In life, she looked like she had been attractive. A blonde, five eight, and one-twenty, maybe. Now she was a crumpled doll. People’s spines were not supposed to bend like that. ‘Do we have an identity?’ Damian asked the crime scene tech who was busy taking pictures.
‘Uh, Rachel Halford. Resident of the lovely abode there. Third floor apartment. The window is open onto the fire escape too. I don’t think you’ll take long closing this one, detective.’
Damian shrugged. He was thinking much the same thing, but it was his first real case since joining homicide and he wanted to make sure he dotted and crossed all the appropriate letters. ‘Thanks,’ he said, and then he headed for the apartment building’s rear door.
Someone, presumably the deceased, had been putting up decorations in the apartment. Damian gave a passing thought to his own seasonal ornaments, such as they were. He had a plastic tree he put up under the TV every year. It was about a foot high and featured a fairy on the top who looked a lot like she was not pleased about where the tree was poking. Considering that he might have a guest this year, maybe he should invest in a few lights or something…
There was, indeed, an open window in the bedroom which let out onto the fire escape. He peered at it thoughtfully and, on the off-chance of finding something interesting, ordered someone to get fingerprints. There was no indication of a struggle, no signs of theft. The bed was not made, which made him pause: a lot of suicides made sure everything was nice and neat before they put themselves out of whatever misery they were in.
‘Anyone found a note?’ he asked the room. Two crime techs looked around, and at each other, and shook their heads.
In the lounge, Damian took in the full extent of the decorating. There was a footstool beside the window, a string of fairy lights half-tacked up across the top of the window. It was a lot like Miss Halford had decided to kill herself right in the middle of hanging the lights. She had got down from her stool, walked past her unmade bed, opened the window, walked out onto the fire escape… And why had she jumped from there? Three storeys. Five would have been more sure.
And there was an impact pattern in the window glass. A circular impact pattern which could have been from someone’s head hitting the window… No way to tell how long it had been there, of course. No normal way.
Checking he was alone, Damian walked over to the window and reached up, letting the very tip of his index finger touch the broken glass. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it–
There was the sudden rush of sensation he now associated with whatever he did when the trick worked, and Damian found himself looking at Rachel Halford’s face. The back of her skull was pressed into the crack in the window, her eyes were jammed closed. Looking down, he saw the deformation of her chest, as though something had slammed into her, driving her backward and crushing her ribs, but there was nothing there. Damian looked around, into the room, and saw the man standing there in jacket and jeans. He knew that face.
Damian took his finger away from the window and walked back toward the bedroom. ‘There’s an impact crack in the lounge window,’ he said. ‘Make sure it’s recorded, would you?’
‘Sure,’ one of the techs said, ‘but I don’t think she’d try to headbutt her way through one window when she could just walk out of this one.’
‘Humour me,’ Damian suggested. ‘I don’t think she walked.’
~~~
Elaine looked up from the motor she was busy stripping down and smiled. ‘Damian! Nice seeing you, but I think you missed your floor. Bianca’s up on the top.’
Damian flashed a smile. ‘I know. I came to see you. Actually, I came to see Backroom.’
Putting down the motor, Elaine raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? I don’t have a costume to put on or anything.’
‘Good. Saves time. I got my first real case today. Looks like a suicide.’
‘But?’
‘But… No note. Apparently she decided to jump out of a window in the middle of putting up her Christmas lights.’
‘That sounds… a little strange, but not impossible. Some people really hate the holiday season.’
‘Yeah… Look, I have some evidence which suggests that Beatdown was responsible.’
Elaine frowned. ‘Some evidence?’
‘I’d rather keep my source on the down-low, for now. If I’m right… Well, the autopsy could come up with some inconsistencies. I can assign it as a possible homicide and investigate it further. I was wondering whether you might have something that could… I don’t know, but help somehow.’
‘Okay… You’re pretty sure about Beatdown being responsible?’
‘Certain. I just… can’t prove it.’
‘Do the due diligence stuff. I’m not going to tell you your job, but make sure there’s no way she could have just decided to jump. I’ll… talk to some people.’
Damian nodded. ‘Thanks, Elaine.’
Elaine watched the detective walk away and made sure he was out of the room before picking up her phone. ‘Bianca? You busy? I’ve got something I need to talk to you about and… it’s not going to be an easy one…’
New Millennium City, MD.
The cameras were out in force. It seemed that the opening of Jason Sweet’s new club, named the Gates of Hell like the one in Los Angeles, was a big thing. Svetilo never had received that invitation, which saved her from having to decline it, but Cygnus had definitely decided to be intrigued and there was something to celebrate.
‘Still not quite sure why they sent him to the Fortress,’ she said as she walked, arm-in-arm with June, through the ranks of journalists to the front of the club.
‘He got life,’ June replied, managing to continue smiling while she did it. ‘Does it matter where they lock him up?’
