Duty and the Beast

by Chelsea Field

  I shouldn’t have wasted energy worrying about it. Connor was a steady sort. If he told you he’d do something, he’d do it. At eight sharp his black SUV rolled up outside my apartment building.

  At one minute past, I climbed into the passenger seat, and he handed me a thermos with real, honest-to-goodness coffee in it. I could’ve kissed him for that.

  Okay, his citrus and leather scent underneath the heavenly aroma of my espresso flooded me with memories, so my body was looking for any excuse to kiss him, but that’s beside the point. I was touched he’d gone to the trouble of bringing it for me.

  He handed me his phone next. “Have you seen this?”

  It was a news article with the headline:

  Artificial Intelligence Security System Kills Homeowner and Guest!

  “No.” I hadn’t seen it. I’d barely managed to wake up yet, let alone start any research.

  The article went on to outline how a suspected malfunction had caused the AI security system to fire the darts with lethal amounts of vitrazolam, not telling me anything I didn’t know beyond the fact that Isaac Anand was a respected mind in artificial intelligence and robotics.

  “They’re wrong,” Connor said. “It wasn’t a malfunction, it was murder. Police analysts found that the AI code had been tampered with to delete Isaac Anand from the system. That in itself wouldn’t have done anything worse than put him to sleep, but whoever did it also changed the formula the AI used to calculate the quantity of tranquilizer so that instead of point zero one milliliters per pound, it was point one milliliter per pound. Then they just needed to set the AI’s security mode to active while their intended victims were in the house.”

  “Geez.” We’d kind of assumed it must have been murder last night, but having it confirmed in the light of day still hit hard. And it was scary to think that two simple changes to a code could be enough to turn a security system into a killing machine. Literally.

  Connor had yet to pull away from the curb. “If we’re going to work together on this, we need to lay out some ground rules. I won’t be party to you putting yourself in danger—so you have to swear you won’t see a single person connected to the case without me.”

  He was holding his jaw in such a way that I knew there’d be no negotiation on this. “That’s fine,” I said. And it was fine… probably. I had no attachment to Rick, so it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid putting myself in harm’s way for his sake.

  Connor wasn’t finished. “And we can’t allow our personal relationship to interfere with the investigation, so while we’re working, we’re working.”

  “Sure.” I’d expected him to insist on that, and despite my feelings or lack thereof toward Rick, I didn’t want to jeopardize the case either.

  Connor didn’t look happy about my ready agreement. Perhaps he’d been hoping to get rid of me. It brought up memories of the first case we’d ever worked together. He’d been appalled to have me tag along. Probably because he’d been fighting his attraction to me and didn’t like that I was getting under his skin.

  I hoped he was doing his version of a grimace now for the same reason.

  Oops, focus on the case, Izzy.

  “Where do you want to start?” I asked.

  “Let’s go over suspects and murder motives. For both victims.”

  “Okay. Richard Knightley is easy. He scammed so many people there are plenty who’d want him dead.”

  Connor passed me his phone again. “Like this guy?”

  It was a YouTube video of Steak Knife Guy advancing toward Rick and me. Oh no. I felt my face go red even as I wondered how Connor had found it. Had he been keeping tabs on me? Or was it case research? He was very thorough.

  In the video, Rick came off scared and weak hiding in my shadow. Good. I saw myself grab the waiter’s tray and smack it into Steak Knife Guy’s hesitant, half-assed swing, disarming him, then taking him down. I also noticed in the aftermath that I hadn’t hidden my dirty looks at Rick as well as I’d thought. Oops. Acting had never been my strong suit; a fact made more apparent in LA where it often seemed that everyone and their dog had been in at least one commercial or television show.

  The video ended, and I looked up to see Connor’s lips twitch. “Nice moves, Avery.”

  I cracked a smile. “I was taught by the best.”

  “You mean Nick?”

  He was referring to a member of his security team, the one he’d chosen to teach me self-defense. Was there jealousy behind the question?

  I’d meant Connor, but my smile widened. “Yeah, Nick.” I made him wait for a beat before adding, “And Spider-Man.”

  That made Connor smile too. The first time he’d taught me how to use pepper spray and a Taser, he’d made me practice on a full-size cardboard cutout of Spider-Man. He never had explained how he’d mysteriously happened to have one lying about his house.

  The sight of his curved lips made my pulse speed up. Connor smiling more than a couple of times a week was unheard of for the first months of our acquaintance. The fact he’d slipped into one so easily now showed his guard was still lowered around me.

  As if realizing the same thing, he visibly shifted back into business mode. “Is there any doubt in your mind that Richard’s guilty of the scam charges?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? You believe the best of everyone.”

  “I asked him about it once. Even with the Taste Society confidentiality contract, he wasn’t dumb enough to admit it. But he said that when his dad cut him off, he’d had to come up with some creative business ideas. That he’d done it for years before anyone caught on. He was boasting as if it were something to be proud of. Something that proved he was smarter than everyone else. Plus he didn’t show any guilt at all—despite the fact he must’ve seen the news stories about the lives he’d wrecked.”

  “I see.”

