In fact, I saw a Public Safety officer up ahead, pulling a tourist from the low-speed slide. She easily lifted the man into the air, making his eyes grow wide in surprise; and then she hopped over the low slide barrier and onto the unmoving floor beyond. She lowered him to the floor and inspected his leg.
By that time I had slid on past, so I did not see how bad his injuries were. I trusted Public Safety to handle it, as they had countless times in the past. They had an excellent safety record.
When I got back to the apartment, it was nearly 2100. There had been paperwork to file, reports to review, and reports to make to Anthony and Alonzo. I had let them know what Hogan had told me—without identifying him as the source, but they would figure that out easily enough. Anthony had been concerned, but Alonzo had just nodded as if he had expected it.
It was not the first time that I had come home that late, so I was not surprised to find Nick tucked away in the workroom, wiring up trees. I was a little surprised, though, at his choice in music. Like so many things since he was young, Nick’s taste in music were strongly influenced by Brazil. His grandmother had worked there, his mentor had been born there, and he and I had both trained there in my homeland. Nick was as Brazilian as an Alabama hillbilly could get.
But usually he liked mellow songs or light, danceable tunes. That night he was listening to classic Brazilian thrash metal, Korzus. That was never a good sign. Nick had picked up his taste for metal from his brother, Derick—or Dek, as he called him—and it only came out when Nick was in a bad mood.
I sighed, and I went to the kitchen. I did not know what had upset Nick, but I knew better than to try to get it out of him. In our youth, I had tried to cajole him and cheer him up in his rare angry moods. I had learned the hard way: that never worked. Nick would come around in his time, and he would explain or not as he saw fit. Until then, I would give him some space.
I was lying in bed, reviewing the day’s incident reports, when the music finally stopped. I heard Nick in the kitchen, finding some food. Then he came into the bedroom, carrying a plate of cheddar and a bottle of Martian Springs. He set them down on the bed stand and started to undress.
“Hello, Nico,” I said. I did not question, I just let him set the tone.
“Hello, Rosie,” he said. He tossed his shirt into the hamper; and then he picked up a slice of cheese and held it out, almost to my mouth. “Hungry?”
I smiled. He was over whatever it was. I nibbled at the cheese. “Thank you,” I said, “but I did get dinner. I do not want to eat all of yours.”
He shrugged. “I’m not that hungry,” he said; but he finished the slice.
He seemed relaxed, so I took a chance. “Nick, can I help?”
“No,” he answered. “You’ve got too much to do. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”
That was part of it, I could tell. I was too busy, and he wanted my time, but he was too proud to ask for it. And now that he had taken a stand, I could not even offer without his stubborn pride making him refuse more strongly. I wished I had been more intuitive sooner.
I woke up early, slipping out quietly so as not to wake Nick. I showered quickly and rushed to my office. Zeb’s was not open at that hour, but we had the codes for the service door on a maintenance tunnel.
I needed the early start. I had a big task that I had to get out of the way before the shift began: a hole in my table of organization that had to be filled now that Flagg was gone. Three weeks in, we still were not up to full staffing as it was, and now I was down one in the command squad.
And my task was more complicated because I had two viable candidates: Brooks and DeHaven. Both had impressed me, Brooks for quick action, DeHaven for being willing to tell me uncomfortable truths. I did not have more than that on either of them, but that was not surprising. I still had a lot to learn about the patrol officers. Neither of them might be right for the position, but they were good candidates to start with. I pulled up their résumés and began to read.
Forty minutes later, I was no closer to a decision. Anthony’s recruiters had done a good job: they were both excellent. DeHaven had a respectable record in Initiative Security, including commendations from Admiral Etough on Phobos Base for rescue work. Then he had transferred to port duty, where he had worked in both Customs inspection and surface rescue. Finally he had applied to emigrate to Maxwell City, where he had served admirably in DPS.
Brooks, meanwhile, was practically a native. She had emigrated as a youth with her parents, a team of agricultural researchers. She was one of the earliest children accepted as immigrants, and thus she had grown up under a microscope. Authorities had watched her and her cohort carefully in order to judge whether accepting children was a good idea. Some of the kids had rebelled under the scrutiny. Brooks herself had, for a while; but she had matured early, and she seemed dedicated to proving that she belonged on Mars. She took a series of jobs around the city, each seemingly chosen for the learning opportunities, ending up with a respectable record in Public Safety. And now in the police force.
There were other patrol officers with equally impressive records, no doubt; but these two had caught my attention, and I liked what I saw. Their résumés reinforced that; but they did not give me a good reason to decide between them. I liked Brooks because she had stronger roots in the community. It was a delicate consideration, but I wanted to reward DeHaven for his frankness, and I wanted to build morale. If I promoted Brooks over him, it might even make him think I had passed him over because I had not liked what he had said. That could fester and make him clam up.
If possible, I wanted to promote both of them. And maybe I could.
I called Anthony. He was in early as well, so I told him I would be right over.
“Vile? Are you serious?”
