The Iron Swamp

by J V Wordsworth

  "The President wants me to solve this case. That is his top priority, and I would hate to have to tell him that you were blocking my inquiry."

  Signey walked to the door and pulled it open, expecting us to walk through it. "It's his own orders blocking your case, not me."

  I sighed, tired of having to explain this to people. "Yes, but I wouldn't tell him that."

  "But I've worked so hard for you," he said, searching the corridor for help.

  "Not for me," I reminded him. "Do this for me, Signey, and good things will happen for you when I solve the case. No one will ever know about the test; you have my word."

  He shut the door. "I don't want any trouble..."

  "And you won't have any," I said, steeling myself to walk through the middle of the dead people. "You should know that I am fairly sure what drug was used on him before he was killed, so I'll be very surprised if that report doesn't say what I think it should."

  A fresh panic gripped every muscle cell in his face. "You didn't say anything about that."

  "I just did. When will you have the results?"

  "Tomorrow, but several compounds are likely to have degraded by now."

  I tilted my head at him. "In that vacuum sealed tank? I don't think so, but it would be easy enough for me to check."

  In the elevator, Becky punched me on the arm. "Good stuff, Boss. You're not at all like what I thought."

  I rubbed my arm, quelling a cry of pain. "What do you mean?"

  She paused. "No offense, but before you see it, it's quite hard to imagine you intimidating anyone."

  I laughed, though I was slightly insulted. Intimidation was a necessary evil in an occupation where people were so resistant to cooperation. I took no pleasure from what I did to Hobb, Signey, or the girls. Perhaps a little bit from the girls. I was in a friendless place where the weak fed the monsters on the hill. Whether it was in my nature or not, either I fought back, or I would be the conduit for every lash of resentment from above and below until I retired.

  "So how do you know Kenrey was poisoned?" she asked.

  "I don't, but I can't have Signey pretending to do the tests and telling me lies. I need him to think that I know how the report should look."

  Becky grinned and looked as if she was about to hit me again, but I winced so hard she must have thought better of it. "So what are we doing now?"

  I checked my messages and Lesgech had sent me the lists of staff. "Me and you are going to go through these names and see if we can't locate a few primary suspects."

  I didn't want to take Becky back to my desk, not right away. If she turned out to be the killer, it would be good to keep our relationship looking informal, so I took her to the jaffee room.

  I wasn't sure how I would go about it if I concluded she was the killer. I would have to tell her before I pressed charges, but I couldn't do it alone because she could probably overpower me. It would be safer to arrest her and then apologize, but I wasn't sure I could do that. On the tailside, if she was the killer then she most likely accepted the job intent on manipulating me, in which case our relationship was a fraud. My only real reservation was that I liked her, which I knew I could dismiss if the time came.

  I felt a tingling as our fingers touched when I passed her a jaffee before we settled down to read the list of suspects. "You tell me if you disagree with anything in that document," I said.

  Becky tapped away at her own tablet. "I have my staff timetable to compare it with. It's only for the staff, not the guards, but I'll send it to you."

  Lesgech's timetable agreed entirely with Becky's. "You were in that day," I said, "so were any of these people sick, or did anyone come in on their day off?"

  She went down the list before she answered. "I don't think so. The previous day a few people were off, but on the day of the murder I think we were all accounted for. I don't know if anyone came in who wasn't supposed to, but not in the kitchens. It would probably have come up though, when everyone started handing out blame."

  I nodded. The way they had turned on Hobb suggested that coming in without good reason on the day Kenrey was murdered would arouse suspicion from someone. That left twenty members of staff and thirty guards. The ones in the guard station could be crossed off, as could a few of the staff and guards that were constantly on camera in other areas. Sadly, there were no cameras in the kitchen, so I could not cross Becky off. That left 15 staff and six guards. Of those, I could cross off a further seven staff and five guards as being unable to fit through Kenrey's window. I was pretty sure Nadine didn't do it, though I couldn't rule out that I had not witnessed the acting performance of a new, and particularly wet, Shiara Andrews. That left eight staff and one guard as possible suspects including Nadine and Becky.