  “That’s only part of it. From what I witnessed, he had zero regard for anyone but himself. Not even his father who, while I haven’t warmed to the guy, obviously loved Rick and was doing everything in his power to help him. Rick believed anybody who treated him well did it because he was so amazing, so there was nothing to appreciate them for. And anybody who didn’t treat him well was dumb or damaged— or maybe playing hard to get if they happened to be a beautiful woman. He was an egomaniac. One who managed to ooze charm on occasion but only when it was to his advantage.”

  “Right, so he could’ve made a lot of people mad. But the trial against him was supposed to start today, wasn’t it? Any reason you know of that would make one of his scam victims come after him now?”

  I rubbed my face. The answer was something that had been bothering me all week. “Rumor said he’d hidden his money so well that even if he served time, he’d live like a king when he got out, and his victims would never get a cent. Plus the evidence wasn’t strong enough for his conviction to be a sure thing.” Richard had certainly seemed confident he’d walk away a free man.

  Connor jotted a few notes in his trusty battered notepad. “Well, he’ll never be convicted or acquitted now. Criminal cases are thrown out if a defendant dies before trial, and Hunt said the US Attorney on the case didn’t have any leads for us. What about the class action lawsuit?”

  On top of the criminal prosecution by the federal government, a group of victims had rallied together to sue for compensation and damages. I didn’t know much about it beyond what I’d seen in the news. “I’m not sure, but so long as Richard was claiming to be broke, I can’t see how they’d get any money out of that either.”

  In other words, they still had plenty of reasons to want him dead.

  “Are there any other potential suspects you know of?”

  “No, but I was only with him for a week and a half, and he was lying low, which meant I didn’t meet many people who knew him. What about the other victim though? It was his house and his AI security system. Doesn’t that imply he was the target?”

  “Yes. Or that they were both targets. Or that
the killer wants to throw us off course. Right now there are no obvious links between the two except a few phone calls Isaac Anand made to Knightley and the fact they were together when they died. Hunt and his team are doing the preliminary investigation into Anand, so for now, Knightley is our main concern. We need to work out what he was doing at Anand’s home, and who else knew that’s where he’d be. Then we can determine whether he might’ve been the target. Who would you say is most likely to have those answers for us?

  “His father. Mr. Lyle Knightley.”

  “Then let’s go speak to him.”

  Mr. Knightley Senior was in a suit again, his silver hair neatly combed, his face clean-shaven. But the eyes behind his black scholarly frames were hollow.

  Like his son’s promises came my involuntary thought.

  He received us in his office and listened to Connor’s introduction with a blankness that was in sharp contrast to the man who’d conducted my interview. And when Connor broke the news that Richard’s death was no accident, Lyle’s gaze landed on me.

  “You. You were supposed to protect him!”

  Connor stepped closer to me, never mind the woolly-mammoth-sized desk was doing a fine job of keeping Lyle and me apart.

  “Ms. Avery did her job, Mr. Knightley. Your son didn’t die from anything he ingested.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to die full stop! But he did, from poison. I want to lodge a complaint with the Taste Society.”

  “You’re welcome to do that. But have you seen the video of Ms. Avery defending your son from a knife attack? It seems to me that she went above and beyond what you were paying her for.”

  Rather than diffusing the situation, Mr. Knightley grew more agitated.

  “She talked Richard out of pressing charges so that lunatic went free. How is that protecting him? It sent a message to our rivals that the Knightley house is weak, that now’s a good opportunity to strike because we’re down and won’t fight back. Where’s that man now? Why are you wasting your time talking to me when the likes of him are out there?”

  “Mr. Knightley, I can have Ms. Avery wait in the car if you’re unable to pull yourself together in her presence. But we’re here to help. To find who did this. And it will be more efficient if she remains here.”

  Connor’s suggestion of weakness was as effective as tipping a bucket of water over Lyle’s head. He schooled his facial muscles into a polite—even friendly—mask. A Knightley was always in control.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he assured us. “Tell me what you want to know.”

  Connor sat down, and Lyle and I followed suit.

  “We’re trying to understand what Richard was doing at Isaac Anand’s house. Can you help?”

  “Well, I don’t know what he was doing there last night. He was supposed to be having a scotch with me.” His eyes grew hollow with grief again. “But I know he’d been working with Mr. Anand in some capacity or another. Richard said Isaac was going to help him clear his name.”

  “How?” Connor asked.

  “He never gave me any details. I told him not to get his hopes up, and I think that offended him.”

  How the heck could artificial intelligence and robotics clear the name of someone who was guilty? Or had Isaac simply been helping Rick to ensure any evidence stayed buried forever and the stolen money impossible to track down?

  Connor remained impassive. “Did Richard mention anything about why he changed his plans? Why he wasn’t going to meet you for that scotch?”

  “No. He didn’t so much as call to cancel.”

  “Is that unusual behavior for him? To stand you up without explanation?”

  Knightley’s lips thinned. “Unusual, but not the first time he’s done it.”

  No, Lyle Knightley wouldn’t like anyone standing him up. His son would be no exception.

  “Any ideas why he did this time?” Connor prompted.

