The Iron Swamp

by J V Wordsworth

  Becky wasn't a killer. She was sarcastic, funny, rude, and everything that a balanced girl her age should be. There was no sign of the trauma necessary to drive a person to cut someone's throat – but she was kicked out of school.

  More confused than I'd been at any point since starting the case, I spent the next hour, maybe more, watching random footage of the day leading up to Kenrey's murder. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, just hoping that something would leap out.

  Nothing did. I barely paid attention to most of it, taking more than a moment to register Fache entering the other side of the room, his face mottled crimson, long since departed from rationality.

  "You two," I shouted at the two officers nearest me. "That man has been fired. If you would do me the service of escorting him from the premises I would consider it a service."

  Far from the reluctant aid of the men who fought off Lisbold, the two men were out of their seats before I finished talking. Fache was marching towards me, so focused in his hatred that he didn't notice them come up either side of him. They were dragging him away before he started struggling. Even as they pinned his arms behind his back, he was staring at me. "You think you've beaten me you piece of dis. You haven't seen the last of me. I'll be back!"

  He ceased struggling as the two men waited for the elevator, but there was no appeasement in his eyes. I returned to my network screen as he shouted, "I'll get you, you little freak." Then he and the officers were gone. Everyone on the floor was looking at me so I tried to look as unphased as possible, beads of sweat forming above my hairline.

  I hoped that, were he alive, Hobb would be pleased his name was cleared, but perhaps he would have sacrificed that gladly to stop me looking for the real killer, his accomplice.

  Whoever wrote his suicide note certainly wouldn't be happy, but I couldn't know whether it was the killer or just another member of staff trying to frame Hobb again.

  I was looking at the wrong footage; I needed to be looking at the day of Hobb's death.

  I called the compound. Hobb died in a disused corridor with no cameras, so I wouldn't be able to see anyone leave the note, but I could hope that the killer wasn't on shift that day and made a conspicuous appearance. The call went through. "Hello, is that Mr. Lesgech? This is Detective Nidess. I was wondering if you could send me some more footage?"

  "Certainly, Detective, what now?" His tone was placating, but dripped with impatience.

  "I need the footage from all the cameras the day I conducted my staff interviews and a couple of days thereafter."

  There was a pause. "That's not possible, Detective."

  I waited a few clicks for him to continue, but he obviously felt this was sufficient explanation. "Why?"

  "After Kenrey died, most of the cameras were turned off because there was no one on the premises to merit such a high level of security. We kept them on for a few weeks after, but they'd long been turned off before the dates you want."

  My dismay at this news quickly transmuted to anger. To let the killer get away because he was too smart was one thing, but to lose him because some rapacious moron had turned off the cameras was less easily dismissed.

  I fought off the urge to shout at him. "Firstly, you said most, so I'll have whatever footage there is. Secondly, and I suggest you comply with this as quickly as you are able, I would like a staff timetable for the days after the interview, and most importantly I would like to know of any member of staff who came in either the day of the interview or the day after who wasn't supposed to be there. I'm on my way over to the compound."

  "It's nearly T.0, most of the staff will be leaving soon."

  "Get them thinking while they wait, or you will have the President to answer to." I hung up on him.

  I was angry, scared, desperate – everything that brought out the worst in people – but I knew that either I solved the case or one of my increasing number of enemies would find a way to dispose of me. Not to mention what Clazran might do to Sariah if he thought I was betraying him. But I also felt a rush, almost elation continuing from when those men removed Fache for me. My first feeling of real power, as if I were standing on solid foundations rather than sinking into swamp as fast as I could dig myself out.

  The two officers returned as the elevator dinged, minus Fache, and made their way over to me. "All done, sir. The front desk has orders not to let him back into the building."

  I swiveled my chair around to look at them properly. "Well done, I am in your debt. If there is ever anything I can do for you, please don't hesitate to ask."

