by Peter Hartog
“Oh no!” Leyla cried in dismay. “Doc, I’m so sorry!”
She rushed to my bedroom and returned with the comforter from my bed. I managed to fill a cup from the pot without spilling too much on myself or the furniture, then eased onto the couch. Leyla took the cup from me, and draped the comforter from my bed around my lower body and legs. She handed the coffee back. Besim sat across from me, studying Leyla with great interest.
“What?” I demanded. “I caught a chill from walking around in all this rain.”
Deacon lit a cigarette. “That right?”
“It is,” I responded with finality.
Leyla sat in the chair to my right with her arms wrapped around her knees, drawing them into her chest.
“She’s a goddamn witch, Holliday, ain’t she?” Deacon bristled. There was a dangerous cast to his eyes. “Something you damn well should’ve told me before we went and got her.”
“I’m a minor talent,” Leyla shot back. The air around us grew colder. I shivered despite the comforter. “Besides, what’s it to you anyway?”
“It’s everything to me, girl,” the Confederate returned. “You’re a fucking wildcard. I prefer knowing the variables before I work with anyone. Where I come from, you’d burn at the stake.”
“Well, thank God we aren’t in Birmingham,” I retorted, standing up. “You’re in my city, Protector, you got that? And Leyla’s with me. If you’ve got a problem, we can settle it outside.”
Deacon laughed in derision, but before he could respond, Besim spoke. “Although I am a mere consultant, it is my opinion Leyla has only begun to demonstrate her true value. She brings a fresh perspective to this investigation, something that is needed. And her technical skills are not inconsiderable, as the past few hours have already proven.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at Besim, and the temperature around us returned to normal.
“I ain’t none too crazy about it,” Deacon grumbled. He crushed his cigarette on the workstation.
“Get used to it,” came my rejoinder.
“C’mon guys,” Leyla said, gesturing angrily at the blank holo-window. “We’ve got more important things going on right now. Think of Vanessa! That poor girl, what they did to her, what she went through! It’s like being raped.”
She fixed me with a gimlet glare.
“Doc, we are going to find these bastards and put them away. Forever.”
“It would appear Vanessa Mallery’s entire life has been violated,” Besim stated, calm and detached. Yet her cheeks were flushed, and I noticed one hand had closed into a fist. Some powerful emotion roiled beneath her placid exterior, and I sensed it was more than simply outrage for our murdered girl.
“Her observation of feeling ‘small’ suggests this occurred when she was young,” Besim continued. Her closed fist relaxed. “Repressed memories from past trauma could explain the dreams, although such a general diagnosis is far from scientific. While cases of repressed memory are common, the memories themselves are not always reliable. An individual might be confused about events, their perception skewed by the emotions they experienced during that time.”
“The memories could’ve been false, or even manipulated in some way,” I supplied. “But the Insight wouldn’t have led me to the cat collar if there wasn’t something important for me to find. Vanessa was convinced her dreams were memories, and I believe her.”
Deacon gave me an appraising look, then glanced at Besim. “Good enough for me.”
That caught me off guard. “It is?”
“Somebody’s gotta trust that gut of yours,” he said. “Otherwise, why the fuck did Mahoney bring you on board?”
“So why now?” I asked, rubbing my temples. “And what triggered it?”
Besim paused to consider.
“The syringe in the dream-memory indicates the use of medication of some kind, perhaps an anesthetic or hormone,” the consultant said. “The pinot noir could have been mixed with a catalyzing agent activating whatever had been done to her previously. However, I suspect more than one stimulus was involved, perhaps even a convergence of different stimuli to create the dream episode rather than a single instance.”
“But you didn’t taste anything in the wine back at her townhouse,” Leyla pointed out.
“True.” Besim nodded. “But it is highly probable the cleaners took the affected bottles, leaving behind clean wine. Detective, we should retrieve the pinot noir from both eyewitnesses’ homes to examine the contents in a laboratory.”