  “He didn’t tell me.”

  “So you said, but he’s your son. Surely you can speculate.”

  Another man might have dropped his shoulders in defeat, but Lyle sat poised and upright in his chair. It was his eyes and the way he was allowing Connor to commandeer the conversation that showed the fight had gone out of him. “Something exciting if I had to guess. It would’ve had to be a better offer… But why does it matter? What does this have to do with his murder?”

  “We need to determine if anyone could’ve anticipated Richard would be there. Or whether the real target was Isaac Anand and Richard was just collateral damage in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  That snapped Lyle out of his listlessness.

  “Of course Richard wasn’t just collateral damage. Do you know how many imbeciles are accusing him of scamming them? Then the media goes and blasts his face all over national television. Look. I can give you a list of people who wanted him dead.”

  He pulled something up on his computer and printed it out. It was a list of every person in the class action lawsuit against Rick with their name and the corresponding figure of claimed losses.

  Connor glanced at it, then tucked it out of sight. “That’s all very well, Mr. Knightley, and we’ll be going through this list, but we need to cover every possibility. How long had Richard and Isaac been collaborating?”

  “I don’t know. A few weeks maybe?”

  “Is there anyone else your son might’ve told about how Isaac was going to help clear his name?”

  “I have no idea, Mr. Stiles. My son is an independent adult, and I don’t keep track of all his friends.”

  I thought that was debatable. Both that Rick could be called independent since he hadn’t done an honest day’s work in his life, resorting to stealing when his father cut him off, and that he had any friends to keep track of.

  “Can you think of anyone else who might want to harm Richard?”

  “No. Isn’t that long list enough?”

  “Just trying to be thorough, Mr. Knightley.”

  I got the feeling Mr. Knightley wanted us to go be thorough somewhere else.

  Connor pushed on regardless. “Richard’s phone records show six missed calls from you around the time of his death. Did you have an urgent reason to get ahold of him?”

  “It was the night before the trial began, and he hadn’t shown up when we’d agreed. I was worried he might be doing something foolish. Something that might negatively influence the outcome of the case.”

  Connor accepted the explanation with a nod. He’d probably gathered by now that it was a valid concern. “We have to ask, do you have any joint assets with your son, or does he hold any legal interest in your company?”

  “You’re asking whether I had any potential liability in this lawsuit or any financial gain in his death.”

  “Yes.”

  “No and no. I’ve been aware of my son’s lack of… business acumen for some time, and I wouldn’t expose my company to that kind of risk. His death wins me nothing but grief, Mr. Stiles.”

  “What about the scam money?”

  “What money? If my son had any money, why would I pay his bills and spend the past three months researching and investing in a world-class horse-racing-and-breeding operation in Japan for him to manage when this court case is finally behind us?”

  Oh yes, Richard had been extremely pleased with himself about that. Though he resented having to go to Japan.

  “Were you so sure he wouldn’t get any prison time?”

  “I resent the implication of his guilt, Mr. Stiles. And no, I wasn’t sure, but managers for such operations can be found, and I wanted Richard to have something to look forward to. A fresh start.” Lyle’s eyes got wet. “He wanted to own a thoroughbred racing stable since he was a little kid, but I told him it was too blue-collar and he should set his sights higher. Maybe if I hadn’t…” He trailed off.

  “I assume this racing operation has been purchased in your name?”

  “Clearly. And it was going to stay that way until both the trial and the ridiculous
class action lawsuit were over. Now I’ll be stuck offloading the useless thing.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Knightley. We’ll be in touch.”

  We left Lyle staring at his desk and walked ourselves out.

  As Connor had pointed out, when a criminal defendant dies before trial, the case is dismissed, so Richard would never be found guilty nor acquitted of the fraud charges against him. The class action lawsuit was another matter, and we needed to find out what Richard’s death meant for the plaintiffs.

  But first we needed to touch base with Hunt and sort out who was handling what. While the Taste Society pulled strings to allow Connor or their other chief investigators to work as a police consultant on any case involving the lethal poisoning of a client, Hunt and Connor had a relationship that was more competitive than cooperative. And the results had always been interesting.

  Connor called Hunt, putting him on the car’s speakers so I could hear too.

  “I’d like to talk to the attorney leading the class action lawsuit against Knightley. Want to send a uniform along so we don’t double up, or will my notes suffice?”

  Hunt took long enough to reply that I was wondering whether the line had dropped out when he spoke. “Look, Stiles, I’m going to level with you. We have so many cases piling up right now that my officers are never going to see their families again at this rate, and I’m sick of diverting resources and staff from equally important cases involving normal people every time some VIP shithead gets himself killed. So while I don’t like you, I do respect your investigative skills, and I’m going to give you a longer leash than usual on this one. Just keep me in the loop and make sure you catch the bad guy, or my head’s on the chopping block.”

  Connor didn’t miss a beat. “As much as I’d like to see your head on the chopping block, Commander, I’d like to see the bastard who did this behind bars even more, so you can rest easy.”

  “I won’t be resting, Stiles. Neither will you. Now get on with it.” Hunt disconnected.