by Paula Guran
But Broduer didn’t see Lake anywhere.
“Have you had cases involving the waste crates before?” DeRicci asked Broduer.
“No,” he said, not adding that he tried to pass anything outside the dome onto anyone else, “but I’ve heard about cases involving them. I guess it’s not that uncommon.”
“Hmm,” she said looking toward a room at the far end of the large warehouse. “And here I thought they were.”
Broduer was going to argue his point when he realized that DeRicci wasn’t talking to him now. She was arguing with someone she had already spoken to.
“Can you get me information on that?” DeRicci asked Broduer.
He hated it when detectives wanted him to do their work for them. “It’s in the records.”
DeRicci made a low, growly sound, like he had irritated her beyond measure.
So he decided to tweak her a bit more. “Just search for warehouses and recycling and crates—”
“I know,” she said. “I was hoping your office already had statistics.”
“I’m sure we do, Detective,” he said, moving past her, “but you want me to figure out what killed this poor creature, right? Not dig into old cases.”
“I think the old cases might be relevant,” she said.
He shrugged. He didn’t care what was or wasn’t relevant to her investigation. His priority was dealing with this body. “Excuse me,” he said, and slipped on his favorite pair of gloves. Then he raised the lid on the crate.
The woman inside was maybe thirty. She had been pretty, too, before her eyes had filmed over and her cheeks sunk in. She had clearly died in an Earth Normal environment, and she hadn’t left that environment, as advertised. He would have to do some research to figure out if the presence of rotting food had an impact on the body’s decomposition, but that was something to worry about later.
Then Broduer glanced up. “I’ll have information for you in a while,” he said to DeRicci.
“Just give me a name,” she said. “We haven’t traced anything.”
He didn’t want to move the body yet. He didn’t even want to touch it, because he was afraid of disturbing some important evidence.
The corpse’s hands were tucked under her head, so he couldn’t just run the identification chips everyone had buried in their palms. So he used the coroner’s office facial recognition program. It had a record of every single human who lived in Armstrong, and was constantly updated with information from the arrivals and departures sections of the city every single day.
“Initial results show that her name is Sonja Mycenae. She was born here, and moved off-Moon with her family ten years ago. She returned one month ago to work as a nanny for . . . . ”
He paused, stunned at the name that turned up.
“For?” DeRicci pushed.
Broduer looked up. He could feel the color draining from his face.
“Luc Deshin,” he said quietly. “She works for Luc Deshin.”
Luc Deshin.
DeRicci hadn’t expected that name.
Luc Deshin ran a corporation called Deshin Enterprises that the police department flagged and monitored continually. Everyone in Armstrong knew Deshin controlled a huge crime syndicate that trafficked in all sorts of illegal and banned substances. The bulk of Deshin’s business had moved off-Moon, but he had gotten his start as an average street thug, rising, as those kids often do, through murder and targeted assassination into a position of power, using the deaths of others to advance his own career.
“Luc Deshin needed a nanny?” DeRicci sounded confused.
“He married a few years ago,” Broduer said, as he bent over the body again. “I guess they had kids.”
“And didn’t like the nanny.” DeRicci whistled. “Talk about a high stress job.”
She glanced at the room filled with employees who found the body. There was a lot of work to be done here, but none of it was as important as catching Deshin by surprise with this investigation. If he killed this Sonja Mycenae, then he would be expecting the police’s appearance. But he might not expect them so soon.
Or maybe he had always used the waste crates to dump his bodies. No one had ever been able to pin a murder on him.
Perhaps this was why.
She needed to leave. But before she did, she sent a message to Lake. Only she sent it using the standard police links, not the encoded link any other officer would use with her partner. She wanted it on record that Lake hadn’t shown up yet.
Rayvon, you need to get here ASAP. There are employees to interview. I’m following a lead, but someone has to supervise the crime scene unit. Someone sent Deputy Coroner Broduer and he doesn’t have supervisory authority.
She didn’t want for Lake’s response. Before he said anything, she sent another message to her immediate supervisor, Chief of Detectives Andrea Gumiela, this time through an encoded private link.
This case has ties to Deshin Enterprises, DeRicci sent. I’m going there now, but we need a good team on this. It’s not some random death. It needs to be done perfectly. Between Broduer and Lake, we’re off to a bad start.
She didn’t wait for Gumiela to respond either. In fact, after sending that message, DeRicci shut off all but her emergency links.
She didn’t want Gumiela to tell her to stay on site, and she didn’t want to hear Lake’s invective when he realized she had essentially chastised him in front of the entire department.
“Make sure no one leaves,” DeRicci said to Broduer.
He looked up, panicked. “I don’t have the authority.”
“Pretend,” she snapped, and walked away from him.
She needed to get to Luc Deshin, and she needed to get to him now.
Luc Deshin grabbed his long-waisted overcoat and headed down the stairs. So a police detective wanted to meet with him. He wished he found such things unusual. But they weren’t. The police liked to harass him. Less now than in the past. They’d had a frustrating time pinning anything on him.
