When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

  “Courtnall and Espinoza.”

  Kendrick’s eyes went wide open.

  “You took those things from…”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah—now I see it. You heard they got nailed and figured they wouldn’t need the sticks and chips anymore. Once they were safely locked up, you went scrounging around in their secret places, eh?”

  “Like I said, I knew where to look,” Ricky replied. “I went out there with a friend when I was starting the hustle years ago. I watched and remembered where they keep their most valuable shit.”

  “After our investigators combed through that building for hours?”

  “They missed a few things.”

  “Yeah, I guess they did. And Mr. Fellsbach knew what it meant, didn’t he?”

  “I thought he’d be able to help me find a buyer.”

  “That’s what the loud voices were about?”

  “He told me to put the stuff back and forget about it. He knew their trial was going to be rigged.”

  “A lot of people knew, but he saved your ass by turning you down; you understand that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re either a very brave man, or an ignorant, damned fool. Ben Courtnall has people who would dismember you in broad daylight for pulling a stunt like that. Lucky boy, putting all that loot back where it belongs, aren’t you?”

  He turned to her at once.

  “I can’t stop you, but telling your investigators about this will get me killed if those two bastards ever hear about it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’d be more than happy to make an example of you, but I don’t care about Courtnall or Espinoza; your little secret is safe, Richard. Anyway, that’s enough for now. If I have other questions, I’ll be in touch.”

  When Kendrick went quickly up the alley, Ricky waited and watched her go. It was unlikely she would reveal the truth about the stolen items to her colleagues, but there were no guarantees. Again, he felt the dull ache behind his eyes—the sudden pain of Elden’s death was now compounded by new worries Maela Kendrick brought to his door.

  Ricky’s life returned to the hustle, but commerce ebbed suddenly as public interest in his Walk began to fade. To his relief, as the gawkers moved on to other, more immediate diversions, his days and nights were concerned mostly with drumming up new customers. After the successful (and expensive) relocation of Helene into the new apartments off Jefferson Avenue, Ricky no longer suffered Litzi’s scorn and disappointment. She wondered, as Mrs. Abber had, why he chose to remain in his modest quarters near Morrissey Square, given the comfortable income he now enjoyed. Ricky reminded her of those days when his grand apartment downtown—and the trap of living to excess—pushed him inexorably to the unfortunate conclusion of his Walk.

  Outside, Behavior Regulators occasionally positioned snitches at the corner of the alley where it met Rademacher Way, but Ricky could bypass them easily through the space between Mrs. Abber’s apartment and the vacant tool shop next door. A short walk across the rutted field beyond, circling north to the Square unseen, always worked. Surprisingly, loitering informants never thought to look and after a few weeks, frustrated Regulators abandoned the idea.

  In the late summer heat, Ricky’s most pressing concern was keeping herd meat frozen after delivery from the Agros. Clients had neither the means nor the interest to do so themselves, and shipments often made a blood-colored mess that could only be eliminated when the prized slabs were taken quickly to freezers near the border. Novum’s ruling powers openly frowned on the practice of eating animal products, but no legislation against ever made it through the Assembly intact. Expense and availability were the only real deterrents to their widespread consumption, which clearly suited hustlers like Ricky who relied on rarity for a good portion of their earnings.

  With his old ways at Reece Street made pariah by the Walk and safely consigned to the past, Ricky went slowly and gratefully back to a life of anonymity. The network reporters decided his story couldn’t be pushed sufficiently without direct commentary, leaving him at last to his solitude. It seemed ironic that he would relish a new status of faceless obscurity, since so much of his time and money had been wasted in a desperate bid to become a ‘somebody,’ yet he felt better with each day than he had before. Visits to Helene’s new flat were more frequent and an uncomfortable estrangement from Litzi was mended by simply calling her and connecting the way a brother and sister should. At last, Ricky thought, he would be free to make his way without turmoil and worry and it remained so until a call bleeped into his wrist comm during a visit to catch up with Mrs. Abber.

  The code number looked familiar as Ricky sat forward, but without a corresponding name to identify the caller, he waited until three blinks on the indicator announced a message waited within.

  “A customer?” she asked.

  “Maybe,” he replied. “I don’t recognize the number.”

  Ricky thumbed through the call log for the code identifier, stopping at last when the name appeared in his comm unit’s tiny screen: Kendrick, Maela R.

  “Damn it!” he said aloud.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s back.”

  “Who’s back?”

  “Kendrick; that MPE detective I told you about.”

  Mrs. Abber knew what it meant.

  “Something’s come up in the investigation?”

  Ricky shook his head with a frown and said, “I guess so, but I haven’t seen anything on the vids, so they’re obviously still at it.”

  She sat beside him as he listened to the recording. Kendrick said little, but her voice was clearly agitated when she asked for a second meeting.

  He tapped the reply icon and waited until she answered.

  “Mills?”

  “I just got your message; is there something new?”

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “I was just about to jump in the shower, but go ahead.”

  “Not on an open line. I can be there in half an hour; is that all right?”

  “Sure.”

  The link closed abruptly and Ricky frowned at Kendrick’s sudden request.

