Exodus, page 19
After a solid four hours’ work, he still hadn’t finished the backlog. Annabeth called at five-forty to tell him she’d be finished by seven. “So I’ll get to yours around eight.”
“Great.” Which was when he realized Younes still hadn’t switched his lnc patch back on. He canceled his console displays and yawned. “Can you tell if his patch is off, or just in standby mode?”
“It is off,” his patch manager replied.
Terence pushed his shoulders back and rubbed at his eyes. Hologram displays always made his vision blurry. He glanced around the office, hoping no one could see how guilty he was feeling. “Okay. Access the civic cameras on Avenue Vignon and pull their logs for today. Run facial recognition for Younes.”
“Younes did not appear on Avenue Vignon today.”
“What the hell’s he doing?” Terence murmured. He wasn’t that familiar with the area, but the Roblin block probably had a rear entrance. “Access today’s log for every civic camera within three blocks of the Roblin. Run a search for Younes.”
“He does not appear anywhere in the search area today.”
“Run a search backward. When did he last go in or out of the Roblin?”
“Younes arrived at the Roblin block at three-forty-two this morning.”
“Play it.”
The patch had excellent resolution. It showed him a globecab pulling up outside the Roblin. Younes got out, wearing the clothes Terence remembered from last night’s failed surveillance. He went across the pavement and into the Roblin’s lobby.
“Then what?” he asked with a sigh.
* * *
—
Forty minutes later a police car dropped Terence off outside the Roblin. “Wait for me,” he told the vehicle’s drive manager.
The Roblin was five stories high, its balconies cluttered with large pots whose plants dangled long leaves and colorful flower clumps over the balustrades. French windows were open, and residents were sitting out on their balconies, catching the rosy evening sun. Kids were shouting excitedly close by. Cooking scents drifted about. It was the kind of comfortable, safe neighborhood people wanted to live in.
I wonder if they know what kind of lowlife Younes is.
He took the lift from the public lobby to the fifth floor. Police codes didn’t open private apartments. A warrant would allow him to gain forceful entry, but it would show up on the civic registry, and Stanvar8 would want to know why Younes had been raided.
Terence looked both ways along the hall to make sure it was empty, then held his patch up to the lock panel. “Open it,” he murmured. The Celestial tech took no time at all to unlock the apartment.
He found Younes in the living room, still wearing the clothes from last night. A metal baseball bat had smashed his skull in. Terence knew it was the murder weapon, because it was lying on the ground beside Younes’s corpse.
The patch manager gave him a secure encrypted lnc to Lenertz Mo.
“Chief, I’ve got a problem,” Terence said, and explained what he’d found.
“Damn,” Mo grunted. “Okay, we don’t want anyone to know Younes was your off-file informant. I’ll insert an anonymous message into the station net, logged for an hour ago, claiming they were worried about Younes. It would route to you because you were the previous arresting officer. That gives you a valid reason to be there now.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait five minutes until I’ve sorted the message, then call the desk sergeant and report the body.”
“Got it.”
“Any idea who did this?”
“He didn’t tell me he was in any trouble. Stanvar8 has plenty of rivals, for sure, but I doubt they’d take Younes out. He was money, not enforcement. No sign he was tortured for account access. It’s just a single blunt force trauma to the head. But, chief, it was a hell of a lot of force. They broke his skull open like it was eggshell. I’m not sure I could hit that hard.”
“Someone in a power muscle suit?”
“Maybe. Once we run the civic cameras…Ah, wait.” Terence squatted down and checked Younes’s hand. “Make that two blows; the assailant smashed his hand, too. Younes’s patch went offline at four-sixteen this morning. They must have hit that first, and that’s why it didn’t issue an emergency medical alert.”
“Okay, so what are you thinking? Aldor finally got revenge for his leg?”
Terence stared down at the corpse. “I can’t rule it out, but this happened just a few hours after someone screwed up my surveillance last night. There’s no way that’s coincidence.”
The forensics drones started to arrive ten minutes after Terence called the Vassodan desk sergeant. Two of them landed on the balcony and released a flock of small mobile sensor units resembling metallic cockroaches with outsized antennae that twitched constantly. Terence had to stand away from the corpse while they spread out and began recording the scene with a multitude of artificial senses.
Then he had to direct the eight constables that were dispatched to secure the area, and start taking statements from the neighboring apartments. Finally the coroner’s team arrived, cursing city traffic and inadequate traffic routing managers for not getting them there more quickly.
The senior coroner used instruments to measure cellular decay and confirmed the time of death. Terence nodded his head in thanks, because no one back at the digital analysis office had started their audit yet, so he’d not been officially told the time Younes’s patch was broken.
“Was it someone in a power muscle suit?” he asked as the coroner started measuring the wound.
“First guess would be yes; there was definitely some kind of amplification. If it was a human holding the bat, they’d have to be exceptionally strong to do this much damage.”
“Muscle implants?”
“At the very least.”
Terence lnc-ed to the station’s net and ran a search for known gang members who were strength boosted. It was depressingly long.
