still flipping through images of a happy Mr. Smith next to a petite blonde woman Angel assumed was Mrs. Smith. Empty bookcases. Empty shelves. Empty of almost everything. Even the carpet had marks on it from being recently vacuumed.
Viktor cursed and roamed around the room, touching surfaces and looking into spaces. “Same as the other murders,” he muttered. “As soon as they hear we’re coming, they clean everything out. Hiding under the Corporate Privacy Act. Classified research, and all that.”
Angel cleared her throat. “I doubt they wait to hear we’re coming. As soon as they found out he was dead, they probably had a team strip the place.”
“How are we supposed to do our job if they hide all the evidence?”
“You do understand what ‘Inquisitor’ means, right? But maybe we aren’t. Maybe the cost of losing researchers is accounted for as a projected liability.”
Viktor looked at her in shock. “Do you think?”
“Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised.” She drew a plastic bag from a pocket and secured the frame. Probably the only piece of evidence they would find, if you could call it that.
“Ahem.”
They both turned at the sound. Angel reached for her hand-cannon.
In the doorway stood a fit-looking young man in a tailored suit. Neat and tidy from head to foot, not a hair out of place. He held out his hands in a placating gesture.
“Ah… I assume you’re the Inquisitors.”
The man’s voice was smooth and cultured. Angel pigeonholed him as a public relations type or a high-priced criminal lawyer.
“That’s correct,” Viktor said. “And you are?”
The man stepped into the room, and Angel caught a whiff of expensive cologne. There was an assured confidence about him, bordering on arrogance. She knew his type. They thought they were untouchable.
“Xavier. Vice president in charge of security. I’ve been assigned to make sure you have everything you need.”
“What we need,” grated Viktor through clenched teeth, “are the contents of this office. There might be clues to the death of Mr. Harry Smith.”
Mr. Xavier pointedly ignored Viktor and turned to regard Angel. “I believe you are in charge? His death was an accident.”
Angel didn’t reply, allowing Viktor to take the lead. It would be good for him to learn a little diplomacy, and Xavier was clearly growing agitated at having to speak with an underling. Good, let him sweat a little.
“She is, and I’m her partner,” Viktor said. “We would like the contents of this office.”
Raising his eyebrows at Angel, Xavier then nodded at Viktor. “I regret we can’t allow that. Mr. Smith’s work was highly classified, and it’s standard protocol in situations like this to remove all associated research to a secure location.”
“You have a standard protocol in case someone dies?” Viktor asked.
Xavier gave him a grim smile. “I’m afraid we do. We like to be prepared for all contingencies.”
They had seen similar bare offices and excuses from corporate flunkies at all of the previous murders. Their lack of concern for the truth looked to be getting to Viktor. Angel made a mental note to have a word with him later.
Angel took a step toward Xavier. “Lots of regrets and afraids,” she said softly. “You don’t seem like a man who regrets much or is afraid of anything.”
While she spoke, Viktor inched closer to Xavier and, as per their standard protocol, ran an imperceptible scan.
“Just an employee lucky enough to have been rewarded for hard work and loyalty with a position of some note. Nothing special. With a corporation of this size, there are plenty of us.”
Results from the scan scrolled down Angel’s vision. A modified body armor suit—Mercurial Logic Incorporated Mark IV Class II—two miniaturized missile guns, also manufactured by Mercurial Incorporated but not released to the public yet; and implants that would have bankrupted even a vice president of security. Which meant that he probably knew he had been scanned. Viktor had thoughtfully attached to the bottom of the scan confirmation that was Xavier’s official title. And Angel had no doubt that, officially, it was, and would hold up to any scrutiny.
She gave Xavier her best “fuck you” smile. “Well, thank you for your assistance.” She ran her eyes over the room in a final cursory once-over. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”
“Of course.” Xavier stepped to the side, leaving a clear path to the door. “Anything you need, really.”
“There is one thing,” added Angel. “Why leave the photo frame?”
“Excuse me?”
She waved the evidence bag holding the frame at him. “Why take everything else and leave this? I mean, he had to have plenty of other stuff that wasn’t related to any research he was conducting, and it’s all been cleared out.”
Xavier gave her a puzzled look, and his smile slipped a little. A faint flush crept up his neck. “I hadn’t realized anything was left. The scrub-bot should have removed everything. If you would hand it over, I will make sure it reaches the correct place.” He held out a hand expectantly.
Angel shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. A personal photo frame isn’t classified, as far as I am aware. Viktor, could you confirm this?”
“I believe so,” replied her partner, warming to their small victory. “Under section seventeen, article two hundred and sixty-one of the Corporate Privacy Act, personal effects—including but not limited to visual display devices containing images of offspring or civil partners—do not fall under the definition of classified work data or materials.”
Xavier paused as he consulted his implants, then withdrew his hand. “It seems you’re correct. I expect we will revise our protocols.”
“I would expect no less,” Angel said. “Come on, Viktor, we’ve seen enough here.”
