“Is that what you’re telling Mr. Trudeau’s research backers? Just shut up and wait?”
“My responsibility is not to his backers,” I said firmly. “To his family, sure, I promise answers as soon as we have them. They will hear from us before you will. And to the city? I have a job to do. But I do not answer to his backers.” I could not help myself from adding, “Do you?”
There was laughter from the other journos. It was petty of me, but I took some satisfaction in scoring one on Rockford.
Rockford turned away, adding over her shoulder, “Freddie, edit that out.” She forced her way through the crowd, but the other journos persisted. Knighton found his way to the front and asked a question I was unready for: “So does this have anything to do with the fraud investigation?”
I paused. An ill-considered answer could create trouble; but not answering at all just left a vacuum for the mob to speculate in. So I said, “We have no reason to believe that at this time, but it is too early in the investigation to rule anything out. If there is a connection, Mr. Knighton, I shall let you know.”
It was the best answer I could give. No doubt by morning, the story would read, “Chief of Police denies connection between murder and fraud.” But I could not control what they said. I had to trust that Knighton sent my message out on his live stream, so my actual words would be out there on the record.
As the time dragged on past the dinner hour and into the evening, the journos started to give up. I think they had been hoping to break a scoop, and finally they realized there was not going to be one. No criminal revisiting the scene of the crime that day.
So by ones and twos they left. When the last straggler finally faded down Foxtrot, I went back to check on Marcus. “Not that I am rushing you, but do I need to schedule another shift?”
“No,” he said with a smile. “Honestly, we’ve been filling in details at this point. My team informed me that the journos were giving up, so I figured if we dawdled long enough, they’d go away. I don’t know how you put up with them, but I’ve got no interest in it.”
I shook my head. “You cannot avoid them. There will be inquests and media reports. They come with the job of coroner.”
“Yes, I know,” Marcus answered. “But those are prepared remarks. Not impromptu mob sessions on the street.”
“You never did like crowds.”
“I’m not phobic,” Marcus insisted. “I just . . . feel confined. Like they won’t move fast enough, and like they have no idea where they’re going. No sense of flow through an area.”
“I have heard it before, Doctor. It still sounds like agoraphobia to me.”
“Hey, who’s the doctor here?” Marcus smiled. “You do the detecting, I’ll do the diagnosing.”
I grinned back. “You are doing a fair amount of detecting right here today.”
“All right, you do the arresting and the marching off to jail. Or whatever it is police chiefs do.” He looked around at his team. “Does everyone have what they need?” They agreed. “Good. Take all your evidence back, catalog and store it, and get some rest. We’ve got a big backlog now, so everyone’s on overtime.” Again he grinned at me. “Isn’t Mayor Holmes going to love these expenses?”
I did not find it so funny, but it was true. They really had two ongoing forensic investigations: the arson, and the data forensics and other physical evidence from the fraud investigation. And now another murder on top of that. “When did this happen, Doctor? When did the crime in our city become so prevalent that your team cannot keep up?”
Marcus did not answer right away. Finally he said, “Maybe it was there all along, and we only just started looking. Maybe Mayor Holmes was right about us needing a police force.”
“Maybe?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. My mind is starting to wander. It’s been a really long day, and a really long week. I spoke without thinking. I just . . . you know, I think we’re growing too fast.”
I knew. Even before Nick’s effort to rekindle our own relationship, my relationship with Marcus had had one stumbling block. Marcus saw Mars as primarily a place for science. He was almost radical about it. I, on the other hand, wanted humanity to expand through the solar system. Through the stars. It had not been enough to prevent our engagement, but it had always been a small friction between us.
Marcus paused again, and then his eyes widened a bit. “Hey, what about Zeb’s?”
“No, I—” But then I thought. I had missed another lunch, so I was hungry. And right now Nick was probably back in the embassy, strategizing with Gale over whatever his secrets were.
And I was just in no mood to go back to an empty apartment and sit alone with my thoughts from the past few days.
“Sure. Let us go to Zeb’s.”
23. DINNER WITH MARCUS
This time I had the salad; but the salad I had made at home two nights earlier did not deserve the name “salad” compared to this. Greens and julienned vegetables and feta, so similar; but the dressing was Zeb’s own spicy mix, and the whole thing was topped with Cajun blackened salmon, so good it could pass for real fish. Marcus had the ratatouille, and he sang its praises.
Both of us skipped the wine that time. I did not comment on that.
Another thing we skipped was discussing the body. I was not squeamish, but I was getting tired of it. Too many pointless deaths in my city. So I did not bring the subject up, and Marcus avoided it. Instead as we relaxed with the food and some Martian Springs, he said, “So how goes the other side of the MMC case? The whole insurance business?”
“Oh . . .” I looked around. The room was noisy, and I did not think we could be overheard; but I was careful about what I said anyway. “It is pretty much what I said to the media. I gave a thorough briefing yesterday, and today’s arrest arraignments have not added up to anything new yet. Really, you can pull it up on the net.”
“The Tara Rockford feed?”
“Space, no!” I put down my drink. “I would not trust a word she says.”