“We still have no idea what they were doing to her, though,” Leyla lamented.
“Well, let’s look at the victim for a moment,” I said, thinking furiously. “There was nothing in her medical record indicating she was ever treated at a hospital. In fact, she’s never had any health problems at all. Stentstrom confirmed she had strong musculature, healthy skin, no surgeries, scars, or blemishes—nothing.”
I leaned forward with hands clasped and forearms on my knees. The comforter slid to the floor. Between the coffee and my rush of theories, my body warmed up.
“This Doctor Ettelman would know a thing or two about that,” Deacon said.
“Vanessa lives alone, no significant others, and her only relative is in New Hollywood, over twenty-five hundred miles away,” I said, nodding in agreement. “She was isolated, the perfect test subject who was under constant observation. Whoever they are, they followed Vanessa’s progress remotely to make sure whatever it was they’d done to her continued to work.”
Tension filled my body, and I knew I was getting closer. I could feel it.
“And Sunday night, ECPD gets an anonymous call about screams in an alleyway. ECPD arrives on the scene to conveniently find two eyewitnesses, zoned on ’joy, claiming to have seen a vampire. The officers soon discover the corpse of a young woman killed by severe lacerations to her neck, consistent with a bite wound. Upon examination by the coroner, it’s confirmed the victim’s body is devoid of blood.”
“No shit,” Leyla railed in frustration. “It’s the one thing that’s out of place. She was murdered in an alleyway by some freaking vampire? What does that have to do with everything else?”
The question hung in the air between us like a dead weight. Leyla was right. The incongruity of it was almost laughable. Why a vampire? What’s so special about that? They’re supernatural creatures from stories and legend, and they feed upon…
“Blood,” I stated. A different brand of cold ran down my spine, raising the hackles on the back of my neck. “It’s her blood.”
Besim’s posture turned rigid.
“Yes, Detective Holliday,” she breathed, her eyes bright with understanding. “Whatever procedure the individuals in her memory were performing involved injection into Vanessa’s bloodstream. Presumably, its effect would impact her metabolism, down to a cellular level. If that is the case, then I would posit Vanessa Mallery was the unwitting participant of a biogenetic experiment. Over time, she has been engineered to the pinnacle of good health.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Deacon chuckled, flicking away ash. “I like science fiction stories about as much as a good proctologist with small hands, but ain’t that a bit much, even for you, Saranda?”
“It’s just one possibility, but it also makes sense,” I said. “Mankind has been trying to eradicate sickness and disease for centuries. But there’s never been such a thing as a universal cure-all.”
“Until now,” Leyla whispered.
“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions yet,” I said, raising a hand. “Still, how many more like Vanessa and her twin are in circulation? Is her twin even in the same condition as Vanessa? Whoever did this was still in the experimental phase, otherwise we’d all have heard about the miracle drug by now.”
I looked over at Besim.
“I need to know who has the capabilities to perform this kind of experiment.”
She considered the request.
“There are several operations within Empire City with the
facilities, personnel and resources who could manage it. More than two dozen in the Northern Hemisphere alone. However, within my circles, I have not heard of such a thing.”
She paused as something occurred to her.
“Detective Holliday, I would also posit her recovered memories and newfound awareness sparked action on the part of those responsible, to eliminate the possibility of revealing this knowledge to not only the authorities, but anyone interested in such an enterprise.”
“She was no longer an experiment,” I stated flatly. “She became a threat.”
“Yeah, but who would do such a despicable thing?” Leyla asked. “And why?”
“Corporations, darlin’,” Deacon growled angrily. “And they don’t give two shits about your sensibilities. To them, it’s all about credits, power and influence. Just imagine how much synthesizing genetically altered blood like this is probably worth. No more sickness. No more disease. It’d be a goddamn medical miracle!”