  The taller one smiled, bowing his head slightly. "Wouldn't dream of it, sir. Our pleasure."

  The other one, grown more outward than upward, looked less amused. "Another one bitten the dust, eh, sir? Wouldn't want to pick a fight with you."

  The statement seemed ridiculous when both men towered over me like glider lizards hovering over an insect, but at the same time it wasn't. As long as I caught Kenrey's killer, I was in good standing with the President of The Kaerosh, the third most powerful man in Cos, but all my new authority could be taken from me if someone else caught him first. For the first time I felt Fache's inclination to frame someone and walk away, but it was the same desperation that had destroyed everyone else involved in this case, and I wouldn't fall victim to it.

  *

  Lesgech was at the gates of the compound. "They're all waiting for you, Detective, and I have transferred the camera footage and the timetable to your tablet."

  "Thank you," I said, making no apologies for my rudeness earlier.

  We walked together up the dark path at my fastest pace, probably a slow stroll to Lesgech. "Has anyone said anything?"

  He looked confused by the question, rubbing his mustache with the top of his index finger. "There have been a few fights breaking out, people accusing each other of things, but nothing of interest to you."

  They were all in the main church split off into groups. Several guards were standing around looking about as restful as if I'd threatened to cut their fingers off. The gardener, Mrs. Flias had a black eye, and Mrs. Jason was sitting on one of the benches, smears of makeup running down her cheeks and surrounded by a garrison of girls.

  Even with the electric heaters littered around, the tall ceiling and stone floor consumed the energy as fast as it was made, the lines of clear plastic benches appearing like refrigerator trays. My breath was visible in front of my face, and the staff were dressed for a trek through the ice jungle. Watching fifty people or so vibrating as if they were on twenty cups of jaffee was too much. I grabbed Lesgech by the arm. "I asked you to get them ready, not freeze them to death."

  He shrugged. "This was the only way we could keep watch over all of them. After the first few fights broke out, I decided it was for the best."

  Arguing was pointless and wouldn't make the staff any warmer. "Right," I shouted, echoing the word through the church. It seemed best to get them moving. "I'm going to read out a list of names, and I want the people on the list to stand on one side of the room and everyone else to stand on the other."

  I read out the people who were there the day after the interviews when Hobb was last seen alive, and the staff began a slow shift to their specified sides.

  "Now I want you to think back to the day after my interviews, when we think Hobb committed suicide, and raise your hand if you came in on that day." Nearly every person on the left side raised their hand. Only one girl, whose floppy brown hair looked almost wooden, did not. No one from the other side raised their hand.

  "Excellent, thank you." I walked up to the girl who didn't raise her hand. "Were you sick that day?"

  She nodded.

  "OK, could you walk over to the other side of the room for me, please?" Like most of the staff, she was beautiful, with thin features and in her late teens or early twenties.

  "Did anyone on this side of me see anyone on the other side in work on the day in question?"

  Mrs. Jason barely let me finish the quest
ion before she was pointing at Mrs. Flias. "She came in. I don't know why, but I told her to go home again."

  Flias stepped forward as if she were in the front line of a battalion ready to charge at Mrs. Jason. "That was the followin' day and yu know it you old sack. Been growin' zelias round the back near the ponds, and I forgot to open the grating to stop the soil from gettin' waterlogged. Didn't remember for over a day though, and I was there the day of the interviews. She's tryin' to put Hobb's shoes on me feet."

  I silenced Jason with a wave. "Fine, did you come in the front gate?"

  "I did."

  "Then I can corroborate your story or not from the security–"

  Flias turned her vehemence on me. "It's not a story y'arrogant little scrotum. It's the truth."

  I smiled. "Not until I corroborate it." I walked down the middle of the two groups. "But don't worry, that is now top of my list. Before we move on, is there anyone else that you remember seeing in the compound who shouldn't have been there the day after the interviews?" No one said anything, so I added, "If I find out you knew about a person and kept it to yourself, it won't go well for you."