‘No… Not really. It’s just that he’s a normal. There’s no point in putting him in a super-max prison for Ultras. And how do you keep that smile going while you’re talking?’
‘Practice. Try it.’
‘Yeah, right…’
The frontage of the club featured a huge neon sign and a number of spotlights. The effect was that you seemed to be walking into a pit of darkness as you entered. Cygnus figured that was the idea: you were walking through the gates of Hell and darkness awaited you. Of course, the effect was somewhat negated by her enhanced vision and she could see right through the dimly illuminated foyer to the door at the back which hid the club proper. She had elected to employ what she called her ‘social configuration’ for the evening, reducing her offensive capability to increase her presence, but she had not neglected defence or the ability to see in the dark.
That meant that the throbbing lights of the club’s interior flared between red and purple, and shades of grey. It was sort of impressive, lots of gleaming chrome and glass, long bars, a huge dance floor…
‘Is he trying to give everyone migraines?’ June asked, leaning close because the music was throbbing as much as the lights, and pretty loud.
‘We’re in Hell,’ Cygnus replied. ‘It’s meant to be hot and painful.’ The air conditioning did seem to be set to ‘tropical sauna.’ It was something of a shock after the cold outside, but neither of them were dressed for cold weather. ‘Let’s get a drink and wait for someone to hit on us.’
‘Put like that, it makes it sound like so much fun.’
Having laid claim to a booth off to the side of the room, Cygnus and June chatted while Cygnus watched. The room ran to three tiers: the dance floor at the bottom with booths and tables encircling it and a long bar at the back, and two mezzanine levels above, one encircling the dance floor while the second was more enclosed and held the VIP area. Cygnus had specifically avoided that part of the club and June had been happy to stick with her.
The people seemed to be split into three groups. There were the journalists, mostly from the society pages, who had been given admittance to the club rather than having to stand outside. There were the ‘ordinary’ people who had managed to get inside, rather than being turned
away by the bouncers. That meant they were high on the current scale of attractiveness and, as far as Cygnus could tell, heavily weighted toward the female. Then there were the local and national celebrities who had not gravitated to the VIP section. There were politicians, several senators and representatives in from DC as well as locals, a few judges, cops… There were film and TV stars; Cygnus spotted Marta Hendry from the Ultras Tonight segment on ACPN among the crowd, but the invitation list seemed heavy on the influential.
And there was Jason Sweet. Cygnus saw him moving among his guests with a broad smile on his face. To her it looked faked, stiff, as though something was not going to plan. He was a handsome man with sandy-blonde hair, perfectly cut to a short but slightly wild style, a face full of sculpted features set around a slightly Roman nose and piercing, blue eyes. His suit was designer, the black silk shirt worn without a tie and open in a carelessly casual manner. This was a man of intellect and charm, and the closer he got to their booth, the more Cygnus decided that he was basically a well-dressed shark who was, currently, having difficulty finding prey.
Sweet had pointed a number of people up toward the VIP level and he seemed to have had few takers. Even Marta Hendry had, it seemed, declined though that might have been because most of the people she was likely to want to talk to were where she already was. Looking frustrated beneath his mask of genial host, Sweet finally made his way across to the booth where Cygnus and June were sitting. His arms raised in a gesture of welcome.
‘Ladies, why hide such beauty in the shadows?’ Sweet asked, smiling like a used-car salesman in a designer suit.
Cygnus shrugged. ‘People-watching. It’s a fascinating hobby.’
‘You certainly have an… interesting collection of people in,’ June added.
‘Ah, you recognised me,’ Sweet said. He added extra wattage to his smile. ‘I am Jason Sweet, proprietor. Call me Jason.’
‘Svetilo is staying with us at the moment while her apartment is repaired. She told us a lot about you.’
The smile did not falter, but it was really not getting near to Sweet’s eyes anyway. ‘Ah, Dominika. Quite a woman. So strong, so… flexible. Please, pay a visit to the VIP rooms up on the top mezzanine. Complimentary drinks and it’s private, away from the throng.’ The sudden shift in conversation was a little jarring and Sweet had developed something of an intense expression as he spoke, his eyes fixed on Cygnus.
‘I like the throng,’ Cygnus replied, returning his smile.
For a fraction of a second, Cygnus thought she saw a hint of anger in his eyes, and then Sweet turned his smile on June. ‘Up there I can provide more… personal attention. I’m sure you’re both very flexible as well…’
June laughed. Then she pushed out of the booth. ‘We really don’t need your attention, Mister Sweet.’ She flashed a grin at Cygnus. ‘Dance, love?’
Cygnus got to her feet to follow. ‘Sure, why not.’ As June moved ahead, Cygnus stepped forward, clapped a hand on Sweet’s shoulder, and lowered her voice a little. ‘We really only sleep with people we like.’ Then she marched off toward the dance floor leaving Sweet to silently fume.