  Most of the suspects were female and presumably employed for their youth and good looks. None of them looked strong enough to lift Kenrey without the help of anti-grav. The thin muscular looking guard named Gurns was now my primary suspect, but with the knowledge that Kathryn might have helped I could dismiss none of them. There was DNA evidence in the room for two of them, Nadine and Ellody Cone. From her picture, Ellody made Nadine look fierce, but pictures could be deceiving.

  My tablet bleeped and a little red light flashed. The message opened automatically. Urgent come to reception. "Wait here," I told Becky, and made my way down.

  Chapter 13

  Before the elevator doors opened I could hear raised voices. They saw me as I stepped out and both men came at me like razor beaks on an injured rodent. Their dark coats and wet hair made them look like thugs, each of them towering over me, forcing me to look up at them.

  They shouted over each other, their meaning completely unintelligible beyond that they were the parents of Nadine and the other one.

  I guessed that they wanted me to let their daughters go, or one of many unspecified or inaudible horrors would befall me.

  A crowd of police were standing either side of the elevator, none of who felt any need to intervene. Some were smiling, others looked angry, but all were motionless. One of the giants poked me hard in the shoulder, and no one took a step to my aid even with a doorway full of journalists pointing their special little cameras at me, making enough flashes to light up a small town. To them I was a plague carrier, not a policeman.

  Neither thug showed any sign of relenting their tirade. The larger one poked me again, and I swiped his hand away, bringing a finger to my lips. They ignored me and carried on shouting, so I checked the time on my tablet. Only as one of them took an extended breath, and the other followed, did their shouting dwindle.

  "Gentlemen," I said, "the short answer is no."

  They didn't want to hear the long answer, and were both quickly shouting at me again, a flick of saliva hitting me on the cheek. The dirt on the shorter one's hands suggested he had come straight from site work, while the collar of a dry-shirt was just visible beneath the coat of the other. These men were unlikely friends.

  Another policeman, soaked through like both the fathers, added his own drips to the quickly enlarging puddle that was forming in front of me. "What seems to be the problem here?" He was roughly the same height as the two men, and neither of them looked pleased to see him.

  "These two," I answered, "want me to release their daughters, and what did you say you would do to me if I didn't comply? I didn't catch it."

  "Nadine is a good girl," said the short one, suddenly more desperate than threatening. "She doesn't belong in here."

  "We want to know what our girls have done," said the other one belligerently.

  "What your daughters have done falls under section 32A of the criminal code, obstruction of justice. Are we done here?"

  I turned to leave, but the taller man put his hand on my shoulder.

  I spun on him. "Take your hand off me, or you'll be joining them." My heart was beating so fast I thought it might pop like a bubble enlarged beyond its strength. Both men could leave me as a pile of mush on the floor if they wanted to
.

  He took his hand off, but didn't back away. "You've made a mistake."

  Hairs stood on end all over my body. My instinct to flee was compounding, but I knew its implications. I said, "For now I am going to trust my own eyes and ears and disregard your secondary testimonies."

  The short one shoved his way past the other. "Don't play with us you piece of dis! I want to speak to someone in charge."

  "He's on his way down," said another policeman, and moments later Hayson stepped out of the elevator. Both men walked around me as if I were a bag of used nappies strewn on the floor.

  "This man arrested my daughter for no reason."

  "And mine."

  I was acutely aware that Hayson could seriously undermine my authority if he wished. The man at the front desk, Bernard, might have noted in the log that these girls were only here for the night, which meant that if Hayson checked his tablet he would know that there was no benefit to the case by keeping them. "And what are their names?" he asked, his fingers already poised over his tablet.

  "Nadine Whiley."

  "Penny Gosforth."