The digital office finally designated a team to the case, and Terence told them first priority was to audit everyone who had entered the Roblin in a twenty-hour period before the murder and see when or if they’d come out. They soon found a gap in the logs of civic cameras covering the alley down the west side of the block from when Younes arrived back to dawn.
Three techs from forensics arrived and began to take samples from areas identified by the mobile sensor units. Terence knew one of them, Jimena, who was in her second year in the force’s technical division. She’d been assigned three of his cases so far that year.
“Strike and scoot,” she announced as she came through the apartment door. “It was a gang hit.”
“How do you figure?” he asked.
A gloved hand gestured around. “The killer didn’t search the apartment, so they didn’t want anything. His patch was hit first to prevent any medical alert. It was a pro.”
“It doesn’t look like anything’s missing, but we’ll never know. The only person that could tell us is our friend here.”
“Have digital lifted his patch’s medical log?”
“Not yet. Why?”
“Be interesting to see his heart rate just before the first strike.” Jimena bent down to study Younes’s corpse and picked up his damaged hand. “Judging from the angle of the blow to his hand, he was struck from behind. If he was relaxed when this started, then it was someone he knew in here with him. Gangs do that, don’t they?”
“Yeah. It’s an initiation. If you kill your buddy or your lieutenant, then the bosses know you really have got what it takes.”
“So?”
He grinned. “I’ll inform digital it’s a priority.” His patch petals unfurled to tell him Annabeth was calling. It was eight-thirty. He hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, crap. Accept call.”
“I’m going home,” Annabeth said. “We’re done. Never call me again.”
“Annabeth, I’m really—” The call ended.
“Aww, fuck it!”
Jimena gave him a sympathetic wince. “Ouch. Sorry, Terence.”
“I guess I knew it was coming.”
“Hey, she’s a medic, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My take: if a medic, of all people, couldn’t deal with you working irregular hours, well…”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll get sampling.”
* * *
—
The next afternoon, Terence arrived at Mo’s office for a formal case review.
“We’re shielded,” the chief said as soon as the door closed. “So tell me what you’ve actually got.”
Terence knew he shouldn’t be keyed up from knowing everything they said was protected by Celestial tech, but lately he’d started to realize how much work he was doing for the chief and their archon controller compared to focusing on his detective cases. His worry was that it actually felt more satisfying than the police work. Infiltrating the gangs and Human Liberation was an accomplishment that belonged to him alone.
“Not as much as I’d like,” he admitted grudgingly. “The digital audit threw up some anomalies in the civic camera logs, so we’re assuming the killer altered them.”
“So a pro, then?”
“That or they know a datamaster, which also implies this was a professional job. Then there’s the nature of the kill. The coroner confirmed the impact force of the bat was greater than natural human muscle can produce. It was a suit or someone with implants. Because of that I’m officially listing it as a suspected gang slaying.”
“But…?”
“Unless Stanvar8 knew Younes was my informant, they have no reason to kill him. And I don’t see how they could know. My other two informers in the gang, Emiliano and Áxel, are telling me Stanvar8 is mighty pissed that one of their best money handlers is dead. So apart from us, the only other person who knows is whoever gets the information I gather.”
Mo gave him a tired smile. “You can count them out.”
“Yeah, I sort of did. That leaves us with whatever the hell went down after my surveillance got busted. A year ago Younes had put the money together for Stanvar8 to run a couple of deals with Gyvoy Enfoe, buying tech that the Enfoes brought down to Santa Rosa. I don’t think it was even Remnant Era stuff; most likely military biotech from Lidon that Stanvar8 use to boss it over rivals. But Younes is the one who knows Gyvoy. Colvin knows Dagon, and he’s the one who tells Younes to make the introduction. We don’t know who Dagon is or what he wants with Gyvoy, but one of those two really didn’t want me spying on their meeting, and has the tech to kill the drones. Then a few hours later, Younes is dead.”
“Anyone who can take out those drones can alter the civic camera logs,” Mo reflected.
“Yes. They have tech that can beat ours, and that can only come from offworld. Our killer has to be either Gyvoy or Dagon.”
“It’s not Gyvoy.”
Terence gave the chief a curious look. “Oh?”
“You’re not the only one who’s been checking today. My sources place Gyvoy getting back to the Enfoe residence at half past one that morning. For what it’s worth, the civic camera logs show him arriving.”
“Where did he come from? If we know the location he went to after he gave me the slip at the Fleesh Diamond, we might be able to get an image of Dagon.”
“His globecab records have been deleted. No log of the journey, no passenger account.”
“City traffic management logs?”
“Nope. Whoever did this knows our procedures. They were thorough.”
“It’s got to be Dagon,” Terence said earnestly. “He’s taking big steps to hide himself from us.”
“Yes. His tech spotted the drones following Younes, so Younes was the weak link that could expose him. Goodbye, Younes. If he’s prepared to kill to prevent us from even seeing him, he must have a powerful reason.”
“Hell, deploying the drones was my choice.”