“It’s enough worth killing for, kiddo,” I added. “All her blood was taken, down to a cellular level. But I’ve got a hard time believing whoever is behind all this has a vampire on the payroll. There has to be another explanation.”
“If the tales of the vampyr are to be believed, then it is possible,” Besim remarked.
“You’re a damn scientist, for chrissakes!” I snapped back. “Aren’t you supposed to be governed by logic and all that?”
“Even your most famous literary detective said, ‘once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth,’” she said.
“Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t have believed in vampires, either,” I countered.
“Well, we do live in interesting times, Holliday,” Deacon quipped. “And Stentstrom confirmed the wound around her neck was caused by something sharp, like fangs.”
I shook my head but didn’t argue.
“I think it’s time we head out,” I said, thoughts of a hot shower and a change into fresh clothes now the furthest thing from my mind.
“Doc, you need to rest,” Leyla admonished. “You look terrible.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “Besides, this temple runs on coffee.”
“And a whole lotta bullshit,” Deacon chuckled.
“That too,” I laughed.
“But we still don’t know who the mysterious ‘they’ are,” Leyla countered.
“And we ain’t going to sitting here.” Deacon cracked his knuckles. “But I think we got a good idea who does.”
“Julie and Tony,” I finished for him. “They’re now accessories to murder.”
Chapter 18
“EVI, who are the two active officers handling the security detail assigned to Julie DeGrassi’s apartment?” I asked aloud as the pod sped along the ’way.
“Accessing,” EVI replied. “Officer Stanley and Sergeant Romero were dispatched to the DeGrassi apartment at twenty-one hundred hours.”
Despite several hours’ worth of repair, EVI remained at a low level of functionality. She’d been unable to identify Vanessa’s twin, either. The ECPD tech staff was having difficulty restoring her, which brought into question the overall benefit of employing a single AI to oversee the day-to-day operations. Based on several inter-department messages I’d read, the proverbial eggs in one basket moment had arrived. The higher-ups weren’t thrilled that a single explosion had crippled our law enforcement, social, and emergency services in one fell swoop. Even the DA weighed in on the subject. Would she get shut down once and for all? ECPD had relied on EVI for a long time, but a situation like today reinforced either the need for better protection of our systems, or the AI’s elimination in favor of something decentralized.
The prospect of losing EVI made me sad. Sure, she’s all circuits and code, but to me, she’d been the one stable constant in my police career, never critical of my life’s choices. I’d miss having her stuffy presence in my head.
“Thanks, sweetie,” I said. “Now connect me to Julie DeGrassi.”
I sipped on my coffee as the line rang several times before Julie’s automated message picked up. After five minutes, I had EVI call again with the same result.
“She could be asleep,” Leyla offered.
“Maybe,” I said. “EVI, patch me through to Romero.”
I knew Nicolas Romero from my days working downtown but didn’t know Stanley at all. Nico never gave me grief during the corruption investigation, which put him on my short list of good people.
After two rings, Romero answered. “Yo, Holliday! Been a while, man. What’s a washed-up, good-for-nothing detective like you doing on this case?”
“I’m like a bad penny, Romero. I always turn up,” I replied with a smile. “How’d you get stuck on protection detail? Lose another bet?”
“You know me and the holo-ponies,” Romero said slyly. “Anyways, I got this kid Stanley here with me. He’s shit at rummy, so I’m makin’ the most of my night.”
“He must be really bad if you’re winning,” I teased. “Listen, I’m on my way over with my team. Be there in about twenty. Just wanted to give you the head’s up. Good to hear your voice, amigo.”
“I’ll keep the cards warm for you,” Romero said. “I always loved takin’ your credits, Tommy.”
We hung up.
With Deacon hovering over her shoulder like some steely-eyed raven, Leyla worked her digital magic on her holo-rig. The small surveillance device lay on the evidence tabletop. Besim sat near the back of the pod, lost in her thoughts.
“How’s it coming?” I asked.
