Neon Revenge

by Graeme J Greenan

  Reid blinked failing to grasp the Proxy’s meaning. He stuttered, trying to find words that weren’t there. The Proxy held up a finger and stepped closer to the investigator, their noses inches apart. Marr was struggling with the cologne from where he stood, he had no idea how Reid’s eyes weren’t, at the very least, streaming. He must not have a very good sense of smell, Marr thought. Or worse still, he didn’t actually mind the acrid aroma.

  “The woman couldn’t have just waltzed past half of the SPD unnoticed, could she now?” Faulks brought a hand up to his chin and closed his eyes, as though in deep thought. Marr knew where he was going with this. “…Unless she had inside help,” he said, opening his eyes, his accusatory glare boring into the investigator.

  Reid took a few moments before the Proxy’s meaning dawned on him. He stumbled back, the blood draining from his face. “Now hold on a minute. With all due respect, Proxy, I had nothing to do with this. I left Hall to finish the final sweep as I was going to view the CCTV footage.”

  “Footage that had been checked several times already, by you most of all. I’ve read the reports from at least a dozen who were at the scene.” Faulks turned away from the exasperated investigator and took a seat behind his desk. Marr noticed Faulks press a call button under his desk, before resting his hands on the varnished oak. He leaned forward. “Six months we’ve been chasing a ghost. That little bitch has slipped through our fingers at every turn. It wouldn’t stretch the imagination to suspect one of her ‘ex-colleagues’ had reached out to help her, especially one as close to our Inner-Sanctum as you. In fact, it would make perfect sense.”

  Alon Reid glanced to Marr for support, but Marr merely stared back impassively. He was interested in what Reid had to say for himself. The accusation could be believable, if not for the fact it was directed at a man like Reid. He was useful enough as an asset, but Marr didn’t think he had the bottle – or the brains – to get involved with the woman.

  Reid managed to find enough self-dignity to look outraged at the Proxy’s accusation. He pointed a shaking finger at the Proxy. “You’re fucking crazy. You’re grasping at straws, looking for someone to blame; a fall-guy; a name to give to the press.” Reid pulled his badge from inside his jacket and threw it onto the floor. Marr found himself instinctively reaching down for his firearm. “I’ll have no more of this shit; I’m done. Find some other fool to blame for your short-comings.”

  Marr fully expected Faulks to lose it. As long as Marr had known the Proxy, the only people who spoke to him with as much disrespect as Reid had just done, generally weren’t long for this earth. He watched with fascination, awaiting the Proxy’s internal fuse to disintegrate completely. Surprisingly, the Proxy simply smiled, his gaze slowly resting on Reid’s badge. To Marr, the smile seemed worse than a fit of rage.

  Realising he’d crossed a line, never to return, Reid marched away from them, towards the door. It opened before he reached it. Reid made a choking whimper at the sight of two of the Proxy’s ‘Bleeders’; chief interrogators of enemies of the state. They were garbed in red, except for the black surgical masks covering their mouths. Reid backed away from them, almost stumbling. He turned back to Faulks; his face contorted in a grimace.

  “You don’t have to do this. I haven’t been aiding that fucking lunatic.” He fell on Faulks’ desk, his hands clasped as though in prayer. “Please, I beg of you. I’m telling the tr…”

  One of the Bleeders shot Reid with a tranquillizer dart. It found its mark on Reid’s neck. He spasmed and drooled on Faulks’ desk before falling to the ground unconscious. Without a word, the Bleeders took a leg each and dragged the investigator from the room.

  “Was that really necessary? He’s not the most competent at his job, I’ll admit, but do you think he has the guile to carry that off for six months? He’d struggle to keep his shit together for six hours.” Marr said, breaking what had become an uncomfortable silence.

  Faulks stared at him with what looked like amusement. “It matters not either way. As much as this fuck-up has been a disaster, it’s provided me with an opportunity to rid myself of one more annoyance.”

  Marr nodded. He didn’t really know Reid, but he still hoped his interrogation didn’t cause too much lasting damage. He made a mental note to oversee the interrogation, Reid could still prove useful. “I’m here about Reid’s subordinate, Hall, the one who discovered the presence of the woman. It would appear she’s found something of worth at the crime-scene.”

  “What? How?”

  “I was alerted to a DNA search on the SPD database. I always like to keep tabs on our finest…”

  “…yes, yes, very good. Has she been sniffing where she shouldn’t?” Faulks snapped.

  “The woman appeared to have left a piece of herself at the Trammel building during her first visit. A trace of blood on a piece of glass. She obviously took our bait about the pin and the possibility of ‘sensitive information’. One of the forensic officers walked in on the two of them, alone. It’s possible the woman caught Hall procuring the evidence and made an attempt to relieve her of it. Luckily the forensic officer interrupted the stand-off, forcing the woman to run… though he received a bloody nose for his trouble,” Marr said, his expression darkening. “What I find concerning, is that our intrepid young police investigator has negated to report it to Reid. In fact, she’s already run it through the system, without pre-approval from Reid.”