Marcus’s eyes grew wide. “Oh? She’s got a pretty big audience. A lot of people listen to what she has to say.”
“Not you?”
“Well . . . I’ve seen her show sometimes. I can’t say I’ve ever fact-checked her, but she seems really good at asking uncomfortable questions and making people in charge scramble for answers.”
“Uncomfortable questions based in fantasy,” I answered. “She came at me with an agenda, and with her story already written. She was just trolling for quotes to fill in the blank spaces.”
“I guess . . . I wasn’t there. But she sure seems to know when somebody has something to hide.”
“I have nothing to hide,” I said. “And I resent the implication.”
“Rosalia, please.” Marcus put his fork down. “I didn’t mean to imply that you did. I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant at all.”
“Well, it sure was what she meant. She was trying to trap me into admitting something when there is nothing to admit.”
“I understand,” Marcus answered. “That has to be frustrating.”
I shook my head. “I am sorry. But yes, it is frustrating. And I had to sit there and take it, because Anthony and Alonzo want me to play nice with the media.”
“That can’t have been easy.” He reached over and placed his hand over mine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” I gently pulled my hand away to pick up my fork, as if that were the only reason. He continued, “But you see, right there, you kind of implied she had a point.”
“What?”
“You said the mayor and Gutierrez want you to play nice with the media. Present a good front. You don’t have anything to hide, but maybe they do.”
“Marcus!”
“Now, now, I know you wouldn’t . . . I know you wouldn’t be involved in anything illegitimate, but you’re not the administration. They’re . . . they’re awfully cozy with the big business interests in town. And with . . .”
&nbs
p; He did not continue, so I prodded, “And with?”
“With the Libertists,” he said.
“With the party?” My voice rose, and he looked around nervously.
“Please,” he half whispered. “I’m not trying to cause a fight. Of course he’s the Libertist candidate, he’s always been a proponent of Free Mars. No matter how impractical.”
“Impractical? Marcus, are you a Realist?”
Marcus shook his head. “I’m a doctor, a man of facts and evidence and science. I don’t look at the parties, I look at the facts. No party has a monopoly on those.”
“But you do not think Free Mars is supported by the facts.”
Again he lowered his voice. “Not yet, it isn’t.”
“So you do not think that it is realistic. Tell me how that does not make you a Realist.”
“Party affiliation doesn’t come down to this one issue.”
“It does in this election,” I said. “We are talking about the vision for Mars into the future. Are we supposed to be free, or are we supposed to be under the Initiative’s thumb?”
“Of course we’re supposed to be free! Someday, when we’re ready. But not yet.”
“Not yet. Not yet! It is always ‘not yet.’ I have never once heard a Realist answer to the question, If not yet, when? When it is perfect, they say. When everything is right.”
“What’s wrong with waiting until we’re sure it can work?”
“Because nothing is ever 100 percent sure! The only thing sure is that as long as we have to have every decision second-guessed by the Initiative, we cannot take actions that would make it sure. That would steer us in the direction of self-sufficiency and a second home for civilization on Mars.”
Marcus looked around, and I did as well. I realized that the diners at several nearby tables were looking at me. What had started as a discussion had sounded even to my ears like a campaign speech. An elderly couple at a table across the restaurant smiled, and the old woman gave me a thumbs-up.
I tried to sink into the booth seat. Marcus did not help when he chuckled. “I guess you’re a little more passionate about this than I am,” he said.
“I cannot be,” I answered. “Not in public. I am a public servant of the entire city, not of one party. People have to trust in the impartiality of my investigations.”
“Relax, Rosalia,” Marcus said. “I’m sure only half the restaurant heard you.”
I felt my skin flush, and I pressed deeper into the corner. “Only half?”
“Maybe a little more. But I doubt any of them were recording for the journos.”
I did not know what made Marcus so confident. It was a lesson they taught us all the way back in boot camp: assume anything in public is being recorded and will be played against you at the worst possible moment. Recording technology was everywhere.
“I know,” Marcus continued. “I feel bad for you, really I do.” But then he smiled. “Except for one thing.”
“What is that?”
“For a moment, it was like the old Rosalia was back. You had . . . passion. I haven’t seen you passionate in a long time. About anything.”
“Marcus. Do not go there. It is not funny.”
After that, I cut the dinner short as soon as I could, claiming more paperwork. Which was true: when I stopped in the office, there were a half dozen minor reports for my review, along with the results of the day’s arraignments and evidence gathering. Those took another half hour to get through.
Then I went back to my apartment, and I found the vid screen playing, running a loop from Tara Rockford’s stream. It repeated her latest exclusive: “Police Chief Rosalia Morais Makes Her Electoral Stand.” The backdrop of the story was a still shot of Marcus and I having dinner in Zeb’s. A transcript of my little speech scrolled by, with computer-synthesized speech substituting for my voice. So whoever the snoop was, they had not gotten audio.
But it did not matter. Nick would recognize the rhythm and the word choice as mine, so he would know the speech was authentic. That would tell him that the photo was legitimate as well. And this loop was his reaction.
I hated the whole world that night.
