LV48

by Matt Doyle

  “Yeah. I don’t get out there much these days, but they’re a good lot.”

  “Just been busy?”

  “Yeah. Cases have been coming my way thick and fast of late. But hey, what can you do?”

  I nod. “Before I forget, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

  “Still not telling you my first name,” Hanson replies, giving me a cheeky wink.

  “Not that,” I laugh. “It was to do with the test on Donal’s TS gear. What was that you were doing with the dazzlers?”

  “Just messing around really.”

  I raise my eyebrows and furrow my brow. “Bullshit. I recognised the kata from some TV demonstration. That was Krav Maga knife work.”

  “It was and it wasn’t. There were some other techniques in there too, but yeah, it was mostly Krav Maga. It’s not a police thing, though, so as Hoove keeps telling me, it’s officially known as messing around.”

  “I know the academies used to do a mix of boxing, grappling, and pressure point work. Still, I can’t picture Hoove objecting to one of his officers knowing how to defend themselves?”

  “He doesn’t really, as long as I don’t spend time practising that should be spent on a case. Donal’s the only other one in the station who knows it, so he gets to be my crash test dummy more often than not. There were a few others, rookies mostly, but they didn’t seem to enjoy me using them as test subjects too much.”

  “I can imagine. Krav Maga’s a military martial art. I think it’s…Israeli, isn’t it? How’d you come to learn it?”

  Hanson laughs. “Sambo’s a military martial art too, and there’s a school two blocks from you.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know you would have gone to a training school. I meant when, and why?”

  “I know what you meant, I just like messing with you. I learned it a few years before I came to New Hopeland. It was pretty much all everyone learned martial arts-wise around my way. Useful stuff, though.”

  “I bet. You look a lot better at that than I do with…well, anything I’ve trained in, really.”

  “Did you not take any martial arts up when you were younger then? I figured you would have.”

  “Oh yeah? And why’s that?” I tease. “Because I look like a Hong Kong movie star?”

  “Cheeky. Nah, I just thought that being the daughter of a cop and having gone through the academy, you’d have a background in something, is all.”

  I shake my head. “I got the basics done, but I’m a bit rough around the edges. I was all right with boxing, but even then, I’m a long way from pro level.”

  “Well, if you ever want to learn something new, let me know. I’d be happy to teach you a few things. Your girlfriend too if she’s up for it.”

  “I don’t know about Lori, but I may take you up on that some time. No harm in upskilling, eh?”

  We pull into the parking lot, and Hanson sits back into her seat. “I’ll stick around out here. That way, if you start taking too long, I can just sneak off to work before you notice.”

  “Why does part of me think you’re only half joking?” I reply, grabbing Bert and making my way through the front doors of the building.

  For the second time in as many visits, I’m ushered up to the third floor. This time, rather than the kindly receptionist, I’m greeted immediately by Doctor Faraday. “Miss Tam. I understand there has been another issue with Bert. Of a physical nature this time?”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I reply, and follow the doctor into her office. “No Brenda today?”

  “Part-time hours. Today is her late start day. Now, I see you have Bert in power down mode. That’s good. If I could?”

  I hand Bert over to her and pull the broken wing out of the small bag I have it in, placing it on the table next to him. Doctor Faraday turns him around and examines the remnants of his left wing on his body, lightly pulling it up and down.

  “It still seems flexible…no visible damage to the smaller structures associated with movement.” She picks up the broken wing and turns it over a few times. “The denting indicates a heavy impact, though not from an object travelling towards Bert. He collided with something?”

  “He was thrown,” I reply, and Doctor Faraday raises an eyebrow at me.

  “I’m sorry? If his wing was open, he was undoubtedly in the process of a protection protocol. For someone to be able to throw him in this state is…unusual, shall we say?”

  I nod. “Okay, before I continue, I need to make you aware that I’m working a case with the police at the moment. What happened, happened during an operation. How far will what I tell you, or what you find when working on Bert, go?”

  “Ah, you ask of us what we asked of you. Our guidelines ensure that confidentiality is paramount. There are many potential uses for the Familiar Project moving forward, and so we have enshrined a lot of safety measures into our working practices in readiness. All you tell me, and all I find during the repair and diagnostics, will be treated the same as any other case you have worked on with him.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Material that requires it will be censored in our records, and none but myself and, if required, Mr. Burrell, will be made aware of the nature of the events.”

  “Okay, good enough. I and a member of the PD’s Tech Shifter Unit were tackling a suspect. The suspect had the upper hand, so Bert stepped in. While he did cause the attack to cease, Bert was thrown by the suspect and collided with a crate.”

  “I see… Did you request that he record anything during the operation?”

  “No. I wasn’t actually expecting him to join us.”

  “In that case, your concerns around confidentiality are unfounded. During the repairs, I will extract the internal behavioural and memory logs he keeps as a standard part of his operation, just in case anything is of use to you and the police in your enquiries. These will be low on detail, however, so are likely to be, frankly, useless to you.”

  “No harm in checking,” I reply. “Shall I leave him here with you, then?”

  “Yes, unless you have booked him in with another technician and intended this as a social call.”