  Faulks slammed his fist on the desk. “That fucking Reid. That was the reason we placed that bastard in charge of this investigation; to oversee all progress and sweep anything under the carpet which may prove toxic to our presence within Sanctum-One.” He paused, struggling to keep his temper in check. “How much does she know?”

  Marr sighed and shook his head. “Not much. I red-taped as much of the file as I could without raising too many eyebrows. But she’s no doubt aware the woman used to be an investigator. If I know her type, she’ll keep digging until she finds something we don’t want her to see.”

  “We’ll need to get rid of her. Send a team to her apartment and dispose of her quickly and discreetly,” Faulks said, waving a hand.

  Marr pursed his lips and shook his head, his expression dubious. “It’s not like before. The press are all over this. Murdering an investigator, especially one involved in this case, would be counter-productive. We’ll have to approach this from a different angle,” Marr said.

  “Then do what is necessary. Go; keep me updated. The sooner we find the woman – or her body at least – and tie up any loose ends the better.”

  XX

  It was pouring down when Hall finally left the station. It ran down the concrete steps, flowing towards the drains that were nestled at the foot of the kerb. Due to the curfew, the street was quiet; the glow of the streetlights gave the road a glistening sheen as the heavy drops bounced up in great sprays, like a firework display made entirely of water. She stood under the canopy – below the SPD station sign – and looked ruefully to what she was wearing; clearly not adequate for the torrential downpour. She would be soaked through to the bone before she got halfway to her cruiser which was quite a bit down the street.

  Sighing at the inevitability of looking like a drowned rat, she made a dash down the steps and sprinted towards her cruiser, kicking up great rivulets as she went. She reached her cruiser and spent a few frustrating moments fishing through her pockets in search of her key. Finally finding it, she unlocked the cruiser and climbed inside, wincing as she realised she hadn’t put anything down to protect the seat from her wet backside.

  She began to laugh in spite of herself as she placed her index finger on the dash, starting the cruiser; its electric engine kicked into life, humming gently.

  She pulled out and made for home, via the city centre, leaving her failed attempts to make further ground on the case behind her. She lived in an apartment complex on the south side of the city, at this hour it wouldn’t take too long, maybe half an hour.

  After she had d
iscovered the identity of the woman, she’d made several attempts to bypass the restriction on the woman’s file, using some dubious hacks she’d picked up from colleagues at the academy. It had all been in vain. It wasn’t the same as infiltrating a low-life drugs pusher, or an embezzling trader, skimming off the top. This was SPD encrypted firewalls, developed by the best in the game.

  She knew she was at a dead-end before she’d tried, but the image of those cold, blue eyes staring at her from over the shoulder of one of her fellow officers spurred her on regardless. The thought of their stand-off made her feel sick. The feeling brought on shame and anger, not at the woman, but at herself. She was trained for this.

  As of yet, Reid hadn’t returned her calls. She’d lost count of the number of messages she’d left and she was beginning to get a little worried. It wasn’t that she’d known him for years, or they were close friends, but this was the first time he hadn’t answered a voicemail from her outside of thirty minutes. From what she knew, he didn’t have much of a social life; he had no wife or kids; he didn’t meet other investigators for drinks. Policework seemed to be his life.

  She shook her head. She was being stupid. Tomorrow, she’d walk into the office and find out there had been a breakthrough in the case, or he’d been called to some other problem from another department. These were all plausible explanations, but the pragmatic part of her brain told her he would have called to let her know he’d been temporarily absconded to another unit.

  She felt weary; the day’s toil finally catching up to her, seeping into her muscles. She longed for sleep, but at the same time felt the temptation to ditch the cruiser at a convenient location, enter a bar and get shit-faced, but with the curfew, she would have to settle for drinking herself to sleep within the comfort of her own home.

  She navigated her cruiser through the city in brooding silence, her mind constantly fighting with the anxiety that came with inexperience, a cold knot in her stomach which refused to untangle no matter how many times she reassured herself she was doing fine.

  Blue lights flashed ahead pulling her back to reality. She squinted at its harsh glare, slowing her cruiser to stop in front of a police cordon. She’d been so wrapped up with worry and inner-turmoil, she hadn’t realised she’d been driving towards the Freedom Bridge. Two uniforms approached; their body language guarded – understandable given it was after curfew. She noticed she’d also forgot to place her SPD cruiser badge on the windscreen.

  She slid the window down, cursing as the wind whipped the rain inside the cruiser, though it mattered, she was soaked through already.

  She opened her mouth to explain herself, when one of the officers suddenly leaned in close, his face wet and red from the adverse weather. “You’re out well past curfew, mam. The bridge is currently out of commission due to an ongoing investigation.” His breath reeked of garlic, an unpleasantness that matched his demeanour. He cast an irritated glance at her cruiser. “So, what I suggest you do, is drive this heap of shit back the way you came and I’ll forget I saw you.” He leaned in closer. “Unless you want me to book you for obstructing Sanctum mandate.”