  No one spoke. Perhaps the conflict that broke out between Mrs. Flias and Mrs. Jason had dissuaded people from speaking up, or perhaps the killer was in work that day anyway and could just slip the note on Hobb during their shift.

  Mrs. Flias was slightly more promising. She obviously hated the police, was a loner, and her wiry frame could possibly just about fit through the window to Kenrey's room. However, my previous experience of Mrs. Jason led me to believe that the security footage would show Flias to be telling the truth.

  I thought about keeping everyone there a bit longer and seeing if anyone cracked in the cold, but I was wearing a thinner coat than usual without a heating element or zeolate to fend off the damp, and if none of them cracked then I certainly would. I dismissed them all to go home, intent on spending the rest of the night watching security footage with what remained of an increasingly flat bottle of Kononber.

  "Mr. Nidess?" The voice came from behind me as the masses began to disperse, and I turned to see a woman shorter than myself. The difference was less than a thumbs width, allowing our eyes to make contact in a way that I could usually only manage with children. Instantly, I felt a level of kinship with the woman, aided by the fact that her thick waist and ample bosom would not allow her access through Kenrey's window. "My name is Julia Wenling, and I didn't want to say this in front of everyone, but I saw someone come in the night after the interviews who shouldn't have been there." She looked around as the rest of the staff fled out the archway. "Laurie Colson came in, and as far as I know she didn't speak to anyone."

  Colson. The name of the disfigured girl whose DNA was in the room. The one who looked about as tough as Nadine Whiley and the other one I'd put in the cells. "I thought she left ages ago?"

  Julia nodded, her round face reddening. "That's why it struck me as odd. Laurie hasn't been back since she quit months ago." The girl dropped her eyes to her feet as the pressure of eye contact became too much for her. "I didn't say anything because I don't like speaking in front of large groups. I wasn't trying to hide anything."

  I nodded. "At what time was this?"

  "At least U.0. I was nearly finishing, and I work late on Mondays."

  It was when I would have gone in if I were the killer; just late enough to reduce the risk of running into people, but not so late as it would arouse too much suspicion upon being noticed. "Did she see you?" I asked.

  "Yes. I waved hello and she waved back, though we were at opposite ends of a corridor, so neither of us spoke. We weren't really close when she used to work here."

  "Who was she close to?"

  "No one really; she liked to keep to herself–"

  "What about Hobb?"

  Julia thought for a moment. "Maybe. She talked to him more than she talked to most people. I didn't really know either of them though. Not that I'm not sorry he's dead. He seemed like a nice guy."

  For the second time since Fache's dismissal I felt the urge to sink to his level. It would not be difficult now to charge Colson with the crime and walk away. I had no proof, but coming back to her place of work so long after she quit on the same night the accomplice kills himself was high coincidence. Hayson wouldn't need proof, like everyone else by now he was looking to lay blame and move on before those still standing were buried with the fallen, and that might be enough to protect me. The girl would have her trial, be convicted, and then disappear just long enough after for the media attention to die down. But Colson wasn't on my suspect list. She wasn't inside the compound on the day of the murder, and I still knew no way for her to get in, even if she could get out.

  I wondered if all men were tempted to destroy someone for their own benefit or whether it was a reflection of a deficit in my morality. At least Fache tried to frame a dead man, not a little disfigured girl that looked too feeble to lift Kenrey if her life depended on it – perhaps with the help of Kathryn though.

  I thanked Julia and made my way home. As I reached my floor I could hear Lola barking, a gruff electronic sound on loop, too angry for such a small dog. Foolishly, I did not heed the warning, instead hastening my entry as my thoughts turned to concern for my friend.

  The door swung open to reveal a woman over twice my size standing in the corridor. "Simon, how are you?"

