Camrey's eyes narrowed, but his pupils shifted uneasily to one side, considering the possibility.
"It's still the safer course," said Reens. "What do we gain from keeping the case open?"
I smiled. "I can close the case properly, so we don't have to worry that we'll be caught out. I have evidence that I hope will lead to the real killer shortly." I explained to them my theory about Hobb carrying the murderer out in the bin.
"Doesn't sound like much to me," Camrey said.
"Trust me, it is. I'll get this case solved. I just need you two on my side to explain to Hayson it couldn't possibly be Hobb. If you do that, you have me as an ally from now until the day I die."
Camrey snorted. "We don't need you as an ally when we can crush you just as easily."
Reens interjected before I could respond. "A man who destroys all his potential allies is a friendless man, and they don't last long in our position."
Camrey shrugged. "Not all of them, just one of them."
"Such a man is still a fool," I said.
Camrey's eyes flashed to Reens as if waiting for him to leave so he could rip out my tongue. "Only if you're stronger than the enemies we make by not crushing you. And if that means van Holf, then that isn't even a choice."
"True," I agreed. "But I'm offering you both my friendship and the esteem of van Holf. I just need a bit more time and you can give me that."
Camrey looked again at Reens who was staring at me the way a hunter observes a ferocious animal. When Reens gave no response, Camrey shook his head. "What use are you as an ally to us?"
For that question I had no answer that wouldn't sound as if I was a tadpole pretending to be a shark, but Reens spoke first. "Maybe, but maybe not. It seems to me that the best course of action is to give our friend a chance to prove his worth." He nodded to me, his assessment complete. "If you can convince Hayson to keep the case open against the wishes of your department's chief scientist then we will know that you are someone worth being friends with. In accordance, we won't charge Hobb either, and the case will continue. If you fail and Hayson agrees with Fache, then even if you were of any use to us before, you won't be then, so we will charge Hobb in line with your department, and the investigation will close."
Camrey smiled. "Sounds fine to me."
I said nothing. Instinctively, I wanted to call them cowards, but the debate was over. It was the smart play. They were giving me a chance, but wouldn't lift a finger to help me.
*
I was in trouble. Hayson hated me more than he did Fache, and Fache was the one telling him what he wanted to hear. I needed Clazran. That was my only advantage, except that it wasn't even real. The despot had made it clear I would receive no aid from him in the investigation. My only real advantage was that Hayson didn't know that.
I had Pollo's contact details, so I could try asking for help, but Hayson would be monitoring my calls. If Pollo refused, as he probably would, my only remaining lifeline would be cut.
I walked back into Kenrey's gardens holding my tablet out in front like a torch, but I couldn't think of any way to ask Pollo for help without Hayson listening in.
One trip around a pond with a gray scale merman wielding a ray-gun at the center, and I'd reached no conclusion. I continued round again and again until my tracks made a continuous line in the gravel. Still I saw no course but to call Pollo and hope he would be sympathetic. I flicked his name on my tablet, my nail slapping against the plastic screen.
Every click he didn't answer my heart pounded harder against the roof of my chest. My finger hovered over the cancel button, but I was trapped in torpor. Each ring became more unbearable than the last, until I finally brought my finger down ceasing the connection, launching the tablet into a bush. Pollo didn't want to talk to me, and my advantage was floundering.
I couldn't find the tablet. Covered in scratches and stains, bits of dead leaves and a few bugs, I knelt in front of the tangled mess of razor sharp branches. It was the perfect allegory of my life that I'd picked the only thorny bush in the compound.
I turned to see Sikes making his way up the path towards Hobb, oversized brown trousers dangling around his ankles, catching under the backs of his boots.
"Hey," I called. There were few things I wanted less than for Sikes to report back to Hayson that I'd lost my tablet in a bush in the middle of a garden, but going through the rigmarole of getting a new tablet was one of them.
Sikes strolled over, grinning like a clueless teenager. "What's up, sir?"
There was something implicitly trustworthy about that face. If he wasn't Hayson's nephew, he would probably have been one of the few people in Cos I might have trusted, but his contradiction of character and purpose left me unable to form an opinion of him. I had no idea whether it was bad that he was too junior to make his own report about Hobb or whether it was a blessing. Officially, in the absence of a second lead detective, Fache's report would be given equal weight with my own, but that had little real relevance. When Clazran got involved everything sped up. Hayson would do everything he could to get the case over quickly. What mattered was whether Hayson thought he could get away with charging Hobb without creating a stink.
It should have been easy to convince Hayson not to be impulsive when the last Commissioner lost his job for the same mistake, but the truth was that Camrey was right, I got lucky last time. There were going to be no bits of long dead Hobb turning up to prove he didn't commit the crime, and Hayson knew that as well as Fache. His only fear would be that Clazran might trust my word over his.
I could go to the press and try embarrassing them into submission, but it wouldn't work. Unless I received backing from Clazran they would turn on me and destroy me.
"Can you call my tablet?" I said. "It fell in the bush."