  Hall’s blood boiled with rage. After the day she’d had, she would be damned if she was going to be spoken to like a piece of shit by some cantankerous flat-foot, clearly displeased with his late-night cordon duty. She pulled out her badge and pressed it roughly against the officer’s bulbous nose. “Is that so, officer?” she said, adding extra emphasis on every syllable of his rank. “Well, I suggest you get your facts straight before running your mouth off at a superior officer. Now get your fucking pumpkin-shaped head out of my ‘heap’ before I book you for insubordination.”

  The officer, not expecting this response, pulled his head back a fraction and lowered his gaze to her homicide investigator badge. He gulped visibly. Over his shoulder Hall spotted his partner turn with a smirk spread across his face; the sight of his colleague being dressed down in such a manner was obviously too much for him to bear without bursting into hysterics.

  “S…s…sorry, mam, we weren’t expecting homicide back tonight. If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to the crime scene,” he spluttered.

  Hall leaned out the window and looked up at the heavens. “Not without a fucking overcoat; it’s pissing down,” she snapped. “Do you have a spare?”

  He began to nod emphatically, suddenly eager to jump at the opportunity to climb out of the hole he’d dug for himself. He ran off to wherever his police vehicle was situated, almost tripping over in his haste.

  She caught the beaming expression still plastered across the other officer’s features. “Something amusing, officer?” she asked, finally failing to hide the humour from her tone.

  The officer coughed in an effort to compose himself. “No, mam. It’s just… we don’t have a spare overcoat in our cruiser,” he said, laughing. “Though, I think the rest of my shift with him will be less tedious. Do you want a loan of mine?”

  Hall shook her head. “It’s alright, my coat’s on the backseat.”

  The officer chuckled, shaking his head in the direction of his partner. He looked familiar but she couldn’t place the face – due to most of it being covered by his waterproof hood.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?” she asked.

  He took a step towards her, his eyebrows rising in recognition. “Veronica?”

  She smiled, recognising a fellow academy colleague. It was Charlie Deacon. She’d studied with him at the academy. They were separated when she’d put in for investigator evaluations. The last time she’d spoken to him was the day they had both graduated. Despite having spent a lot of time in his company at the academy, once students were assigned the training for their respective posts, segregation was inevitable; Hall had chosen Investigator; Deacon had been happy with the uniform. It was a shame because she liked him. “Investigator Hall now,” she said.

  Deacon nodded, eliciting a whistle. “I’d heard you’d passed the homicide module, after graduation. I didn’t think they’d send you to the deep end so soon.”

  You don’t know the half of it, she said internally. “It would appear so,” she said. She could feel the stress and anxiety, which had been temporarily alleviated from the altercation with Deacon’s partner, begin to resurface. She pushed the feelings to the back of her mind – wait until I’m halfway down the bottle of scotch, she thought.

  She realised Deacon was staring at her. Had he asked her a question? “Sorry, what?”

  “I said what brings you down here? I thought homicide was done with the bridge. I heard you guys were moving down to the river and the park when it gets light.” He paused, turning to look out towards the bridge. “Though if you ask me, you won’t find the suspect.”

  Hall raised an eyebrow, finding herself a little irritated with his attitude; accepting defeat, that they wouldn’t catch her. “What makes you say that?”

  He whistled, shaking his head. “I saw him… earlier, on the bridge. Standing on the bonnet of the stolen cruiser, shooting at our guys, then…” He made a motion with his hand signifying the woman’s descent off the bridge and into the river. “…never seen anything like it. I mean how do you catch that?”

  Hall furrowed her brows. “How do you know he’s not dead?” she asked, negating to correct his assumption it was a man they were hunting. She didn’t want to be the one to let slip sensitive information to the lower ranks – she had enough shit on her plate at the moment.

  He shrugged. “Could be, I doubt it though. We’ve dredged the river on either side. We found the cruiser but there was nobody near it. We’re gonna work our way down the river tomorrow; follow its flow.”

  They were interrupted by Deacon’s partner bounding over to them without a spare overcoat. He was panting hard, worry etched across his huge head. “I’m really sorry, mam, we don’t have a spare. You could borrow mine, I don’t mind at all,” he said, nervously.

  Hall smiled at the bedraggled officer, her mind already on the bottle o
f scotch at home in need of some company. “It’s alright, it can wait until morning. See you around Deacon,” she said, leaving the two officers alone in the rain.

  ~

  Marr waited a good ten minutes after Hall’s cruiser had left, before driving over to the cordon. The two officers who’d spoken to Veronica Hall ran over to his window. He rolled it down and showed them his identification. “Banks, special investigation department.” Banks was one of several pseudonyms he used for fieldwork. He pointed in the direction of the departed investigator. “The officer you were just talking to? What did she want?”

  “What do you mean, sir?” the younger of the two asked.

  “It’s a simple fucking question, son,” Marr barked. From the way this one had spoken to Hall, Marr surmised he probably knew her – possibly from the academy.

  “Bit fucking testy, that one.” The larger of the two said. “Must be on her fucking period or something.”

  Marr didn’t have time for idiocy. He reached out and grabbed the young officer by the collar and pulled him close. “Are you going to answer me or am I going to have to beat it out of you. I don’t have time for fucking games from two flat-foots. What did she want?”