by Nicole Kurtz
“I know you’re disappointed in me,” she said, her eyes moving to my face and searching it. “I never meant to let you down, girl, I was just so, so hammered by the fact she was gone. I got lost, you know, in her disappearance and then her death…”
“Personal cases,” I said. I drank some of my coffee and took another bite of my toast. “Eat, Jane. It happens to everyone.”
She nodded numbly and took a piece of toast from the plate. With swift swipes of the knife she’d jellied her toast. She took a big bite, getting jelly in the corners of her mouth.
Patience was my goal today and I waited for Jane to finish eating. I had another piece of toast, and Jane had two more in that same time frame. Our plate finally littered with crumbs and rogue spots of jelly, Jane sighed once more as if to talk was an exhausting task.
She said, “She called all upset and crying.”
I nodded, nursing my coffee.
“I couldn’t understand her at first. Once I got her calmed down, she said her boyfriend had broken up with her because of her mother. Well, I knew Aunt Belle hated Nathan. Who else could it have been? Mandy had insisted and talked Nathan up as the boyfriend for so long, how was I to know it was Hanson? I didn’t even question it.”
I shrugged. I didn’t expect her to know it was Hanson or to think it was anyone else but Nathan. But Jane’s questions were rhetorical, not intended for me. So, I sipped more of my coffee and listened.
“…And I asked her if Aunt Belle threw her out or if she left on her own. She said that Aunt Belle called her a whore and she couldn’t take it any more. Could she come and stay with me?”
Jane’s voice took on that far away sadness that comes from thinking back over your actions and regretting them. Hanson had the same tone in his voice when he spoke about his breakup with Amanda. Now that the girl was dead, everyone wanted to do something different about their actions.
But life doesn’t have a restart button.
“I couldn’t let her stay with me. I kept thinking about how that case with the Change nearly got your sister and your niece killed. I didn’t want that for Mandy. What if we got a hot case and they blew up my apartment or shot out my windows and killed her? So, I told her she needed to go home and to work things out with her mother. Can you believe that? I totally sounded like an adult, not like her friend or even her family. I could’ve taken her for a few weeks, you know, until Aunt Belle simmered down. If only I’d done that, she would have been somewhat safe, alive…”
“Jane, you did what you thought was right at the time,” I said. “How could you, heck, how could anyone have known that Amanda would be killed? If you had some mystic vision, you would have done something different to save her. But we don’t have that kind of power.”
She nodded, but her eyes held a glassy look. She signaled to O’Shea for another round of coffee and he came, removed our plate and vanished back behind the bar. “I was supposed to be there for her, and I wasn’t. She kept saying that night that her Zenith vision showed water, cold icy water…”
“So, you knew she was using Zenith?”
Jane’s head snapped up as her eyes eagerly sought mine. “No, but, but I suspected it. She called it a waking vision and deep down, you know inside, I knew it was Zenith.”
“And you didn’t ask?” I asked, my voice soft, non-judgmental.
Jane croaked out a “no. I—I didn’t want to know. You understand? I didn’t…”
“Regardless, you were there for her. You answered her call, gave her advice and listened to her. This wasn’t your fault. Her own mother didn’t listen the way you did, Jane,” I said, trying to put Jane back in the game. The situation with Amanda was much too complex for one person to shoulder the blame for chasing her out of the house and into the waiting arms of death. In fact, the only person to blame was the person who shot, raped, and killed her.
Jane gave me a smile, and said, “Yeah, well, little girls aren’t supposed to die that way, Cyb. Anyway, there you have it. That’s her telemonitor call in a nutshell. A couple days later, I got another telemonitor call from Aunt Belle telling me that Amanda was missing.”
“And the rest we know is history in the making,” I said with a final draining gulp from my cup.
O’Shea arrived and filled up our empty mugs. He grunted and sauntered off.
“She didn’t come to D.C., then where did she go after she called you?” I asked.
Jane shrugged with a sigh. “I dunno.”