Sikes was already doing it, his tablet bleating the tune to The Adventures of Kilisiez. A light appeared beneath a pile of leaves as my own started to hum Last Beer Smile. I dug my hand in with the enthusiasm of a man who didn't know how thorny the bush was.
"Thanks."
"Got a call from Fache," Sikes said, more seriously than his childish features allowed. "He says Hobb was the killer. He told me to tell the Commissioner and said he was about to do the same. I told him we didn't think it could be Hobb because he's retarded."
"And he wouldn't fit through the window," I added. "What did he say to that?"
"That I shouldn't believe everything you told me. He said you were just trying to overcomplicate the case so it would look cleverer when you solved it."
I nodded, "And what do you think?"
He hesitated as if it were the first time he had considered this. "I think you just want to catch the killer." His expression darkened. "But I don't think it matters what I think. I'm only here because my uncle owed my mother a favor. He doesn't even like me."
It would be nice if that were true, but I couldn't trust it.
"Right, Wally." I hated that name, but he insisted I used it. "I need you to call up Hayson and tell him that you don't think the note means anything, and you still think Hobb couldn't possibly have done it. Then we'll see where he stands."
He nodded, obediently tapping his tablet.
"What do you want?" came Hayson's voice.
"Just making my report uncle–"
"I told you not to call me that!"
"Mr. Hayson."
"Make the report."
"Hobb killed himself, probably because of some connection with the case, but we still don't think he's Kenrey's killer."
"Who's we? Is Nidess there?"
"He's not listening if that's what you mean, but he's around." Sikes winked at me.
Either Sikes was better than most actors making millions from their trade, or the conversation was genuine. Over the last month, Sikes had shown me loyalty whenever the occasion allowed, but every time it just seemed like a cleverer and more elaborate lie. On the tailside, if Hayson truly hoped to trap me into trusting one of his spies, then choosing
his nephew was no small gaff.
"Good," said Hayson. "A word of warning to you for your mother's sake. It might be time to start dissociating yourself from the gnome. If I were you, I would refuse to sign his report."
The call ended. Sikes laughed. "I bet that's what Philip Rake thought. Don't worry, sir, I'll sign your report."
I found it difficult to respond to people being nice to me. I wasn't overly practiced at it, and my face contorted slightly in suspicion.
He didn't seem to notice. "Sure as Cythuria, I'm not going to be the next one on the wreckage pile for underestimating you."
I nodded. "If you could do me one more favor then? Could you distract Fache while I bring him down?"
Sikes smiled. "You got it." He gave me a little salute and jogged back towards Hobb and Fache.
I was going to look pretty stupid when Hayson backed Fache and then Clazran backed Hayson. The press would topple me like a statue of a deposed dictator.
I called my slider and then Becky. It was her day off, but I needed her. "Becky? Meet me at the station, I have something to show you." I hung up.
It was pretty clear that Pollo was either ignoring me or indisposed, and ringing again would look increasingly desperate to anyone listening in. I was too short on time to go see him in person, even if I thought I would be let past security, and waiting for him to eventually pick up would be waiting for my own execution. I would have to try something riskier.
Chapter 15
I met Becky on the steps up to the station.
"What's up, Boss?" She looked worried, but her arms folded impatiently. "It better be big. I had to leave a varyball game for this. Is it about Pressen? I got the latest list of his movements."
I shook my head. Becky had been following Pressen for weeks now, and the man seemed even more antisocial than I was. There were a few places and people I thought he might visit if he was looking for proof that I stole evidence, but unless he knew Becky was watching him and making the visits late at night, he hadn't set foot near any of them. The worst part was that I didn't trust Becky enough to tell her what Pressen was looking for. If she was the killer, it would be the perfect way to push me off the case. As a result, she was starting to resent the assignment and all the associated boredoms.
"Nothing to do with Pressen," I said. "I need to use one of your friends to impersonate Pollo. They need to sound mature and not make it a joke. I'm gonna have serious problems if they don't pull it off."
"What's happened?" Becky's voice went strangely high when she was nervous.
"We don't have time for that now. All you need to know is that I need to talk to a fake Pollo before Fache contradicts my report, preferably a lot sooner."
"I thought he was on our side."
"Then let this be an important lesson about trust. Do you know someone I can use?"
She thought for a moment, too long for my liking, and my temper started to ebb. "Come on, you must have thousands of male friends."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
My courage fled as all possible meanings of that statement bar one evaporated from my mind.
She took a step towards me. "Because that isn't the sort of thanks I expect for missing varyball when this match is gonna get us through to the semi-finals."
"Sorry," I said. "I only meant because you are an attractive young girl."
She punched me on the shoulder. "I know, Boss. I'm only messing, but seriously I wouldn't trust this to any of my friends. My dad could be trusted if we could get him to agree, but I don't think he would. Pollo is that guy who looked after you when you went to see Clazran, right?"
I nodded.
"I don't think my dad would risk getting involved, and he might try and stop me from working with you."
Under the circumstances I was almost willing to take the risk. "Well, who is the best amongst your friends then?"
She thought for another decade, before concluding, "The ones I could trust are all idiots. None of them are going to impersonate government officials unless they think it is anything other than a joke."