  “What did she say?” Mrs. Abber asked.

  “She wants to talk again.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, and she still sounded off; something must’ve happened, but she won’t discuss it on a live comm channel.”

  “Call me if you need help, Richard,” she said, and Ricky turned to go.

  When at last Kendrick rapped at Ricky’s door, he motioned her inside with a wave of his hand. At once, the expression she wore told of troubles.

  “Have you found the bastard who killed Elden?”

  Kendrick sat slowly, shaking her head. She looked up at Ricky and pointed a finger directly toward his head.

  “Before I go on, I need to know what we discuss will stay strictly between us.”

  “Okay, but…”

  “Tell no one, do you hear? Not your sister, not your friend across the alley, and certainly none of your customers or acquaintances, understand?”

  Kendrick’s tone was sharp and loud, leaving no doubt as to the urgency and Ricky looked at her for another second before she stood and moved close to emphasize the point.

  “No one.”

  “Okay, okay!” Ricky relented and said, holding his hands in the air to signal his surrender, “I’ll keep quiet about it.”

  Kendrick walked in a wide circle, assembling her words.

  “They pulled me off the investigation.”

  “What?”

  “This morning, my supervisor told me the Fellsbach case would be handled above Division-level, so I don’t have to worry about it any longer. He said I was overdue for a vacation, so I’m officially on leave for the next thirty days, whether I like it or not.”

  “They have a suspect?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been pulled from an investigation before, but when I complained about it, my boss got right in my face
and told me to stand down. He said the case had high sensitivity and the Commission wanted it handed over to ‘more experienced officers.’ I’ve been doing this job for six years and no one has a better conviction rate; something is very wrong here.”

  Ricky watched her, but more than mere confusion showed in her face. Aside from the professional insult, there was more to the story and Kendrick knew it. He waited until she calmed herself.

  “Who are these people taking over the case?” he asked. “You don’t sound very convinced they know what they’re doing.”

  “Politicians!” she said loudly. “Most of them are administrators inside the Justice Ministry; they’re not even cops! Mason, my jackass of a boss, told me the case is moving along, but they have to make sure public scrutiny remains at a minimum; he said there are ‘other considerations’ and I’m ‘not cleared for the required security level.’

  Ricky listened, but little of what Kendrick said made sense.

  “If they know who shot Elden, why aren’t they making arrests?”

  “That’s a great question,” she replied.

  “Wait a second. Are you saying…”

  “I’m saying something stinks. I’m the lead investigator of a murder case, but all of a sudden, they pull me off with no explanation. This is unprecedented and they’re hiding something.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Elden Fellsbach didn’t deserve four bullets in his back. There’s a reason for this and I’m going to find it.”

  “I appreciate the concern, but how are you going to do that if you’re not running the investigation?”

  Kendrick nodded with a conviction Ricky couldn’t miss, her jaw tightened and with eyes narrowed.

  “I’ll run my own.”

  Ricky knew what her words would mean if the MPE administrators found out one of their cops had gone solo.

  “Are you crazy? They’ll shut you down the second they get wind of it!”

  “I’ll play along—officially, at least—but that won’t stop me from looking on my own, and that’s where you come in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I can’t get there without help. Your meeting was one of the last Mr. Fellsbach had before they killed him. I know who he was, but you knew him better than anyone.”

  Ricky backed away at once.

  “Oh, no,” he said, “I’m not going to put myself on the wrong side of MPE and end up down in a punishment cylinder for obstruction! I know how it works and when they figure out I’m helping you…”

  She went quickly to where Ricky stood, positioning herself squarely in front of him.

  “What’s the matter with you? Somebody killed him in cold blood—they got an old man to come down to a dark place on the streets and then they shot him in the back four times. The desk riders step in and tell me to mind my own business, leaving no one to find and capture the son of a bitch who pulled the trigger! Is that all the better you can do?”

  “I’m not a cop! What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”

  “You don’t have to be a cop; just answer my questions and help me find a way into Elden Fellsbach’s world. If we can figure out what made the Commission so nervous, we can follow that path until a suspect shows. I know he was like a father to you; don’t you want to find his killer?”

  Ricky stopped cold, shaken by Kendrick’s unexpected knowledge of his relationship with the old man.

  “Of course I do, but…”

  “Come on, Richard! I read the affidavits and transcripts before I got pulled, damn it; show some backbone!”

  Others had been interviewed, Ricky thought silently. Elden’s acquaintances and neighbors at Marshall Center—they all knew his role in keeping a young, scared kid from sinking deeper after the death of his father. It was pointless to continue pretending.

  “All right, detective, I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” she said at last. “And from now on, just call me Maela.”

  “Okay,” Ricky answered, “but I’m not sure where to start; what could I possibly give you not already covered by the investigation?”

  “You’d be surprised, and anyway, the records and evidence sheets have been sealed; I can’t get access to them now.”

  “So,” Ricky frowned, “we’re running blind?”

  “It’s not that bad,” she replied, “I still have a few tricks; some friends who know how to get information.”

  “Hacks?”

  “I’ll fill you in on that part when the time comes. For the moment, I want you to think about the last time you saw Mr. Fellsbach; was there anything that seemed odd in his behavior?”