We sat that way, thinking about the many facets of this case and where Amanda would go when she had no one else. Who was her best friend?
“Nathan,” I said.
Jane looked up, puzzled. “Yeah, I’ll follow him tonight to see if he and Aunt Belle are together.”
“No, not that. Who else would Amanda go to? She’d go to him. Tom said that they’d been friends forever. When she needed a cover to hide her relationship with Tom, she used Nathan. When she needed a Zenith fix, she went to Nathan…”
“And when she needed someplace to hide, she went to Nathan,” Jane said. “Christ, Cybil, he told me that she left his house to go to the embankment where we found her body!”
I smacked my forehead in disbelief. I’ve known about it this whole time, but have left that tiny piece of information in my handheld buried under other notes.
“Nathan must’ve killed her,” Jane whispered.
“He was definitely infuriated at the charity ball when I mentioned that she wasn’t really his girlfriend and how he might have been jealous of Hanson or tired of waiting for her to pick him, so he killed her.”
Jane stood up and tossed a currency carddown on the table for breakfast. It landed with a smack. “Let’s go find him and ask.”
I took another sip from my cup of steaming coffee and said, “What else we going to do today?”
We stopped by the rental room in order to drop off Jane’s aerocycle so that I could drive the wauto. Feeling a little lightly prepared, I went into the room to pick up my laser gun 350. Hanson had returned it. Jane clicked on the telemonitor, and the mid-morning edition was on. Roberta Rodriguez still worked the counter as news anchor, her slick, black hair tied up in a bun with a few strands spilling down her to her shoulders.
“In other news, the Memphis Regulators are seeking any information that will lead to the whereabouts of Regulator Derrick Jameson. Jameson, a relatively new member of the force, has been missing since Monday night. He was last seen at the benefit for Mayor Christensen’s daughter, Amanda.”
“What?” I asked, as I looked away from the bedside stand to the telemonitor, my gun in my hand. With a quick shove, I placed it in my shoulder holster and glanced at Jane who was as transfixed by the news as I.
“…If you have any information regarding the disappearance of Regulator Derrick Jameson, call the MR hotline at 555-555-6891…” Roberta said briskly before moving on to other news. “In other news, the society for the better treatment of robots has petitioned the local quadrant government…”
“Derrick Jameson is missing,” I said, thinking back to the last time I saw Derrick.
“What’s it to us?” Jane said casually. “Let’s go find his partner.”
The buzzing of the telemonitor interrupted us. I clicked it on and Captain Hanson’s haggard face appeared.
He seemed worst for wear, his face a sick reddish color. Deep creases etched themselves across his forehead. He was definitely looking his age today.
“Cybil, have you been in contact with Derrick Jameson?” he asked, his voice strong, but quivering slightly.
“Not since the fundraiser the other night,” I said, sitting down on the bed. “I heard the news. He’s missing…”
Captain Hanson cleared his throat and said, “Well, uh, that seems to be the case. We can’t find him.”
“What does that mean?” I stood close to the telemonitor. “What do you mean we?”
“He’s missing, well, officially missing. It’s been forty-eight hours and
he didn’t report in for nightshift. We’ve been by his home and no one’s there. I’ve contacted his relatives and they have not seen him either.”
“Could be that he’s late,” I said, knowing in my gut that this felt wrong. Derrick wasn’t late for work. “Maybe skipped town?”
“Yes, well, that might be, but he’s never been late before,” Captain Hanson said, his face reddening. “Been two days. Of course there is a first time for everything.”
Hanson clicked off.
We headed out. Although it was my wauto, Jane drove us downtown to Nathan Martindale’s house. We reached the decrepit neighborhood within half an hour, but my thoughts were still back in our rental room.
Where was Derrick Jameson?
Derrick was a bit of a jerk, but he was a hard, rigid man for regulations and rules, even if those rules came from a wicked book. I wondered if his dealings with Nathan had somehow gotten him killed or buried under someone’s new house.