I wanted to shake her, but I controlled it. I sat down on the step, my legs too weak to continue their duties.
"I could ask someone I don't know quite so well," she said, "but what about Sikes? I think we could trust him."
"Why don't I have any friends?" I said, not listening.
She scuffed one of her shoes along the step. "That's pretty sad, Boss." There was no scrutiny in her voice, her quiet tone oblivious of judgment.
"Tell me about it," I said. "Though I suppose in my particular predicament, it makes things a bit easier." I dialed my tablet for Sikes.
"Hi."
"Sikes?"
"Yeah?"
There was something about his chirpy, unhurried greeting that made me want to vent all of my fear and anger on him. "Can you meet me in front of the station in an hour?"
"Sure. Afraid I didn't manage to distract Fache for that long though."
"Don't worry." I hung up before he could say goodbye.
I turned to Becky. "There are some things I need to do now, but can you meet me here in one hour?"
"Sure." She jumped down the last few steps and ran off.
I walked back inside the building and headed to the fifth floor. The elevator opened out onto the same lobby as most of the others, except with armed guards in the two corners, and bullet proof glass in front of the reception desk. The message was clear; evidence was protected at all costs. And I was about to tamper with it.
I showed the man my police ID on my tablet. "I need some time alone in the evidence room unregistered," I said, transferring 100 cosians to his tablet.
The man looked at the screen and then at me, his face so blank I could have been looking at a dead man. Then he pressed the device, returning my money, and my gut seemed to rupture from a thousand spikes. I waited for him to call the guard over, forcing myself not to close my eyes.
"Your money is no good here, Mr. Nidess. Figuel left me here to rot." He gestured that I could go through and made no mention of an escort.
"I won't forget it," I said.
The evidence room was a maze of boxes where every passage was a dead end. It was impossible to find anything unless you already knew where it was. Walls of boxes stood like waves tall as buildings ready to crush anyone below. Each lane spanned the length of The Kaerosh with ladders tall enough to make experienced climbers reconsider. Fortunately, I knew exactly where to find the machine I needed, as it played a crucial part in the case that landed me in the basement.
Row 17.4375. Even knowing the precise number and rough location down the row, it took me a while to find it. I didn't need the ladders because the machine was so heavy that the evidence boxes were stored on the lowest shelf, otherwise reserved for high profile cases. I found the box with the 17.4375A written on it with my name as chief investigator below.
I checked to see that no one was watching before I grabbed the cardboard flaps and tugged. The sheer volume of dust that sat atop the boxes could have buried a small rodent. On the floor, footprints in the piles of dust scattered around me making the room appear like a remnant of an ancient civilization untouched by nature for millennia.
The box was large and difficult to grip, but the more I wriggled it away from the ones either side, the easier it became. I pulled open the top, shoveling a new pile of dust onto the floor, to see the ID producer still inside. One of the smaller boxes next to it, 17.4375C, contained the chips.
Other than tablets, they were the only Cos-wide form of identification, and they were the only ones that were unhackable. The ability to produce them was incredibly powerful both monetarily and politically, and faking them was no small offense. If I was caught, I would be joining Sariah in the prison city for the rest of my life.
I couldn't lift the machine itself out of the box as the iron potate casing was heavier than the twin suns. Designed to withstand the force of an explosion or the spray of bullets, potate was alm
ost as strong as calamite.
I cleared away a bunch of other evidence packets that sat on top of the machine and tried to turn it on. Nothing happened. It sat there lifeless as Hobb's eyes, so I transferred three quarters of the charge from my tablet and tried again. This time a blue light appeared beneath the thick iron. The screen, no larger than a man's forefinger, showed a little arrow at the side, flashing to suggest I could now input data.
That was the tailside to using criminal equipment. Minimal consumer testing did not leave the products brimming with intuitive options. I typed Pollo's name and pressed enter. The next line came up Enter Details, and then a flashing dash with no indication of what details or which order. I ferreted through all the boxes looking for a paper instruction booklet but there was nothing. Trial and error then. I typed in a few of Pollo's details I had from the network in the order they were accessed on my ID chip, keeping an eye out for observers.
Fortunately, I only needed the ID to buy a tablet, not infiltrate a top secret government building, so if there were bits missing it probably wouldn't matter. As long as it didn't say age: Pollo, address: 35 cycles, I would probably be ok. I typed in some details on the machine and inserted a chip. The machine started whirring as it pulled the chip down to its core before popping it back up again like a slice of toast.
Comparing it with my chip revealed much of the data was in the wrong order, and it took several attempts to get it right, but there were enough spare chips to make a small army of fake people. I was still going to have a problem with the photo, as that was done by a different machine, but I could worry about that later.
I turned everything off and put the boxes away as best I could where I found them, nodding to the man on the way back to the elevator.
I still had time to go and get a new tablet before meeting Becky and Sikes. My slider was waiting for me outside, and I told it to take me to the nearest electronics shop, the closest of which was Reed's Outlet.
The Iron Swamp Page 19