  “Humour. Nice touch,” I say, but Doctor Faraday doesn’t smile. I get to my feet with a sigh. “Well, let me know when he’s ready for pickup.”

  When I make it back down to the car, Hanson pushes the door open and asks, “All okay?”

  “Yeah. No issues with confidentiality, and they’ll get straight on to working on him.”

  “Good. We just had a call from the Captain. We’re to meet with Dean Hollister in the SSL offices, then head to the station. Apparently, Doctor Sanderson may have found something.”

  “MISS HANSON,” DEAN Hollister says. “And Miss Tam too? It has been a while.”

  “A few months,” I say, taking his outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake.

  “Quite. Do you see much of Miss Redwood at all? I was wondering if the maintenance work helped with the issues she was having with Ink. Ah, but then, I suppose there would be little reason for you to keep in contact after the case, would there?”

  “We’re still in touch,” I reply. “She seemed impressed with the work, and Ink hasn’t fallen apart or anything, so I’d say it was a success.”

  “Good, good,” he says and turns his attention to Lieutenant Hanson. “Now, I understand you had some questions regarding one of our systems. If you’d kindly step this way.”

  The last time I was here, I met with Dean Hollister on the top floor of the building. This time, we’re on the third of ten underground floors, which contains one of SSL’s in-house testing facilities. Looking around me as we walk, it’s clear that the staff are busy. I can see a few leg sections being worked on, and large groups gathered around computers and whiteboards, discussing something no doubt important to the Tech Shifting system.

  Hollister leads us into a small office at the back of the room and points us to some chairs. He sits down and straightens out his suit—which is far better fittin
g this time, I note—and offers an apologetic smile. “My apologies for not taking you up to my main office. The view there is rather spectacular, as I’m sure Miss Tam can attest. Unfortunately, we’ve got a fair few tests to run through today, so I’m needed down here.”

  “Anything interesting?” Hanson asks, and Hollister shrugs.

  “That rather depends on your point of view. We’re experimenting with new brands of bolts and lubricant.”

  Hanson smiles and replies, “Not my sorta thing, I’m afraid.”

  “Such is life. I must say, though, I was not expecting to see Miss Tam here today.” He turns his head to me and asks, “Are you now working with the city’s finest?”

  “Only on this,” I reply. “I have a…vested interest, shall we say?”

  “I see, I see. So, what can I do for you both?”

  “We’ve been tracking someone,” Hanson replies. “He’s pretty tooled up in terms of tech, and when Cassie tackled him last night, he did something that sounds like it ties in with one of your recently announced projects.”

  “Which one?”

  “Boost jumping.”

  “Ah,” he sighs and hunches over slightly. “And what makes you believe this to be the case?”

  “When I fought this person,” I say, “he made his escape through a high window. He jumped, there was a loud pop, and he jumped again, another pop, and another jump, all while still in the air.”

  “I found this too,” Hanson says, pulling out one of the mangled metal pieces she found at the storage building.

  Hollister turns the lump over in his hand a few times and says, “It looks like a twisted shoe. Or the sole of one, rather.”

  “Looks like a lump to me,” I comment.

  “It does if you’ve never seen one before,” Hollister replies, nodding. “This was the result of many of our earlier tests, however.”

  “Only the earlier ones?” Hanson asks.

  “Yes. You see, the promotional material we put out describes the process quite simply. The general idea is that the boost system uses conservation of momentum to create the effect of mid-air jumps. Reducing weight is an important part of the process but testing this is difficult when using the main system. We work entirely with compressed air now that we know the system works, but metal was, and still is, cheaper than compressed air.”

  Hanson clicks her tongue. “So, when you were in the testing stage, you used what? Fifty per cent metal weight and 50 per cent air weight?”

  “It varied throughout the process,” Hollister confirms. “The metal system worked well enough, but launching chunks of it at the floor at high speeds? That left too much potential for damage liability, especially as it pertained to the damage of other humans. Of course, the air still carries some of this risk, which is why the system was only ever conceived for enforcement use, but it is reduced somewhat.”

  “So, it was never intended for public use,” I say, thinking out loud. “Could we be looking at someone within an enforcement organisation then?”

  Hollister shakes his head. “Not with one of our products. Aside from the official release date not having been reached yet, as I said, our product is now compressed air only.”

  “How long has the project been in the works?” I ask.

  “I’d guess about five months,” Hanson replies. “Donal’s been on about it since the press release three months ago, and there would have to be a run-on from conception to certainty of potential workability, right?”

  “You are near enough correct,” Hollister says, giving Hanson an impressed smile. “We normally have a much longer gap, but this was simply an addition to the currently available gear.”

  “Not to mention that the science behind it is fairly simple compared to some of the bigger projects,” Hanson adds.

  “May I ask,” Hollister says. “Is the man you’re searching for a Tech Shifter?”

  “No,” I reply.

  Hollister strokes his bottom lip, a thoughtful look on his face. “In a way, I am relieved to hear that, as it means the screening system is still working. On the other hand, if he had been a Tech Shifter, we could have checked sales to see if we could find a match.”

