“Well, detective,” said Helena, reminding him that, regardless of his Oligarchy status, he worked for a non-corporate body and was thus significantly lower down the order than her. “What can I do for you?”
Helena was impressed that his mouth did not twitch when she called him detective, nor did he correct her with his proper title. Instead, he turned to one of the monitors and activated it. He had an old name but her AI said that although it was a name from the first generation of the Oligarchy it now had no substantial financial presence within the Families.
The detective ran a short movie on the monitor. Helena’s puzzlement quickly evaporated as she saw Henry enter the lobby looking shaken and out of breath. He looked once over his shoulder and then, ignoring the concierge, ran through the hallway into one of the lifts running between the eightieth and the one hundredth floors. A small digital readout in the top right hand corner of the screen indicated that this had taken place two hours ago.
The security system pictured the hallway of a residential floor, facing the three lift doors that opened on that level; she could guess which one it was.
The left hand elevator doors opened and out stumbled Henry. It was easy to see the anxiety on his face, as if he were running for his life. As he ran beneath the camera’s position, the central lift doors opened. The doors to both elevators closed and Henry was alone. Well, almost alone. Helena noticed the image of the central lift was blurred for the briefest of moments before clearing. The blur moved along the corridor in Henry’s wake. His very own ghost.
The view changed to show Henry standing outside a door; she saw her embossed sigil on the wall to the left of it. She adopted as stoical a face as she thought appropriate and watched as his image blurred for a moment. As it did, she was certain she could see him thrashing outwards with his arms, as if trying to fend something off.
Blood splattered up and across the wall behind him as the side of his face was taken off, from neck to eye socket. He collapsed to the floor. The smudge faded out of shot, leaving Henry’s body lying, stuttering in his own liquids. Helena gasped as she realised he was not dead. That was the end of the recording.
She realised too late that the detective had not been watching the footage but her response to it. He smiled benevolently when she caught him assessing her feelings.
“A few questions if I may?”
She nodded mutely, trying to gather her wits and decide what it was she would say, what line she would adopt.
“I take it you know the deceased? One Henry Arken. Age 27, Caucasian, full Oligarch: not yet in possession of a complete set of augmentations.” He spoke as if reciting a memorised list. Helena nodded once.
“Now, clearly Ms Woolf, you had nothing to do with his death, you weren’t even home. However, it was on your doorstep that he was attacked.” He clasped his hands together as if to warm them. “Seems strange that someone would follow him here to kill him, given the obvious investigation it would bring; amateurish really.” He did not blink. Helena held his gaze. “He lived quite some distance from you, as you are aware.”
He’s fishing, said her AI.
I know, thought Helena impatiently.
The detective waited, then hummed to himself, as if her silence was more interesting than any answer she could have uttered.
“How long had you known him?”
Helena shrugged. “I don’t see how that’s relevant really.”
The detective sat up straight in his chair.
“Why the reticence to cooperate?”
He does seem genuinely surprised, said her AI, reporting that the commander’s pupils dilated erratically when he was uncertain.
“I’m sorry, detective,” she sighed. “I’m trained as a diplomat; first impulse is always to block a direct question.”
How much are you going to give him to make it a convincing lie, asked her AI?
I don’t know, but it would help if you keep quiet. The detective was giving off the scent of someone who was alert, concentrating. She’d made a mistake already in not being more open with him. She’d been too guarded. He was beginning to think there was a story to be heard, information to be had. She was out of practice, rusty.
Her training drifted back to her, the situation became clear. He was the hunter; and she, the prey. In order to return the situation to “Adult – Adult”, she would have to relax her clumsily erected barriers and give him as much of the truth as she dared. If the trail he smelt turned out to be less than what he hoped for, he’d not think of searching for anything else in her story.
“To be honest I’d known him only a day or so.” The detective raised his eyebrows.
“If you check the system, you’ll find he called on me yesterday as well. That was the first time I’d met him.”
He sat and listened, waiting for her to finish. She decided there was no point in giving him any additional hooks so she said nothing further.
“Okay, I’ll have that checked out. It does seem strange to me that you met yesterday and he died today.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I don’t suppose he said anything you’d construe as life-threatening?”
Helena shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.” The detective ran his hands through his hair, from front to back. “Why don’t you tell me what you talked about, if you think it’s relevant of course.”
Helena knew what she wanted to say, but left enough of a gap before her reply to give the idea that she was thinking his question over.
Giving a theatrical sigh, Helena told him about the night before. She explained everything, except the request for help and her own business in actually looking for Arken in the first place. When the detective pressed her on why the young man would come back the next night she explained that she’d promised to give him advice on how to deal with the problem tonight.
Her AI was not impressed with her lie, but it seemed to be enough for the detective.
“Why would he come to you?” he asked.
“Because of the press conference,” said Helena weakly.
“Could you elaborate for me,” said Chalmers, drawing a circle in the air with his right hand, “I’m not sure I follow.”