He always found it ironic that the crimes they accused him of were crimes he’d never think of committing, and the crimes he had committed—long ago and far away—were crimes they had never heard of. Now, all of his activities were legal. Just-inside-the-law legal, but legal nonetheless. Or so his cadre of lawyers kept telling the local courts, and the local judges—at least the ones he would find himself in front of—always believed his lawyers.
So, a meeting like this, coming in the middle of the day, was an annoyance, and nothing more.
He used his trip down the stairs to stay in shape. His office was a penthouse on the top floor of the building he’d built to house Deshin Enterprises years ago. He used to love that office, but he liked it less since he and his wife Gerda brought a baby into their lives.
He smiled at the thought of Paavo. They had adopted him—sort of. They had drawn up some legal papers and wills that the lawyers assured him would stand any challenge should he and Gerda die suddenly.
But Deshin and Gerda had decided against an actual adoption given Deshin’s business practices and his reputation in Armstrong. They were worried some judge would deem them unfit, based on Deshin’s reputation.
Plus, Paavo was the child of two Disappeareds, making the adoption situation even more difficult. The Earth Alliance’s insistence that local laws prevailed when crimes were committed meant that humans were often subjected to alien laws, laws that made no sense at all. Many humans didn’t like being forced to lose a limb as punishment for chopping down an exotic tree, or giving up a child because they’d broken food laws on a different planet. Those who could afford to get new names and new identities did so rather than accept their punishment under Earth Alliance law. Those people Disappeared.
Paavo’s parents had Disappeared within weeks of his birth, leaving him to face whatever legal threat those aliens could dream up.
Paavo, alone, at four months.
Fortunately, Deshin and Gerda had sources inside Armstrong’s family services,
which they had cultivated for just this sort of reason. Both Deshin and Gerda had had difficult childhoods—to say the least. They knew what it was like to be unwanted.
Their initial plan had been to bring several unwanted children into their home, but after they met Paavo, a brilliant baby with his own special needs, they decided to put that plan on hold. If they could only save Paavo, that would be enough.
Just a month into life with the baby, and they knew that any more children would take a focus that, at the moment at least, Paavo’s needs wouldn’t allow.
Deshin reached the bottom of the stairwell, ran a hand through his hair, and then walked through the double doors. His staff kept the detective in the lobby.
She was immediately obvious, even though she wasn’t in uniform. A slightly disheveled woman with curly black hair and a sharp, intelligent face, she wasn’t looking around like she was supposed to. Most new visitors to Deshin Enterprises either pretended to be unimpressed with the real marble floors, the imported wood paneling, and the artwork that constantly shifted on the walls and ceiling. Or the visitors gaped openly at all of it.
This detective did neither. Instead, she scanned the people in the lobby—all staff, all there to guard him and keep an eye on her.
She would be difficult. He could tell that just from her body language. He wasn’t used to dealing with someone from the Armstrong Police Department who was intelligent and difficult to impress.
He walked toward her, and as he reached her, he extended his hand.
“Detective,” he said warmly. “I’m Luc Deshin.”
She wiped her hands on her stained shirt, and just as he thought she was going to take his hand in greeting, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her ill-fitting black pants.
“I know who you are,” she said.
She deliberately failed to introduce herself, probably as a power play. He could play back, ask to see the badge chip embedded in the palm of her hand, but he didn’t feel like playing. She had already wasted enough of his time.
So he took her name, Noelle DeRicci, from the building’s security records, and declined to look at her service record. He had it if he needed it.
“What can I do for you, Detective?” He was going to charm her, even if It took a bit of strength to ignore the games.
“I’d like to speak somewhere private,” she said.
He smiled. “No one is near us, and we have no recording devices in this part of the lobby. If you like, we can go outside. There’s a lovely coffee shop across the street.”
Her eyes narrowed. He watched her think: did she ask to go to his office and get denied, or did she just play along?
“The privacy is for you,” she said, “but okay. . . . ”
She sounded dubious, a nice little trick. A less secure man would then invite her into the office. Deshin waited. He learned that middle managers—and that was what detectives truly were—always felt the press of time. He never had enough time for anything and yet, as the head of his own corporation, he also had all the time in the universe.
“I’m here about Sonja Mycenae,” she said.
Sonja. The nanny he had fired just that morning. Well, fired wasn’t an accurate term. He had deliberately avoided firing her. He had eliminated her position.
He and Gerda had decided Sonja wasn’t affectionate enough toward their son. In fact, she had seemed a bit cold toward him. And once Deshin and Gerda started that conversation about Sonja’s attitudes, they realized they didn’t like having someone visit their home every day, and they didn’t like giving up any time with Paavo. Both Gerda and Deshin had worried, given their backgrounds, that they wouldn’t know how to nurture a baby, but Sonja had taught them training mattered a lot less than actual love.
“I understand she works for you,” the detective said.
“She worked for me,” he said.
Something changed in the detective’s face. Something small. He felt uneasy for the first time.