  “Not really,” Ricky replied. “He looked like shit, but I figured that was just the effects of getting old.”

  “Come on, Richard, expand; was there anything he might’ve said that made you wonder?”

  Ricky remembered the tense meeting and Elden’s profound insistence the stolen loot should be returned to the old warehouse out in the Zone.

  “He nearly went nuts when I showed him the stuff I found—the token transfers and data sticks. I’ve never seen him go off like that; he was yelling at me, and…”

  “Yes?”

  “He told me people up there knew the trial for Courtnall and Espinoza was rigged; he said people down on the streets would figure it was all a mistake when they let the Bosses go, but a lot of people at the Ministry knew it was fixed.”

  “Most knew it wouldn’t hold up in court, but that’s nothing new or noteworthy. Anything else?”

  “Well, there might be something else…”

  “Go ahead.”

  Ricky hesitated for a moment, unsure of his position. Maela waited impatiently for as long as she could.

  “If you know something, say it! You can’t do this half-ass anymore, don’t you understand?”

  Finally, he relented and sat down.

  “You were right about the last minutes at the end of the Walk when I bypassed the gate at Broadridge and snuck around behind the Chasers waiting to shoot me down.”

  “I figured as much,” Maela said, “but how does that have anything to do with Elden Fellsbach’s murder?”

  “I’m not sure it does, but…”

  “Keep going, Richard!”

  “Well, somebody broke into the transmitter on my camera belt and locked out the audio link back to the networks. A voice came on; not one of the organizers or anything, but another person who told me about the ambush. He said I could move along the side of that big ravine without being noticed and kill the Chasers before they killed me.”

  “I see,” she said knowingly. “Who was on the other end of that transmission, Richard—who tipped you off?”

  “I’d rather not say; he risked his life to help me, and…”

  “Richard! Who was it?”

  “He said Elden sent him to keep me from being killed.”

  Maela looked at him with a suspicious, sideways glance.

  “And you believed this stranger, just like that?”

  “I couldn’t place the voice,” he said, “but I recognized it somehow. I found out the next day it was a Doctor named Cason; the same guy who implanted the tracking chip a couple of minutes before my Walk. He and Elden were friends.”

  Ricky recounted Cason’s visit the morning after his Walk so that he could remove and destroy the Zorich device. It seemed needless, but Ricky spelled out once more Cason’s cautionary note to keep what he knew a hidden secret.

  Maela nodded with a satisfied smile and said, “Okay; now we’re getting somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but without the doctor’s help, I wouldn’t have survived.”

  “How did Elden react when you told him they were going to make you do a Walk?”

  “I didn’t tell him—there wasn’t time.”

  “Then how did he know to alert Cason?”

  “That’s just it,” Ricky answered; “the doctor said somebody else—a different person�
��told Elden about the Walk, but he couldn’t say who it was. I don’t think he knew.”

  Maela’s thoughts went quickly to possibilities and scenarios the way all detectives do, silently making connections where none existed before, hoping still more would be revealed by chance or the unanticipated blunders that so often make a difference. She was a creature of instinct, learning long before to follow seemingly irrelevant paths when the unseen voice inside her head called out.

  “It doesn’t add up,” she declared. “If the bookies were pissed-off at Mr. Fellsbach for interfering with your Walk, somebody had to clue them in, right?”

  “I guess so,” Ricky replied, unsure of Maela’s direction.

  “But you say this doctor—and Elden—were the only ones who knew he was going to warn you?”

  “Yes; Doctor Cason was very specific about that.”

  “Something is very wrong here. I could understand a hit as a way of sending a message, or even for simple revenge, but…”

  “But?”

  “If no one knew about Cason’s midnight call to keep you from blundering into a Chaser’s ambush, it’s unlikely the shooter acted because of your unexpected survival. Cason couldn’t name the mysterious third party who alerted Fellsbach, or wouldn’t?”

  “He just said another person tipped Elden, hoping he would be able to stop it. Elden called Doctor Cason and that’s why the Zorich was replaced with one that could block the network feeds.”

  Maela watched the image forming in her mind; fleeting, at first, then with growing clarity as the pieces of a dark puzzle began to align.

  “Then we have to find this person before they do,” she said.

  “Which person?”

  “The one who alerted Fellsbach.”

  Ricky shook his head quickly and said, “I told you before; Cason doesn’t know who it was, and Elden can’t tell us anymore. How are we supposed to find somebody with nothing to go on?”

  “Come with me,” she said; “I know somebody who might be able to help.”

  Maela’s speeder—a standard, green MPE air car—lifted into the night sky from where she parked it on Rademacher Way, turning on a gentle curve toward the south. Ricky watched with the fascination of a child as the streets fell away, making for a scene he rarely had occasion to enjoy. The pod trains clunked along on their high rail, but nothing close to the altitude of even the lowest air lanes across Novum. Like a bird, they swept between the mega-towers and brightly lit plazas with ease, bringing an involuntary grin as Ricky craned for a better view. Below, a transit station swarmed with evening riders and Ricky felt a quiet satisfaction he was not one of them.