  I recognized the muscular beauty better than I would my own mother. Her eyes were flat but at the same time large as if someone had squashed an ellipse. Light lips and a thin nose added an almost contradictory elegance to a figure that was so full of strength. Ling Eschea was a boa flower; a vision of light and life with a stem fit to crush a mabian exoskeleton.

  Her tone suggested she was not there to kill me.

  "You scared my dog," I said, scooping Lola away from her perceived attacker.

  Eschea looked hurt, her huge eyes enlarging to behemoth proportions. "She's just being protective. She doesn't know what good friends we are."

  "Friends might be considered pushing it since you broke into my apartment."

  She shrugged. "I'd have helped myself to a beer, but you don't have any."

  "I don't drink anymore."

  All the friendliness vanished from her face. "You've changed a lot haven't you? Dinner with Clazran; searching for the killers of this dead Guardian."

  If she knew half the things I knew about Kenrey she would probably kill me for not coming straight to them with the info. "What do you want, Ling?"

  "I came here to help you."

  "And I came here to get some shut eye. What do I need to hear?"

  "I'm not sure you deserve to know."

  I unloaded Lola and my coat on the sofa. "Fine, don't tell me, just leave."

  "You won't survive if you don't hear what I have to say."

  I flipped off one shoe and then the other. "I already know what you're here to tell me. A journalist has come to you asking questions about our little heist."

  She nodded. "Greasy fellow named Pressen, looked like every hair on his head had been deep fried. He wants to write a story that will find you walking up the scaffold on Blay Square."

  People loved to see their heroes fall. My 15 minutes of fame could not hope for a more tragic ending. "You as well," I said.

  She threw back her head, ejecting masculine laughter at the ceiling. "If Clazran ever finds me! He's been looking for a while now, and I'm pretty good at surviving him. You did one heist and spent the next five cycles letting his boot press you into the mud."

  "I'll take my chances." I knew why she was here. She was trying to frighten me into joining her little suicide brigade.

  "That's because you don't know about Fay Bensol."

  Bensol was the third. The one who kept the evidence we stole. That was the deal; the only way the goblin would agree to help. "What about her?"

  Eschea blinked her huge eyes. "She left us, and not on good terms. We think she has Sariah's books, and she might s
ell them to Pressen."

  "Kill her then," I said. "She's more danger to you than me."

  Eschea shook her head. "We can't find her. And even if we could, we have nothing to fear from the books. It's you that will die on their account." She moved past me towards the door. "I've warned you. Do with the information what you will."

  My lips parted to stop her, but I forced them shut again. I knew what the goblin sent her here to get. They wanted to make use of my position to fight Clazran. She was here to frighten me into using them to get rid of Pressen, and I would have to endure some unspecified horror down the line. Most likely, they told Pressen about the stolen evidence in the first place to force my hand.

  I let her reach the door without a word. She turned. "You know where to find us if you need our help." Then she was gone.

  If Eschea wasn't lying about Bensol, then I was in trouble. The moment Pressen got hold of Sariah's account books it was over for me, but I had to wonder why it hadn't happened already. Perhaps Bensol was worried about her own safety, or the price for the books was too high. Whatever the reason, I needed to act fast, but my best hope still lay in solving the case. If I could use the outcome to get myself into the SP, I could destroy Pressen, Bensol, Eschea, and even her goblin boss.

  I patted Lola on the head before sitting at my network screen. She barked that it was time to go for a walk, but I didn't have the time. I plied myself off the seat and added a packet of Buddy Chum to Lola's bowl, gave her some fresh water from the sink, and sat down as Lola buried her face into the cubes of jellied meat.

  As I expected, Mrs. Flias was not on camera the day after the interview, and was the following one despite not being supposed to be in on either occasion. Contrarily, there was no sign of Laurie Colson entering through the front gates on the day of the interview or either of the following days. Considering the significance of this discovery, I poured the rest of the Kononber down the sink, made a cup of jaffee, and sat down to endure the tedium of watching the entire day's security footage. I went over it twice, noting down the time of every person's entrance and exit.