“My last posting in the communications corps was external relations. Upon my return, I was awarded the Allenos Star for services to Euros. The Company made a show of it.” She drew in another sigh.
Careful, muttered her AI. He’ll think you’ve got some sort of breathing problem.
“At the conference, the stresses of the assignment finally hit home; I was less than media competent.”
“Oh.” The detective bit his lip. “And you think that the indiscretion you uttered back then was enough to make Mr. Arken believe you understood his situation?”
Helena shrugged noncommittally.
“Don’t you have any idea why a war hero would interest a young Family member such as Arken?”
Helena decided it was safe for her patience to wear out. “Look Mr Chalmers, I’m not too happy about his death, but I haven’t the faintest idea who or even what, would have cause to kill him. I’ve seen my share of blood; I’ve no reason to look for any more to be shed upon my doorstep. It is unfortunate for us both that he was killed here tonight. But that is as far as the coincidence extends. I have told you what I know, there is nothing more of interest to you.”
“Perhaps I should decide what’s of interest to me, Ms. Woolf,” said Chalmers, unfazed by her bluster. “One wonders, of course, why he believed Euros was trying to kill him, or whether you think there’s any substance to his accusation.” He seemed about to say more, but finished with, “Okay, I think I’ve got all I need. Thank you for your cooperation.” Professional to a fault, admired Helena.
Her Secondary AI reported that his scents were mixed; he was both unsettled but confident. He remained the predator. Because he had let her go, Helena assumed that she had done enough to keep any further questions from coming her way. The last thing she wanted to happen was to be
publicly drawn back into Edward and Henry’s world in such a tangled fashion.
However, any chance she’d had to find the others through him was gone.
What if his death was linked to the matter he wished to discuss? asked her Primary AI.
His killers knew they’d reached him before he could share his confidence, replied Helena, closing the matter for consideration before they reached the possibility that she could have spared him time the previous evening.
The detective stood with Helena but did not follow her from the room.
Before she left he said, “By the way, I’m Euros, just so you know.” Helena looked back, but he was reading something on the desk. It was just enough to remind her not to judge a book by its cover.
Helena made her way past the crowd of Normals in the lobby, studiously ignored the occasional Family member she passed on her way to the elevator, and went home.
A number of cleaners were at work outside her flat. The worst of the bodily fluids had been erased, but telltale smears remained. The cleaners had finished working and were idling while they waited for the nanoscopic solution to finish its job before they retrieved their gloop and left her in peace.
Someone’s been using quantum optics, said her AI, ignoring her request that it refrain from considering Henry’s death any further. The air was still slightly warmer here than in the rest of the corridor; the energy discharge had not yet fully dissipated. That would account for the blurring on the security footage, she thought. It also meant that it was a Company-sponsored murder, since no single individual could have afforded such technology, even if they could secure access.
Which Company remains the question, said her AI. Helena pursed her lips and opened the door to her flat. It was possible that Euros had killed him, then someone like Chalmers was sent to investigate by an unrelated department, while she, in a third division entirely, was only recently celebrating her success in locating him alive.
It was no comfort that Henry could have been on the right track about Johannes’ duplicity. If it had been a case of framing Indexiv or otherwise, it had happened on her doorstep. Her Uncle was taking risks she didn’t understand.
Why are you so certain it’s him? asked her AI.
She had been in her flat for nearly a minute when her Secondary and Tertiary AI indicated that things were amiss. Her communications access had been used and there were traces of perfume in the air, a scent she herself did not use.
If someone had been into her home to search through her things because they weren’t confident that she was completely ignorant of Henry’s tidings, then why had they made the simple blunder of wearing perfume.
A moment later, her Tertiary AI informed her that Jane had worn this scent when they’d last gone to the cinema. Jane wore a deeper, citrus tinged scent at the office.
That only raised more questions. Damn the boy, why had he come to her?
Her AI reminded her that Henry had been told she could be trusted. Then the absurdity of it struck her: how could Jane have been there? They had just been to a movie together. Unless the woman had grown wings, it was impossible for the scent to belong to her.
Helena asked her AIs to scan more widely, to see if genetic material had been discarded by the intruder. After scanning the rooms of her flat quickly, she was confident that nothing was missing. Ending up in her sitting room she shivered and opened the blinds out onto the city around her. The faint lights of the metropolis below her shone up like a twinkling galaxy. In the distance, she could see hoppers and larger planes meshing together in their flight lanes. Little passed her way so late at night; the main entrances were nowhere near her level. It was one of the reasons she had chosen the eighty-second floor; its relative isolation appealed.
Helena left the lights off; the shadows and the silence were reassuring. She asked her Tertiary AI to access her network terminal and trace whoever had used her ident.
It reported that a message was waiting for her. She told it to return to its task, but instead of fading from the front of her consciousness it just repeated its earlier report.
Helena frowned. Turning to a large picture on the wall facing out into the city, she bid the message appear.