•
Angel paused at the entrance to the café. It was a highly protected building, with state-of-the-art security. Around her, people sauntered or hurried by, giving her curious looks, eyes drawn to her weapon. News of the murders had been suppressed by the corporations, for the good of the population, of course. It wouldn’t do for them to become uneasy and start asking questions; productivity might suffer. But they knew something was in the air, the same way a hunted herbivore might feel its hair rise even though there was no clear danger. Her presence on the street only confirmed their suspicions, and no doubt rumors had started circulating since she and Viktor had landed. But like all good employees, they kept their heads down and avoided trouble, lest they stand out and slip down the corporate ladder they had assigned their lives to.
She had sent Viktor back to their temporary office with instructions to log the photo frame for examination then take the evening off. Despite his reluctance to be there or investigate corporate murders, he had actually been working hard on the cases, often following the slenderest of leads late at night. He needed a rest, and she could interview the wife on her own. It was unlikely she would offer more than the empty office anyway. These corporate types regarded outsiders to their corporations with suspicion. Still, she had to be questioned.
As her implant clock ticked over to 6 p.m., Angel entered the café and scanned the patrons for the wife, Jessica Smith. She found her seated in a booth situated close to the back. Tables and chairs made from locally grown timber, subdued orange lighting, and top-of-the-range serving automatons, along with the security, marked the place as somewhere not consistent with a mid-level researcher.
She’s splashed out on somewhere she’d feel safe, realized Angel.
Those dining were picking at small morsels of artfully arranged food, polka-dotted on large transparent plates lit by an internal r
adiance. They drank from crystal goblets, the same illumination highlighting the beverage they had chosen. A pretentious café to be seen in, to be noticed frequenting.
Angel’s implants logged all the patrons, and she gave the list a quick once-over. Nothing out of the ordinary: the famous, the rich, the inheritors, corporate suits impressing prospective clients. A random noise-reduction field cloaked the interior, lowering the clamor to barely a whisper.
Not consistent with the wife of a middle-level researcher, not at all. There might be reasons for a woman of Jessica’s class to frequent such an expensive café, however, and none of them were good.
“Excuse me.”
She glanced at the serving automaton that addressed her; it was gleaming, even in the dim orange glow.
“I am here to see Citizen J. Smith; she is expecting me.” Her implants flashed her credentials.
“Follow me, please.” The automaton glided silently across the polished floor.
Angel followed slowly, analyzing and discarding various reasons for such a meeting place.
At the table, Jessica Smith noted her approach and stood, hand extended. Angel shook it firmly, and they exchanged opening pleasantries.
“Please, sit,” Jessica said, gesturing to the couch opposite. She looked at Angel with deep suspicion. “Inquisitor Xia, may I examine your credentials?”
With a brief smile, Angel fished in her jacket pocket and drew out her Inquisitor’s wallet and handed it to her. As Jessica studied the unforgeable insignia and used her implants to verify its authenticity, Angel studied her.
Jessica was exactly what she expected: petite, blonde, dark eyes from lack of sleep, slightly nervous. When she took a gulp from a glass half-filled with a golden liquid lit from underneath, Angel could smell the alcohol fumes from across the table.
She was the picture of a grieving wife whose husband had been murdered, double-checking her credentials, as if unsure who to trust. Perfectly natural.
“Could I, uh… also see your other credentials?”
And the picture was broken.
Seeing Angel hesitate, she added, “Just so I know it’s you. I mean…” Her eyes flicked to a number of other tables. “How could I be sure, otherwise?”
Raising her eyebrows, Angel removed her private credentials, those confirming her as a Privileged of a House. She opened the wallet to reveal another unforgeable insignia. This one sparkled under the dim light.
Jessica drew in a short breath at the sight then visibly relaxed, sinking back into her couch. “Thank you. I had to be sure. You understand.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Jessica leaned forward, glancing out across the room. “There are powerful influences on Persephone and beyond, even in the Inquisitors. But House Liwei has a reputation for ferocious independence, for incorruptibility and untouchability.”
If only you knew the truth… thought Angel.
“I…” Jessica hesitated, then rushed ahead. “I think Harry was murdered. I know you think I’m crazy but—”
“I agree.”
Jessica’s mouth dropped open. It closed, and her teeth clicked together. “You do?”
“Yes. It’s a hunch at the moment.”
“Oh, goodness! With Harry… gone, I don’t know if I’ll be next. What if some crazy person is out there? Who knows what they’re thinking?”
“I assure you, your husband’s death is most likely corporation related.”
“Yes, yes, of course. But, he wasn’t involved in anything worth killing him for.”
“Your husband spoke about his work to you?”
“Sometimes. I mean… only occasionally. And nothing classified,” Jessica stressed. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Angel had the feeling Jessica knew more than she was letting on. The darting of her eyes, her nervous twitches.
She isn’t overly concerned about her husband’s death, realized Angel. But she really does think she’ll be next. Why? “And you didn’t ask?”
“You learn not to. There are other subjects to talk about.”
“Like how you arrived here on the same day?”
Jessica paused in the motion of reaching for her glass again; then her hand resumed its path. She brought the drink to her lips and took a sip. “Yes. Quite a coincidence.”