24. THIRTY-NINE HOURS
I did not open my eyes when the comm sounded. I just reached over to the nightstand, found the button, and responded. “I am getting tired of these early-morning calls,” I said, not trying to hide the disgust in my voice.
“I’m getting tired of making them,” Alonzo said. “Get in here.”
I opened my eyes at that. “For the last time, Gutierrez, I am not campaign staff. I do not answer to you, I answer to the mayor.”
Alonzo paused. “I’m tired, too, Ms. Morais. I’m sorry. But if we don’t get on top of this right away, you won’t work for the mayor. Maybe I won’t either. Maybe Anthony won’t be the mayor at all.”
That brought me fully alert. “What are you talking about?”
“The party Steering Committee met last night. They held a vote. They’re still standing behind Mayor Holmes, but by only two votes. If things get any worse, they may put up another candidate.”
“That would be crazy at this late stage,” I said. “If they think Mayor Holmes cannot win, they have nothing left to lose.”
“The Libertists will not go without a fight,” Alonzo assured me. “Now I know you think that campaigning is beneath you; but the first thing a new candidate will do more than likely is to ask for your resignation.”
“My resignation?”
“You precipitated this crisis by going all political last night. The mayor’s ability to represent the city is in question now. And that could tip the campaign against us.”
“I shall be there in thirty,” I said.
“Make it—All right, thirty.”
Anthony’s weak coffee was not helping, but nothing else would either.
As I had showered, I had watched the feeds. Rockford was not the only one raking me over the coals for my comments. Across every stream and network, the media were questioning my objectivity and using it to question Anthony’s.
The same feeds were playing on Anthony’s wall now. And as if questioning my objectivity had not been bad enough, Rockford was now attacking my integrity. “How could such an obvious staunch Libertist investigate the massive consumer fraud that’s taking Maxwell City by storm when the accused are all leading Libertists themselves?” she asked. “It is this reporter’s view that we won’t see an objective investigation until Ms. Morais recuses herself from it or resigns.”
Alonzo shut off the feed. “That opinion’s becoming pretty popular,” he said. “Recuse or resign. The Steering Committee’s going to vote today about asking for your resignation.”
“That is idiotic,” I said. “I am the one who brought the charges in the first place. If I had wanted to, I could have hidden all of the evidence. Made the whole thing go away. She only knows about this story because of me.”
From behind his desk, Anthony shook his head. “Show the rest of it, Alonzo.” Alonzo’s eyes looked pained, not calculating like they had for the past week.
“I was trying to spare her, Mr. Mayor.”
“From what?” I asked.
“And for how long?” Anthony added. “She’ll see it soon enough. Or Rockford will find a chance to shove it in her face. The police chief deserves to see it now, in private.”
“Yes, Mr. Mayor,” Alonzo said. He reopened the feed and selected a different time mark. “I’m sorry, Ms. Morais,” he said as he tapped “Play.” There was Rockford again. “My sources inside the police department tell me that the only reason this fraud was brought to light was because the famously apolitical, truth-telling Captain Nick Aames insisted on investigating it and on revealing what he found.”
“That is not—” I started, but Alonzo held up a hand.
“Locals all remember how then-Captain Aames insisted on a thorough review of the Bradbury accident, even knowing that the result would be the end of his career with the Admiralty. The
man doesn’t cover up, they say. Even when it hurts him.
“And this reporter’s sources in the Space Corps tell of another incident, early in Aames’s career, when again he insisted on a full, truthful investigation that damaged his career for his mistakes. And that of his then-fiancée—Rosalia Morais.
“For all of his many squabbles with the Admiralty, even his critics acknowledge that Nick Aames believes in letting the chips fall where they may, as long as you chip away to the truth.
“So did Aames find evidence of a cover-up? No,” Rockford continued, “I think we can be sure he didn’t, or he would have told us of that too. But he found the thread, which is now unraveling.
“And that’s causing trouble on the home front. As my sources revealed last night, Ms. Morais was seen in the company of her other former fiancé, the man she left for Nick Aames nine years back. The same man who she requested as coroner for Maxwell City. How convenient: the man who checks her evidence is the man she used to sleep with.”
“Enough!” I leaned from my chair and shut off the panel. Then I turned to the two men. “Keep her away from me, or I may not be responsible for what happens.”
Anthony’s face grew pale. “Don’t even joke about that, Rosie. If anyone outside this room heard you say that, it would be the end of your career, and probably mine. You do not threaten the media, no matter how much they ask for it. You let Alonzo and me handle her.”
“Handle her how?”
“There’s no good way,” Alonzo said. “But there are better ways and worse ways. We’ll start cutting off access, giving exclusives to her competition. We’ll let her superiors know that our lawyers are combing her feed for actionable statements.”
“You will revoke her media pass?”
“Can’t do that,” Anthony answered.
“That turns her into a symbol,” Alonzo said. “We have to give her minimum access. But no more. We’ll make sure that anytime we have a say, her competition gets the exclusives. And she’ll get noncommittal answers.”
The Last Campaign (The Near-Earth Mysteries) Page 20