“Just about done,” Leyla replied. “For this to work, I’ll have to reactivate the device to refresh its signal.”
Her fingers were a blur of movement as she created a series of glowing numbers and letters in patterns on the holo-screen that were beyond my puny mortal’s comprehension.
“What about the video feed?” I frowned, pointing at the device’s small camera facing.
“I already removed the lens,” Deacon chuckled. “Whoever’s watching ain’t seeing shit.”
“And the audio?” I asked.
“The inner circuitry’s damn sophisticated,” he replied. “I couldn’t disable the audio without damaging everything else. You do want this to work, right?”
I glanced at the pod wall by the evidence table, opened a small storage cubby and placed the bug inside.
“The cubby’s insulated,” I said. “That’ll muffle the sound. The signal should still pass through.”
“There,” Leyla announced, tapping two holo-keys in quick succession. “Hopefully, we’ll get a hit in the next few hours.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence. Leyla dozed in her chair, head lolling from side to side as the pod made a turn or was jostled by a gust of wind. Deacon stared out the window, a shadowy silhouette cloaked in wispy smoke. Besim appeared to be meditating. I was wired, my mind overflowing with burning questions for the two eyewitnesses. There were still too many holes, although our theory that Vanessa was an unwitting guinea pig in some biogenetic experiment to produce a magic master cure explained a few things.
I failed to imagine a world where sickness and disease no longer existed. It was just too good to be true. And even if someone had discovered it, the socio-economic fallout would be disastrous. I doubted the finished product would be something you only needed to take one time, either. That’s not how industries like big pharma made mountains of credits. Whether they manufactured real medicine or a placebo, the perception the product could fix whatever ailed you was just as important as the actual cure itself.
Of course, this wasn’t something new. Most people in Empire City, hell, anywhere for that matter, were more interested in a quick fix so they could get back to whatever it was they were doing before they got sick. I envisioned thousands of people selling everything they owned to buy this mysterious cure-all, followed by protests and riots, and culminating in a bloody revolution to overthr
ow the establishment.
Okay, so maybe I was exaggerating a little bit there. Still, the idea one mega-corporation controlling a product that everyone might want frightened me a lot. Who wouldn’t want to live a life free from illness? Some people were desperate enough they’d do just about anything to get their hands on it.
But what if we were wrong?
My thoughts shifted to Vanessa and her mysterious twin. How long had this been going on? Vanessa was twenty-five years old. Her parents had died when she was young. The elusive Aunt Jennifer raised her, then moved to New Hollywood. Yet, there were no photos of her in Vanessa’s brownstone. Did the woman even exist? Or was she some fiction fabricated by those responsible to establish the illusion of a family member for Vanessa to create a sense of normalcy? The insidious manipulation of Vanessa’s life was heartbreaking. Had everything about her past been a lie?
Vanessa believed it to be real until the memories resurfaced and things unraveled. Now she was dead, the price for learning the truth. This hadn’t been some random killing. It was premeditated, a calculated action on the part of someone who valued their secrecy above the life of one innocent girl. Even the manner of her death was disturbing. Hell, they stole Vanessa’s body right out of the damn morgue in broad daylight! The inhumanity and arrogance of it all sickened me.
As I watched the liquid light of the city streak past, my stomach twisted into knots.
Julie and Tony had a lot to answer for, of that I was certain. Even if they were unwitting accomplices, I knew they possessed critical knowledge that could blow this case wide open.
“Detective Holliday, we have arrived,” EVI announced. “Outdoor temperature is thirty-six degrees, with rain, moderate wind gusts out of the east, and fog.”
I woke Leyla with a light touch to her shoulder.
“Huh?” Leyla gave me a bleary-eyed look. “Oh, okay. Let’s go.”
I kept my hand on her shoulder.
“No, kiddo,” I instructed in a gentle voice. “I want you to stay in the pod and keep an eye on that program of yours. The minute it finds something, contact me, okay?”