  “You keep sales records in that much detail?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes. Conceptual art and photos of the TS gear, and photos, basic details and screening results for the purchaser.”

  “You didn’t know?” Hanson asks, and I shake my head. “That’s part of why there are so few TS crimes now. We can trace them far too easily.”

  I understand that. It makes sense. Somehow, though, part of me still feels angry that someone has Lori’s details stored somewhere, complete with a full psych screening. With how important Ink is to her, it seems almost invasive. Someone’s protective, I taunt myself.

  “Okay, so is there any way someone could have gotten hold of the earlier test models?” Hanson asks.

  “The models themselves? No. We modified them at each step, as that kept costs lower than if we built multiple different versions. As to the schematics, though? That is, unfortunately, possible.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Hanson says with a smile. “How?”

  Hollister opens his hand to me and asks, “When we met before, do you remember what I told you Mr. Redwood intended to do once he’d infiltrated my systems?”

  He’s referring to Lori’s brother, Eddie, whose untimely demise led to my meeting her. “Yeah. He was going to dig up dirt and make it public.”

  “Quite. When his own system was active on mine, it ran a number of covert tests, one of which was to gather project files and upload them to various unsavoury online sites. We had the postings removed, of course, but it took us a few weeks to catch them all, if indeed we did.”

  “And one of the postings included the early plans for the TS systems,” I conclude with a grimace. “Any number of people could have seen them.”

  “I am afraid so, yes.”

  “Whoever viewed the posts could be traced, in theory, but people using the sort of sites I’d guess they were on would have a lot of security to crack if anyone wanted to find them. Not to mention we’d need the URLs of the original posts. Piecing it all together would take a lot of time. That would be fine if we were looking for further corroborating evidence to use in court, but to trace the actual perp?”

  Hanson shakes her head and adds her agreement. “Way too long a process. I don’t suppose you can think of anyone who would want to put your concepts to nefarious use?”

  “Show me a person, and I’ll show you someone with the potential for both good and evil,” Hollister replies, sadly.

  “Ah well, worth a shot.” Hanson shrugs. “You recorded this meeting, right?”

  “Of course. I’ll get a copy sent to you via Captain Hoover. I’ll include copies of the reports regarding the postings too.”

  “Cool. Well, thanks for your time, Mr. Hollister.” Hanson rises to her feet and offers a handshake that Hollister reciprocates. I do the same and we head back out to the car.

  I pull my seat belt into place and say, “Let’s hope Doctor Sanderson found something more useful, eh?”

  WE MAKE IT back to the station pretty quickly. Honestly, when I was tearing through the city to escape the Dealer’s Sweepers, I didn’t really register how the speed I was going felt. I’m gonna guess Lieutenant Hanson got close to it, though it’s likely she kept just within the regulated speed limits. If that’s true, then I’m glad I was running on auto-pilot to a degree.

  “The upper edge of the speed limit is for emergencies only,” I comment, reciting an old safety advert from my teen years.

  “That and fun,” Hanson replies with a chuckle, as she closes her door. “Besides, the good Captain wanted us back quickly. That is an emergency. You ever seen him when he’s really mad? He starts snapping out orders and ends up with a ton of spittle hanging from his moustache. Trust me, as funny as it is that he can go so red, you really don’t want to see that. It’s goopy.”

/>   “It’s a good job he likes you.”

  Hanson shrugs and ushers me through the front door of the station. “Most of the time, he does. He’s been on my ass about taking a promotion lately, though, and I think he’s getting a little frustrated about my lack of interest.”

  “Promotion? Wouldn’t that put you on the same rank as him?”

  “Yup.”

  “So, what? Is he looking to move up himself?”

  Hanson shakes her head. “Not as far as I can tell.”

  “Which would mean one of you having to move to a new precinct.”

  “It would. Given how well respected he is, I doubt it would be Captain Hoover who got shifted. That’s not why I’m not interested, though.”

  “No? Then why?”

  “I like my workload. I can sink my teeth into the cases I want to, do what I need to, and spend the rest of the time chilling. If I was running a whole station, I wouldn’t get a free moment all day.” I laugh, and Hanson grins, then continues, “What can I say? We can’t all be as work focused as you.”

  I give her a playful jab in the arm and reply, “I’ll have you know, I’m only work focused when I’m actually on a job. The rest of the time, I’m the life of the party.”

  “T-M-I, Cassie,” she says. The accompanying wink is followed by a satisfied grin when she spots me reddening up. She pats me on the shoulder and says, “I’m gonna get into uniform. I’ll meet you in the war room.”

  I nod and go on my way, resisting the urge to try to come up with a smart-ass retort. When I reach the war room, I find that Donal O’Brien, kitted out in a regular police uniform today, is the only other person present. He glances over his shoulder at me when he hears the door shut and pats the water cooler in front of him. “Drink?” he offers.

  “Sure,” I say, and walk over to take the plastic cup from his hand. “How are you feeling after last night?”

  “Angry,” he grunts. “This mock paranormal bullshit is beginning to piss me off.”

  “You saw the shadow people too then, I take it?”

  “Yeah. Thought I heard voices too. Have you filed your report yet?”