Jane sat us down in the cluttered yard and in the broken paved driveway. She was out of the vehicle before I could even ask her how we were going to approach Nathan. I followed her out of the vehicle and stood at the steps.
She rang the bell, her boots tapping impatiently on the porch.
No answer.
Nathan’s aerocycle wasn’t parked anywhere near the house. I scanned the deserted lane and didn’t see any aerocycles at all.
“He’s not here, Jane,” I said, but she didn’t seem to hear me.
She rang the bell again, but no one answered.
After several more attempts, Jane finally sighed and gave a sort of strangled growl of frustration. “Where is he?”
“It’s the day shift, perhaps he’s working overtime,” I said, glancing down at my watch. It was fifteen till noon. “Or he could be out searching for his long lost partner.”
Jane smirked. “Yeah. Sure he is…”
“Let’s go check out his job,” Jane said, her hands clutched into tense fists.
“Sure,” I said as I climbed back into the passenger seat. As Jane sat down, I entered the address coordinates for regulator headquarters. I could see the numbers in my head; I’d been there twice already. It seemed I could recall the details of headquarters better than I could the items in my apartment at the moment.
The murky Memphis sky painted the landscape in bluish shadows and bleak buildings. Below us, the sidewalks lay undisturbed and the only movement came from the wind as it whipped through alleys and wrought iron fences. Who knew it rained so much in the city of blues?
“He’ll probably be out looking for Derrick. Or with any luck, we’ll catch him before he leaves.”
Jane shrugged. “I know his usual router. We’ll find him.”
Fury slithered under her words and tone. Nathan had a lot of explaining to do. The odds leaned toward him as Amanda’s killer, but I couldn’t shake the amount of pity I felt for him. That pity came from my gut. Hunches and impressions that burst from there usually were dead-on accurate, with or without evidence. I thought back to the first time I met him, sitting down on that ripped and scarred piece of porch. He spoke of Amanda with love and a deep loss that seemed to slice right into the center of his heart.
I believe then that he loved her unconditionally and without judgment. Something Amanda rarely received at home or from her lover, Hanson.
So why kill her?
Why would he kill the sole person who believed in him? Was the cut into the Raymen Cartel’s Zenith business worth enough to exchange for Amanda’s life?
My gut was rumbling a solid no.
Jane flew over to headquarters in minutes. She stepped out into the cool, garbage-scented air and said, “Creepy.”
Indeed headquarters resembled a creepy, something-out-of-Frankenstein- building that thanks to its few lights only added to its eeriness. Only a few illuminated ancient windows spilled arcs of watery circles onto the sidewalk.
“Let’s do it,” I said, walking past her and up the steps.
She followed, her hand on her knife. I didn’t have time to tell her to leave it.
The security regs confiscated Jane’s knife and I moved up to the information desk that Herman manned during the daylight business hours.
At this time of the day, Herman went to lunch and a robust blonde, named Sherry began to watch over the foyer for that hour.
“Wha’ can I do for ya, hon?” she asked, her puffy eyes drifted over the desk’s edge and down to me. She leaned on the desk, her arms squished beneath her overflowing bosom.
“I’m here to see Nathan Martindale,” I said with a smile. Honey, honey opens more doors than vinegar, my grandmother used to say.
“You press?” she asked, her blue eyes searching over my outfit, looking for cameras, recorders or other devices that security may have missed.
“No,” Jane said, her voice hard like flint. “Martindale. Where is he?”
Sherry reared back as if slapped and pointed with a somewhat shaky finger to her right, our left. “Follow da signs to da narcotics unit. His desk is marked.”
Jane didn’t smile as she led the way back to the narcotics unit. She felt for her knife, remembered that it lay in a pile at the checked in articles cage at the front of the building.
At the end of a rather short corridor lay a room that contained roughly twenty-two desks, each with a telemonitor linked to a laptop computer. Some were decorated with rotating pictures, coffee mugs and electronic calendars, while others lay decorated only with cds and disks.