“She is good, Anthony.” I poured some water from his wet bar, then sat in the mesh chair in front of his desk. “And we need somebody. The TO calls for two deputy chiefs, so we have a command officer for all shifts. Right now we have none, and I am stretched pretty thin.”
“But Vile?”
I pushed her file to his desk, but he should already know it. “She was already a shift commander in Public Safety. She has surface experience, port experience, and a solid academic record.”
“But she has no police experience.”
I waved that away. “Who does? It is not like we have budget to recruit out from Earth. They are all learning on the job. Her record says she is a quick learner; and if we promote her, it will create another vacancy in the command squad. I can promote Brooks and DeHaven.”
Anthony looked into space and shook his head. “Yes, it makes sense for the TO. And I agree, her record was good . . . right up until yesterday, when she was accused of taking a bribe.”
“That is ridiculous! We already cleared her of that.”
“I know.” Anthony frowned. “But . . . I wish Alonzo were in. How’s this going to look to the journos?”
I set down my cup, and I stood. “The journos? Anthony, do you want a police force or a campaign ad?”
He looked up and sighed. “All right, I deserve that. But have you seen the stories from yesterday?”
“No, I was working most of the night.”
“They’re brutal.” He pulled up media feeds on his desk, and he pointed at them. “They make it sound like the whole force is under suspicion. Some of the editorials suggest that Vile and Monè’s commendations are payoffs. Now you want to promote Vile?”
“Yes, I do.” I could have said more, but I was angry. I was afraid what might come out. So I just stared at Anthony. And I fumed.
Finally Anthony nodded. “Okay. You’re right. We can’t let the journos run the city. Do it. I’ll let Alonzo figure out the messaging.”
16. WARRANTS
Vile beamed when I pinned her new badge on her. “I’ll do my best, ma’am.”
“You will work your butt off, Vile.” I smiled. “I have sent you links to sites on Compact regulations, jurisp
rudence, investigative procedures, and criminal psychology. That is on top of your regular command squad training. Say good-bye to your free time, because your nights are now study time.”
“What about my weekends?”
“You do not get weekends. Not until the TO is fully staffed and operational. Welcome to command.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Meanwhile you’re my shadow. And my sanity check. I expect you to follow me around, learn what I am doing, and ask questions. Any questions. Make me explain what I am doing until you get it. And if you think I am wrong, say something.”
“That’s . . .”
“That is your job, Deputy Chief. I do not need a flunky, I need a stubborn partner who thinks. Is that you?”
She grinned. “I can be stubborn.”
I grinned back. “Good. Let us go give Brooks and DeHaven the good news.”
With Vile by my side, I dug back into the insurance investigation. Thanks to Nick—and to Flagg’s inept attempts to cover his tracks—we had a good way to identify at least some fraudulent claims: if the records on Earth said Flagg and the records on Mars said someone else, it was a lead; and already I had Sergeant Moore down in Digital Investigations working through city files to correlate those leads. Moore was dealing with Earth–Mars communication lag and the bureaucracies of seven different insurance companies, but the work was proceeding.
But too slowly! Yesterday Rockford had reported on the allegations and counterallegations of corruption within the force. Now she had more details, a broad picture of the insurance fraud case. Space her and her sources! Now, with these new stories, I could almost see evidence being burned and suspects fleeing.
It was not that easy: Mars was a set of confined environments with limited transports between them. But there were always ways; and every month small new settlements and bases popped up. Someone with enough money could buy secrecy and escape. Buy clean new records. I had to move fast.
“Vile, get on the line to Hogan and give him an alert for any of the persons on our suspect list traveling to orbit or to other settlements.” I opened my comm, and I called Anthony. “Mr. Mayor, have you seen the latest news reports?”
Anthony looked harried. Alonzo was working behind him, not looking much better. “Yes,” Anthony answered. “And we’ve got a flood of questions coming in about them.”
“I am afraid you are going to get more. I am headed to Magistrate Montgomery.”
“Montgomery? Do you have to?”
I reined in my temper. “Yes, Mr. Mayor. If I do not get some warrants, and fast, we will lose every bit of evidence we have in this case. I know this will not make me popular, so I wanted to give you a heads-up. But there is no time to argue. I have to go.”
I cut off just as Alonzo was about to speak, and I headed around the Concourse to the Admin Center.
Magistrate Montgomery wasted no time. I had already sent across my request and my evidence so far, and she had reviewed them. Appearing before her was just a formality, one she might skip for warrants that involved imminent danger to lives or critical systems. But for warrants this sensitive, the officer pressing them had to appear in court.
Montgomery looked across her desk at me, and she shook her head. “You sure know how to make a splash, ma’am,” she said. She was an older woman, one of the earliest Martian settlers. She had made a good start on a scientific career when an accident in the field had left her with time to kill during rehabilitation.
She had spent her downtime during rehab studying her other interest, law. She became fascinated with concepts of jurisprudence on another world where international coalitions governed. She went back into the field when she was healthy, but science no longer fascinated her like law did. She was older now, going gray, but her mind was as sharp as ever; and she had written the definitive text on the Compact. She had been on Mars almost since the beginning, and along with Nick was one of that small group that were hailed and respected as founders.