  The Commissioner typed the names and started reading the files. "It says they are going to be released tomorrow anyway."

  Dis.

  "That's a mistake," I said. "That's pending my judgment they are to be released tomorrow."

  "And what is your judgment?" asked Hayson.

  "I haven't decided yet." The two men refused to make room for me in the conversation, so I had to shout over them as more journalists flooded into the room, jostling past each other.

  Hayson knew as well as I did that I was going to let them go. A grin spread across his face like a blade across skin. I knew exactly what he was about to say. "Well, I think we can make an exception just this once." He turned to one of the many policemen gathering like ants around a discarded donut. "Release these gentlemen's daughters, Tessik."

  I couldn't let this happen. It would be a disaster. Everyone would know that I had about as much influence over the Commissioner as a pet does over his owner's choice of mate. "NO," I shouted. The two men were both grinning at me almost as widely as Hayson. "I'm sorry sir, but I am the only one who can release those girls as I signed them in. If you feel as the Commissioner that you have the power to overrule my decision on how best to complete my investigation, then you will have my immediate resignation." I swallowed so hard it hurt my throat. "And you can explain to the President that someone else will be assigned to solve Kenrey's murder."

  Hayson glared at me with dead eyes that finally rose over my head to the media circus behind, discerning the headlines of tomorrow's news describing his dismissal of a national hero. I would pay for my insolence at some stage, but I could deal with that later after the immediate threat had passed. He turned back to the two fathers, neither of whom were still smiling.

  "You have my apologies," Hayson said. "Nidess is right, only he can release your daughters, but it sounds to me like you will be able to pick them up early in the morning if you come back then." He started to push both men gently back towards the door and neither resisted.

  They looked bewildered as Hayson urged them out the door, as if they had watched a child with a peashooter overcome a squad of marines.

  I had to solve this case quickly now, before Hayson threw me out of the sixth floor window.

  Hayson retreated into the elevator as the press surrounded me like the Gargantuan tide sweeping over the wet cities. Whether they were there to see me or had been invited by the parents, I didn't know, but they were desperate to know whether the two girls were suspects in Kenrey's case. No comment seemed the only appropriate response.

  Back in the jaffee room, Becky was still going through the staff profiles.

  "You found anything of note?" I asked.

  "What am I supposed to find? I don't think they're gonna write their motives down in their job application."

  Her burgundy grin infected my mood. Calm disseminated through my nerves as I swiped my tablet over the vending machine and selected a chocolate bar. "You're right. We need to do some more comprehensive background checks on these guys, but it will be easier to do that from my desk." Exhausted from my encounter with the two men – whose temperaments had sadly not resembled those of their daughters – segregating Becky from my desk had lost its importance.

  *

  In the basement Lisbold was waiting for me. "What the frak do you call this?" he said, brandishing a similar note to the one I received. You're too stupid for this. Get out while you can.

  "I had one on my chair as well."

  "Don't frak with me. I know this was you. You don't want me for a partner, and this is your attempt to get rid of me. Let me show you what happens to people who try to intimidate me."

  Before I could respond, Lisbold was rushing at me. I cowered, with little choice but to absorb whatever punishment he was about to inflict.

  Panic hit me as he hoisted me off the ground.

  He was carrying me.

  I kicked him in the stomach, and he winced but kept moving. I tried again, but he thrust me away from him, holding me at arm's length like a peeing baby.

  I punched and scratched at his arms, but he barely noticed. Becky pulled him, hit him, and shouted at him to put me down, but nothing seemed to prevent him. He carried me past the first manned desk, and the officer said nothing, watching intently.

  It was not until Becky grabbed a cup of hot jaffee and flung it in his face that he let go. I dropped, and just as quickly hobbled away as he screamed like a madman, slapping his burnt face, desperate to remove the liquid after the damage was done.

  When his hands came away again, something in him had snapped. Blind rage filled his eyes to bursting. His muscles shook as mercy and sanity abandoned him.