“Oh, please, do not start blaming yourself. And for your information, the person we work for is now officially interested—very interested. We are requested to use all available means to identify Dagon.”
“What exactly does that mean?” Terence asked uneasily.
“There are two people who can possibly identify Dagon,” Mo said, “but we can’t confirm that Gyvoy actually met him.”
“So that leaves us with Colvin. He’s the one who told Younes to introduce Dagon to Gyvoy.”
“Yes.”
“He’s a gang’s senior lieutenant. He’s not going to give us anything.”
“Not in a police interview, no. You’ve got to turn him.”
“Oh, Asteria’s arse.”
* * *
—
It took three weeks to set up the entrapment. Mo used one of his contacts in the Enfoe Dynasty to vouch for Terence, who posed as a Traveler with some Remnant Era gear to sell.
Terence appreciated the symmetry. It was an introduction that had started this; now another would end it.
The exchange location was in one of the hundreds of utility and service tunnels that ran under the train yards at the base of the orbital tower. Terence had to wear kinetic armor and an energy beam dissipator one-piece under his clothes. He felt it was like putting on a big glowing target saying This Is a Trap.
“You’ll be fine,” Mo said as he prepared in the police mobile field center. “Colvin and his enforcers are going to be wearing the same kind of protection. They’ll expect you to have basic protection. If you didn’t, then that’s when they’d be suspicious. Besides, there’s only going to be a five-second window of exposure before the tactical team take them down. They’re there to deal, so they’re not going to make a shoot decision in that kind of timeframe. Nobody does that.”
Terence didn’t believe it for a second. It was just standard pep-talk crap, but he went with it.
The tension while he waited at the designated point in the tunnel had a physical effect. Even though he was with two experienced members from the tactical squad, nausea threatened to drop him to his knees, and he could feel tremors running down his arms. Then lights appeared down the tunnel.
Mo was right; when it happened, it happened fast. The vehicle carrying Colvin came to a stop, and five gang members climbed out, openly carrying mag-rifles with grenade launcher feed lines curving around to magazine backpacks. In a daze, Terence wondered if they realized firing that much explosive power would collapse the entire tunnel, killing everyone. His opinion of Colvin—who must have approved them carrying so much firepower—went down yet another level.
Not that it mattered. The rest of the police tactical team were clinging to the top of the tunnel, wearing matte-black armor suits. They fired their nervejam pistols before a word had been exchanged.
* * *
—
Walking into the station holding room triggered a sharp recollection for Terence. It was the same one he’d interviewed Younes in all those years ago. Colvin was a big man, his pumped physique confirmed by a tight white vest that showed off plenty of bulging muscle. Sitting behind the table, he managed to give Terence the uncomfortable impression that he could simply raise his arms and the lokstrips holding him would burst apart like tissue paper. Where Younes had radiated a young man’s angry defiance; Colvin, older and urbane, told the world that he was in charge of the situation.
Terence sat down opposite him and watched the pulses of purple and orange light flow slowly along Colvin’s tattoo lines like gondolas along the city’s skyway cables. Some of the symbols were gang markers; others artistically emphasized muscle size. After a minute of silence Terence said: “I have to update our records; we didn’t have you listed as having muscle implants. An illegal clinic specializing in Lidon bioware, right?”
Colvin didn’t even bother shrugging; his air of contempt simply rose a fraction.
“It’s interesting,” Terence said. “Because that strength makes you my primary suspect for Younes’s murder.”
A tiny flicker of uncertainty broke the cool-guy persona. “I didn’t kill Younes. He was a friend. You’re the assholes who can’t find his killer.”
“You say ‘friend’; you mean ‘fellow gang member.’ ”
A small shrug.
“I don’t care who killed him,” Terence said. “Santa Rosa is a better place for it. What I want from you is information.”
Colvin laughed in his face. “You dumbass moron! You threaten me with receiving Remnant tech from your gutless sting op? I’ll get five years age-acceleration and eighteen months digging potatoes out at Winscombe farm. But if I squeal, you’ll make that go away? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you little shit!”
“I’m not making any offers on behalf of the city.”
“Huh? So what the hell is this?”
“A chance to survive.”
“You threatening me, policeman?”
“Younes was an informant.”
“Fuck off.”
“Didn’t you ever wonder how he got off for shooting Aldor with a musher?”
“No.” Some of Colvin’s bravado faltered. “Our lawyer broke your shitty case apart. I know two prosecution office attorneys got busted down to janitor because they screwed up on that one.”
“I was the arresting constable. And here I am.”
“No fucking way. Younes knew—”
Terence’s grin was savage. “Go on: Younes knew everything about Stanvar8 finances. Which means he knew the organization structure, the names, the scams, the crimes. Things like the Hozat kidnapping; you put Leonardo and Sebastián on that one. Quentatico: that was Emilio and Severine. Fátima, Elouan, and Benoit run your sniff distribution out of the Tinh block on L’Abbaye Boulevard. And after poor Greta Krüger got herself arrested, who took over your anonymized treasury accounts for the Lakana district?”