Jane’s face stared back at her. Helena choked on her own saliva.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’re home. Just after I left you, I heard about the murder on the news, so I raced over. What kept you? The security services wouldn’t let me stay once they worked out I wasn’t you.” She smiled wryly. “So I thought I’d better leave you this so you didn’t suspect some sort of robbery. Call me.” She frowned, then said, “Where are you?” and the message finished.
Helena heaved a sigh of relief. It had only been Jane. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with Jane having been through the apartment in her absence, but it was better than what she had been starting to fear.
Except, after the mystery was solved, she began to wonder how her friend had gotten into her apartment at all.
The screen in her living room flicked through to Euros’ main news channel. Helena berated her AI for taking liberties. She turned away from the screen as a segment about the ongoing war in Southern Africa wound up. It was impossible to know what was really going on from the sterilised version in scrolling across the air beside her. Turning around a couple of times like a lost dog, she finally decided on the kitchen where she made a cup of coffee.
Her AI asked why she wasn’t intrigued about what the press had to say about her. Helena dreaded her name appearing at all. The last thing she wanted was to be in the limelight once again, the last time still felt like an open wound.
She sipped at her drink and watched the distant traffic circle the city of London. If she could, she would have liked to have smelt fresh air, to have felt the wind on her face from an open window. At her elevation, there were no windows to be opened.
Eventually, long after her drink had gone cold, she placed the dregs on the counter and walked back through to the news, which had been happily playing to itself. The bulletin had played once through already; the broadcasters were working on stretching out a seemingly quiet news night. Something struck her as odd as she watched two presenters discussing the implications of the latest engagement between Indexiv and Euros.
As far as she could make out, among the fluff being blown up from the bare bones of the story, the skirmish was little more than an accident, as the two forces had stumbled across each other unexpectedly. No one had died and nothing had been claimed as spoils. Both sides obviously claimed the encounter as a victory. They finished up and moved onto another item. It was then she realised what was nagging at her.
There had been no story about a murdered Oligarch. There had been no reporters in the lobby or anywhere else on the concourse that led to the elevators that served her floor.
She asked her Tertiary AI to scan the Cloud for any hint of the incident and waited with growing cynicism.
Nothing: there had been no report anywhere of Henry’s death.
A signal flashed in her mind’s eye, announcing a call. It was Jane.
Chapter 11
HELENA BLOCKED Jane’s call. A minute later Jane rang again. Helena asked her Tertiary AI to block all further calls by Jane. Then, on a whim, she relented and picked up the incoming call.
“Hi Jane, I got your message, thanks for coming by,” she said, as breezily as she could.
Helena found the expression of relief on Jane’s face comical.
“Hi Hels. Sorry about creeping round your home.” The whole sentence was said in a silly voice.
She’s embarrassed but happy I’m not mad at her, thought Helena. She watched Jane’s pupils, mouth and hands; they would give her away if she had things to hide.
If you’re looking for something suspect you’ll find it whether it was there or not, suggested her AI.
“I was just worried to death when I heard about the murder! Do you want me to come over?”
Helena shook her head. Jane had referred to
the news again. Surely Jane knew how easy it was to check her claims. If she was actively watching Helena someone must have briefed her.
“Look, I’ll come over; you’re clearly shaken up by the experience.” Jane made as if to close the connection.
“I’ve experienced worse,” said Helena flatly. “Don’t come over tonight, I just want to go to bed.” Jane acquiesced; she could see that Helena wasn’t going to change her mind.
“If you’re sure.” She paused, waiting for Helena to confirm she was okay. Helena wasn’t paying attention. In the distance a mushroom of fire was billowing from the side of a building in the Trade Centre. Jane could not see it, even though she tried moving to the edge of the screen to peer round.
“Helena, what is it? Are you ok?”
The initial explosion was fading; black smoke poured from the wound. The normal cluster of traffic around the building scattered.
Surely the war hasn’t come to London, thought Helena dully.
“Hels? Are you even with me? Hello?” Jane sounded irritated. “What’s going on?”
“Aren’t you watching the news?” asked Helena with a touch of acid.
Jane said, “I’m coming over. Don’t leave your flat until I get there.” She severed the call.
Helena looked at the air where the image had floated during the call. She had not considered leaving until Jane told her not to.
Euros’ news channel reasserted itself filling the wall opposite the window with close ups of the explosion. Helena turned the volume up and looked from the windows to the screen.
“Reports are coming in of an explosion in the Trade Centre complex. At this point details are hard to be sure of. We have heard that there could be massive casualties; there may be structural integrity issues in the area where the blast occurred. Latest reports seem to indicate the United Commerce Chambers were at the centre of the blast.”
Digital footage from the scene poured in from a dozen angles. Most of the images were narrow bandwidth, and blurred, the pixels unable to keep up with the cameraman as she and an anchor ran through some part of the Trade Centre.
A Family War: The Oligarchy - Book 1 Page 24