“You’re not going to make any friends,” Montgomery continued.
“I know, Magistrate. I do not need friends, I need to make a case.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve got a pretty good start.” She signed her comp. “I’m approving all these warrant requests, subject to the limitations and super jurisdiction of the Compact. Go get your evidence, and your suspects if you can.”
“Thank you, Magistrate.” We both knew what she meant: suspects could cite the Compact, though evidence could not so easily be transferred. If this large group of prominent businesspeople all turned themselves over to Initiative authority en masse, it would be a media sensation.
But space it, I was not going to let them hide behind that, behind anything. I tapped my comm. “Sergeant Moore, we have authority. Start sealing the records. I have cc’d the Initiative inspector general, so let me know if you have any trouble getting them to cooperate.” Then I changed channels. “Vile, we have the warrants. Execute immediately.”
The media explosion was every bit as bad as I had expected. The journos went wild, with story after story about corruption in Maxwell City. You could tell where the journos’ sympathies lay: some played up the idea of corrupt businessmen on Mars who needed better government oversight, while others accused the government itself of being out of control.
Tara Rockford led the latter group, with zeal and guile. I suspect that she was camping at Carla Grace’s campaign, because it did not take twenty minutes after word broke for her to air an interview with Grace. “So what is your reaction to the stories of rampant insurance fraud across Maxwell City?”
Grace looked down as if in sadness, but I could see her mouth turned up, barely concealing a smug smile. “I’m afraid it’s business as usual in Maxwell City,” she answered. “This is the way things have always been run, it’s just that now journalists like you are bringing it to light.” I cursed inwardly at that. How the hell did the journos get the credit? “This is why it’s time for a change. Under my administration, we’ll work more closely with Initiative Security and Initiative auditors.”
“Your opponent would say that will only stifle growth and innovation.”
At that Grace’s eyes grew brighter and narrower. “My opponent has a long history of putting ‘innovation,’ as he calls it, ahead of good governance and the orderly development of Mars. If companies have to commit fraud to make Mars viable, then maybe Mars isn’t viable yet.”
The feed changed to another story, interviews with random people in the tubes, and I turned it off. Before my finger even left the comm, Anthony’s line was blinking. It was going to be a very long day.
17. HORACE GALE IN CUSTODY
It got worse from there. My day was occupied with interviews, arrests, and arraignments. I set up a temporary workspace outside Montgomery’s court. I was in and out of there so often, it did not make sense to keep walking back and forth around the Concourse.
The arraignments were all pro forma, as every single person we brought in cited the Compact as soon as charges were read. But I was the police chief, the complainant, so I had to be there to stand and read the charges for everyone.
It was during the eighth arraignment of the day, or maybe the ninth, when a priority alert came on my comm. I discreetly tapped the audio button, and the text sounded in my subcutaneous earpiece: Ms. Morais, contact me ASAP. Hogan.
I did not respond. It would not do to disrespect Montgomery’s court after all the trouble I created for her. But when the magistrate announced a lunch recess, I raised my hand to be noticed. “Yes, Ms. Morais?” she said.
“Magistrate, I have an urgent communiqué from the Initiative, and I have to meet with them. After the recess, Deputy Chief Vile will appear for the city.”
“Understood, Ms. Morais. Court is in recess.” She banged her gavel.
As soon as I got back to my alcove, I opened a comm line to Fort Hudson, and I asked for Hogan. When his face came on the screen, I could see annoyance in the set of his jaw. Be
fore he could speak, I said, “Sorry for the added workload, Chief.”
He shook his head. “Heavy hangs the head, you know the rest. We’ll handle it.”
“I am sure you will. How can I help? You have new information?”
“I have more than information,” he answered. “I have a suspect.”
I glanced at my comp, trying to figure out who on the list was unaccounted for. “Green? Lang?”
He shook his head. “No one from your watch list, but a person of interest. He won’t talk, not to us. He says he wants to talk to . . . Aames.”
“Nick?”
“Chief, it’s Horace Gale. I think you’ll want to talk to him.”
I found myself once again in the anteroom outside of Customs. I was not alone for long: Chief Hogan showed up only a couple of minutes after I did. He closed the door behind him, shook my hand, and sat down behind the desk. I sat as well.
Before I could say anything, he began, “I thought you’d want to talk here.” He tapped his comm. “Off the record.”
I tapped mine as well. It was already off recording. “Thank you, Chief. So between us, what is going on?”
“I did warn you that you don’t have a lot of support on my side of Customs. There are those in the Admiralty for whom it’s not just about the future of Mars. It’s personal for them. They’re still pissed at you and Aames.”
“You are still pissed at Nick.”
“Not enough for this. Ma’am, it’s not in writing anywhere, but I’ve been urged to slow walk anything that helps you or Maxwell City from this point forward. Especially you. I think they’d like to see you fail as a result, so that your reputation will be blackened.”
The Last Campaign (The Near-Earth Mysteries) Page 13