“Tell me what this is about, Detective,” he said.
“It’s about Sonja Mycenae,” she repeated.
“Yes, you said that. What exactly has she done?” he asked.
“Why don’t you tell me why she no longer works for you,” the detective said.
“My wife and I decided that we didn’t need a nanny for our son. I called Sonja to the office this morning, and let her know that, effective immediately, her employment was terminated through no fault of her own.”
“Do you have footage of that conversation?” the detective asked.
“I do, and it’s protected. You’ll need permission from both of us or a warrant before I can give it to you.”
The detective raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure you can forgo the formalities, Mr. Deshin.”
“I’m sure that many people do, Detective,” he said, “however, it’s my understanding that an employee’s records are confidential. You may get a warrant if you like. Otherwise, I’m going to protect Sonja’s privacy.”
“Why would you do that, Mr. Deshin?”
“Believe it or not, I follow the rules.” He managed to say that without sarcasm.
The detective grunted as if she didn’t believe him. “What made you decide to terminate her position today?”
“I told you,” Deshin said, keeping his voice bland even though he was getting annoyed. “My wife and I decided we didn’t need a nanny to help us raise our son.”
“You might want to share that footage with me without wasting time on a warrant, Mr. Deshin,” the detective said.
“Why would I do that, Detective? I’m not even sure why you’re asking about Sonja. What has she done?”
“She has died, Mr. Deshin.”
The words hung between them. He frowned. The detective had finally caught him off guard. For the first time, he did not know how to respond. He probably needed one of his lawyers here. Any time his name came up in an investigation, he was automatically the first suspect.
But in this case, he had nothing to do with Sonja’s death. So he would act accordingly, and let the lawyers handle the mess.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
He had known Sonja since she was a child. She was the daughter of a friend. That was one of the many reasons he had hired her, because he had known her. Even then, she hadn’t turned out as expected. He remembered an affectionate happy girl. The nanny who had come to his house didn’t seem to know how to smile at all. There had been no affection in her.
And when he last saw her, she’d been crying and pleading with him to keep her job. He actually had to have security drag her out of his office.
“We don’t know what happened,” the detective said.
That sentence could mean a lot. It could mean they didn’t know what happened at all or that they didn’t know if her death was by natural causes or by murder. It could also mean that they didn’t know exactly what or who caused the death, but that they suspected murder. Since he was facing a detective and not a beat officer, he knew they suspected murder.
“Where did it happen?” Deshin asked.
“We don’t know that either,” the detective said.
He snapped, “Then how do you know she’s dead?”
Again, that slight change in the detective’s face. Apparently he had finally hit on the correct question.
“Because workers found her in a waste crate in a warehouse outside the dome.”
“Outside the dome . . . ?” That didn’t make sense to him. Sonja hadn’t even owned an environmental suit. She had hated them with a passion. “She died outside the dome?”
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Deshin,” the detective said.
He let out a breath. “Look, Detective, I’m cooperating here, but you need to work with me. I saw Sonja this morning, eliminated her position, and watched her leave my office. Then I went to work. I haven’t gone out of the building all day.”
“But your people have,” the detective said.
He felt a thin threa
d of fury, and he suppressed it. Everyone assumed that his people murdered other people according to some whim. That simply was not true.
“Detective,” he said calmly. “If I wanted Sonja dead, why would I terminate her employment this morning?”
“I have only your word for that,” the detective said. “Unless you give me the footage.”
“And I have only your word that she’s dead,” he said.
The detective pressed her hands together, then separated them. A hologram appeared between them—a young woman, looking as if she had fallen asleep in a meadow. Until he looked closely, and saw that the “meadow” was bits of food, and the young woman’s eyes were open and filmy.
It was Sonja.
“My God,” he said.
“If you give me the footage,” the detective said, “and it confirms what you say, then you’ll be in the clear. If you wait, then we’re going to assume it was doctored.”
Deshin glared at her. She was good—and she was right. The longer he waited, the less credibility he would have.
“I’m going to consult with my attorneys,” he said. “If they believe this information has use to you and it doesn’t cause me any legal liabilities, then you will receive it from them within the hour.”
The detective crossed her arms. “I suggest you send it to me now. I promise you I will not look at anything until you or your attorneys say I can.”
It was an odd compromise, but one that would protect him. If she believed he would doctor the footage, then having the footage in her possession wouldn’t harm him.
But he didn’t know the laws on something this arcane.
“How’s this, detective,” he said. “My staff will give you a chip with the information on it. You may not put the chip into any device or watch it until I’ve consulted with my attorneys. You will wait here while I do so.”
“Seems fine to me,” the detective said. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”
She didn’t, of course. DeRicci was probably getting all kinds of messages on her links from Lake and Gumiela and Broduer and everyone else, telling her she was stupid or needed or something.
She didn’t care. She certainly wasn’t going to turn her links back on. She was close to something. She had actually surprised the Great Luc Deshin, Criminal Mastermind.