As soon as we entered, we found three narcotics regs huddled in a small group towards the rectangular whiteboards at the front of the room. All over the walls were maps, diagrams and flowcharts of the Memphis Quadrant. On the right hand wall, before the whiteboards, were mounted jpgs files of violators that rotated every minute in a slideshow of wanted rogues.
“Hey Jane!” shouted a thick-necked hunk of a man from the trio at the front of the room. He wore a fitted azure shirt and his badge swung from his neck on a black rope.
Jane stopped scanning the desks’ nameplates and glanced up. “Johnson!”
She met him halfway between the whiteboard and the rear. They shook hands briefly. She turned back to me and said, “Cybil, this is Regulator Johnson. Avid aerocycle fan and a very good regulator. Knows everything and anything about Zenith and Ackback.”
I shook his enormous, meaty hand. He had to be at least six feet nine or so. His turquoise shirt hugged his chest and his hardened muscles. He flashed me a rather bright smile before saying to Jane, “Listen, Jane, if you’re here to talk to Martindale…”
He moved further away from the front, taking Jane by the shoulder and lowering his voice. They bent their heads together.
I gravitated with them.
The doors to narc unit slid open as Captain Hanson strolled in, dressed in a gray suit that accentuated his hair. He wore a grim expression. He saw me immediately and slowed until he reached me.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his eyes bloodshot. “How did you know he was working a double shift?”
“Looking for Martindale,” I said, a little miffed at his tone. “I didn’t know he was working a double.”
“Captain!” one of the regs called a short man with a round afro.
“One second,” Hanson hissed. His voice stiff, but still authoritative. He turned back to me. “Nathan is on suspension, starting today.”
“Why?” I asked, tension quickly flooding the air. The two regulators hovered, their arms crossed over their chests, above the two guns that each had slung over his hips. One cleared his throat loudly.
Hanson glimpsed Johnson whispering to Jane and said, “Johnson.”
Startled, Johnson stopped whispering, saw Hanson, and left to rejoin the group. Hanson stalked off from me and joined the men. His voice rose above the silence and I caught about every third word or so.
“Day shift already heard….” said one of the regulators.
“…Martindale…for�
��from the ….locker,” Hanson said. He tossed me a quick look before continuing, trying to lower his voice even more. “…Derrick…may…”
“Well now,” Jane whispered from behind me, spooking me. “Pow wows are fun. Come on, I’ve got someone we should see.”
I turned around and followed her out of the room. Questions buzzed about in my mind, but I kept them to myself for now. Who did Jane want to see? Did Johnson tip her off with more information?
Jane wore her I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile as she opened the doors labeled locker room.
She skipped over the fourth set of metal lockers and seated in his black regulator pants and a dingy, once-white tee-shirt was Nathan Martindale. Locker number five-sixteen was opened and a hand-size rectangular mirror reflected the overhead lights.
“What do you want now?” Nathan asked as he pulled back his curly hair into a snug ponytail. “I’ve gotta report in five minutes. I’m late as is. Working a double.”
Jane snarled, her anger once again up front and center. “We won’t keep you.”
“Nathan, I have a couple of questions,” I said, taking a seat beside him on the bench.
“Ask, but I’ve gotta go,” he said with a sigh as he pulled on his long-sleeved turquoise shirt, the Memphis Quadrant crest on the shoulder.
“Did you pick up Amanda from her mother’s mansion the last night she was seen?”
He buttoned his shirt without answering.
Jane paced behind him, cracking her knuckles. “You deaf?”
Finally after the last button had been done, he said, “Okay. Yeah, I picked her up. Mandy was cryin’. Her and that bitch of a momma got into it.” He shrugged. “Her momma had busted up Mandy’s relationship with, well, you know.”
He fastened the buttons on the cuffs and said, “That it?”
Jane punched a locker behind him. Nathan jumped and scooted away from her. He quickly glanced down at his arm.
“No, that ain’t it by half,” she barked.
Nathan peered at her before saying to me, “The rest you know. I took her to the bank, her favorite spot. Then I left her there. She-she said she’d get a ride back home after she cooled off.”