“Quite.”
Angel let the silence grow. An old and effective technique. Jessica was steeling herself to tell her something, information crucial to breaking this case open.
Jessica brushed at her eye, as if wiping away a tear, then raised her face to the ceiling. She sniffed.
“We… we were both surprised when we found out. Our stories were so similar, yet we ended up in different districts for a few years.”
“It must make for an interesting story at parties.”
“Ah… yes.”
Angel didn’t buy her account for a nanosecond. If anything, she was too uninterested in her husband’s death. By this time, people were usually asking her for answers, requesting details, wanting to know what happened next, where she was with her investigation. This woman was sending out the right signals but not asking the right questions. She searched her memory. Yes, Jessica hadn’t asked a single question. It was as if she were doing what was expected from her but wanted the interview to end as soon as possible.
Angel decided to press the issue. “So, you and Harry never met before moving to the same district?”
Jessica shook her head. “No. We arrived on different ships and, as I said, lived in different districts before we met each other.”
“Where were you both originally from?”
“Isn’t there something you want to ask me about the case?” A note of exasperation had crept into Jessica’s voice.
“Isn’t there something you want to ask me?”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed, and she licked her lips. Her expression went blank. “Am I under suspicion?” The timid widow had all but disappeared.
“Actually, everyone is, until we clear them. Where were you when Harry died?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I was in bed. I didn’t wake when he got up. I don’t know why he wanted something to eat that late.” She licked her lips. “He wasn’t just working on AI’s for military tech, but something far more dangerous.”
Here it is, thought Angel.
“He wasn’t allowed to talk about classified tech,” continued Jessica, “but he couldn’t stay quiet about something with such devastating potential.”
Something disrupted the noise-reduction field, and the background hubbub rose considerably. Angel looked around in annoyance. A number of patrons took the opportunity to hoot and jeer, raising the clamor to an uncomfortable level.
There was a flash of light. A pop and a thump sounded behind her.
She turned back. Jessica was slumped over the table. The back of her head sported a small red hole, from which rose a thin plume of steam. Blood leaked from underneath blonde hair and oozed across the table.
“Shit!” Angel yelled, and threw herself to the floor, rolling away from her booth to avoid any speculative shots.
Finding herself still breathing, she raised her head and looked around. None of the patrons had noticed anything untoward, and some were still yammering as loudly as they could while the reduction field was off.
Angel triggered a Rank 4 Emergency Protocol through her implants, overriding the café’s operating system. Almost immediately, the lights brightened. A message blared through a speaker, drowning out the patrons’ racket.
“THIS IS A COMMUNITY SAFETY MESSAGE.”
She drew her hand-cannon in one smooth motion.
“CALMLY EXIT THE BUILDING IN AN ORDERLY FASHION.”
She stood and raised her gun, aiming in the direction the shot had come from.
“THIS IS NOW A CRIME SCENE.”
A few patrons noticed her weapon. A woman screamed.
“CALMLY EXIT, PLEASE.”
Angel ignored the screams and frantic stares, and took a slow deliberate look around the room, searching faces for anyone suspicious. No one stood out. Sweat trickled down her brow. She blinked.
“LAW ENFORCEMENT PROXIES WILL ARRIVE IN ONE MINUTE.”
As people scrambled to flee the café, Angel darted forward and slid behind a low wall for cover. She peeked over the top at the exiting crowd. Ducking back down, she caught sight of Jessica sprawling lifeless over the table. Her expensive drink had spilled and dripped a golden puddle on the floor.
“THIS IS A COMMUNITY SAFETY MESSAGE.”
Angel flashed an emergency code to Viktor. Heart thumping in her chest, she stood and weaved her way toward the front of the café.
“CALMLY EXIT THE BUILDING IN AN ORDERLY FASHION.”
Back against a plascrete pillar, she breathed a sigh of relief at the relative safety it afforded her. Now empty of patrons, the café had the air of an abandoned ship. Plates, bowls, and glasses lay scattered across tables and the floor. Several cleaning automatons scurried about, righting chairs and vacuuming up spills.
“THIS IS NOW A CRIME SCENE.”
One of the cleaning automatons approached Jessica’s table and extended its vacuum hose toward the pool of blood.
“Shit,” Angel heard herself say. “Stupid machines.” She fired at the automaton. It jerked backward then fell to the floor. Sparks jumped from the hole in its side.
“CALMLY EXIT, PLEASE.”
“Come on,” she breathed, exasperated. Viktor still hadn’t responded. Clattering metal alerted her to the arrival of the Law Enforcement Proxies. She ducked her head around the pillar to make sure.
Two LEPs entered the café, while another took up a position outside. She flashed them her ID so they would know she was a friendly. Confirmation returned.
Lowering her weapon, she returned to Jessica’s lifeless body. It didn’t make sense. Why execute the wife of the dead scientist? Unless they suspected she knew Harry’s secret project and had been about to tell Angel.
Jessica had been killed because she might have known something. But it had been rushed. Harry’s murder had been planned meticulously.
Inquisitor Page 3