  I turned to the man next to me as Lisbold ran. Wordlessly, I conveyed my need for aid. If Lisbold killed me while they watched, people were getting fired.

  Several officers moved in unison with the reluctance of doomed men on the scaffold in Blay Square. But when they reached him, it was over. He struggled and shouted, even threw a few punches, but there were too many of them. All he could do was spit abuse.

  When they reached the elevator, they ejected him from their custody with such force that he smacked the mirror at the back, the noise reverberating like a gale through a wind tunnel. He turned, looking as if he was going to charge at them, but did nothing. He knew they weren't scared of him. That was why he chose to blame me in the first place. He was weak, and he only fought people who were weaker.

  It had nearly worked too. They only decided to help when it looked like he might kill me, and only because they didn't want to deal with the consequences. Not one of them came to see if I were alright. Becky tried to help me up, but I waved her off. I stood limply on one leg, the other one too painful to take my weight.

  "You don't strike me as the sort of man who writes notes like that," she said.

  I hobbled to my desk and sat down. "Lisbold is an idiot." He knew as well as I did that I didn't write the note. He was just using me to show the others he wasn't to be messed with. It was the response of a true coward, yet I was the one who had been made to look weak.

  I could feel the blood pulsing through my cheeks as if I were a toad snake inflating its face to engulf its prey. Having a young girl save me from the bullies didn't fill me with virility, but I forced a smile and thanked her.

  "You're welcome, Boss. Part of the job, I guess." She smiled, but it contained none of the predatory humor of her usual grin. It was full of sympathy that I didn't want.

  My humiliation deepened as I tried to turn my swelling foot. "Hopefully not too often."

  I didn't want her to see what my colleagues thought of me on her first day. She wasn't in danger of falling in love with her tall, handsome boss to begin with, but it would have been nice if I hadn't been picked up like a doll and carried around the room.

  I was better off alone anyway. Isolation carried its weight
in misery, but letting myself feel what I wanted to feel would be worse. Hope led to hurt. Lisbold had left me deflated and angry, but perhaps he had done me a favor. The era where physical stature brought power had long passed, but when it came to sexual attraction we were still bang in the middle of it.

  I made a space for Becky at my desk and checked the network. The protests and rioting filled every news site. Even the international ones covered little else. All mention of myself and my supposed heroism had vanished like a soap bubble in a storm. It was a great relief to know that by this time next week I would be forgotten.

  The video of the mech punching a man with a nose filter was one of the main stories. It was surprising because mechs were supposed to be pacifists who deplored the idea of violence even against attackers. In reality, the video showed a man beating a mech with a metal bat until finally it pushed him away in a desperate motion that ripped the filter from the man's nose.

  Several breaths of the gypsum spores would not do the man any good. If he could afford the care, he would spend a night on antifungals and be no worse the next day; otherwise, he would probably be sick for a few weeks, but either way it was difficult to blame the mech for it. Or at least it was for me. Bernard and the rest of The Kaerosh were making a good go of it.

  Liegon was receiving hard criticism from mech rights activists and church officials alike. Many people blamed her as much as the mechs for what had happened. With the possible exception of a few of the most violent rioters, she was one of the least popular people in The Kaerosh.

  The other person whose reputation was taking a battering was Charles-182, the main orchestrator of the mech side of the protest. A fiercely ugly individual, he looked as if he'd submerged his face in water then dunked it in a bucket of flour. He was a prototype; his pale, pointed face and jerky movements the product of a time when making the mechs look human was not a priority.

  Liegon's game was as clear as Charles-182's inhumanity. She didn't care about her reputation. Having so recently been through a war with the machines, no one could look at the results of this protest without fearing them. Liegon would be forgotten, but the millions of mechs overrunning a city as large as Volis in a matter of hours would be headline news for months. No one would forget today, and so would begin a more serious discussion of what to do about the mech problem.