~~~
‘Going so soon?’ Marta Hendry did not exactly sound like she was surprised to see Cygnus and June heading for the door.
‘We’ve been here nearly two hours,’ Cygnus replied. ‘I think propriety has been served so we’re going somewhere where the host is… less of an ass.’
‘He is rather pushy,’ Hendry replied, looking around for Sweet in an absent manner which indicated that she was not that bothered whether he heard her. ‘So, can I take this joint attendance as an official statement that you two are a couple?’
‘We haven’t really been hiding it,’ June said. ‘It was reported pretty widely after we went to Bianca Fullerton’s birthday party together. You reported on it.’
‘Oh, I know, but seeing is believing and this is your first official engagement in New Millennium.’
Cygnus giggled. ‘Official engagement, huh?’
‘Oh, you know what I mean.’ Hendry waved a dismissive hand. ‘You’re not really seeing each other until you’ve been seen here. You’re our official protector. San Francisco is just circumstantial evidence.’
‘I preferred Bianca’s party.’
‘Stunning woman,’ Hendry enthused. ‘Not that you two aren’t. I’d give my eye teeth for an interview with her, but… Well, my remit is Ultras.’
Cygnus suppressed a smirk. ‘We’ve got another calendar coming out soon. To aid the redevelopment of Churchton. I might be able to get you another interview with me and Twilight…’
Hendry reached out and laid a hand on Cygnus’s arm. ‘Honey, say the word and I’ll crawl over whatever broken substance you name. Go enjoy yourself at the Den. I might join you later.’
San Francisco, CA.
Damian frowned at the sound from the elevator which was basically the front door of his apartment. It sounded a lot like someone had just dropped onto the floor of the cage. He focussed, hearing a step. The sharp impact followed by a slightly softer one suggested high heels, but there had been no sound from the elevator motors and the cage door was open so the elevator could not be operated. That was one of the reasons he liked the elevator in the first place: with the cage at the top and the door open, no one could get in. He heard the conventional door which gave access to the elevator open. Apparently, you could get in that way.
He was about to get up and grab his pistol when Mink stepped around the corner and paused, leaning a shoulder against the wall and crossing her arms and her ankles in a casual manner. Lips painted in glossy shades of brown smiled at him.
‘Did I startle you, Detective?’ she asked.
‘Uh… How did you get in? I didn’t hear–’
‘There’s a service access to the top of the elevator shaft which you can get to through the warehouse.’
‘And you got into a warehouse that FTI uses for storage, by…?’
‘I’m good with security systems. Though… I don’t necessarily need to be on Fullerton sites. I need to talk to you about that suicide you don’t think is a suicide.’
‘Elaine… Elaine Ellis called you about…’ Damian trailed off as Mink straightened up from her lean and walked around the room toward him. She was quite a sight. Tall, long legs clad in chocolate thigh-high boots with shining metal soles and heels. A high-hipped, halter-necked bodysuit in the same colour featured a vent at the front, encircled by a copper tone, which showed off a lot of tanned skin, including a lot of cleavage. Then there was the beautiful, carefully carved face with its cap of short, black hair, just like Bianca’s. Mink’s eyes were a brown, more like amber, instead of blue, but there was more similarity about their faces than he had thought there was and… And now he came to think about it, Mink’s painted on mask of brown overlaid with burnished copper might just change the appearance of her forehead, narrowing it and sharpening her cheekbones…
Damian shook his head. ‘How the Hell did I not notice it the first time?’ he said.
Mink stopped and looked down at him, barely a yard away. ‘Just so that we don’t have any issues with confusion of meaning, what is it you should have noticed?’
‘That you’re Mink.’
‘Fairly obvious.’
‘That Bianca Fullerton is Mink.’
Mink smiled. There was more of a note of self-recrimination about his voice and posture than disapproval. ‘Excellent. Let’s get that out of the way before we get down to the business at hand.’ She settled onto the couch beside him, crossing her legs and relaxing. ‘I don’t really want to get into deep philosophical or psychological examination of the thing, but basically you didn’t want to see it, couldn’t quite believe it, so you rationalised it away. It’s pretty natural. People do it all the time about all sorts of things.’
‘All sorts of things…’
‘Yeah. Take… hamburgers.’
‘Hamburgers?’
‘Yeah. Who would willi
ngly use them as a source of sustenance when it would be more useful to eat the packaging? So we tell ourselves they taste nice and it’s a “guilty pleasure,” when we’re actually totally disgusted with ourselves for giving in to “quick and easy.” Hell, half the time it’s not even quick and the easy is debatable.’
‘So, you’re saying that my lack of recognition is akin to my desire to eat a burger at lunchtime?’
Mink raised an eyebrow. ‘If that’s a regular occurrence, I am going to start taking you out to lunch more often. It may explain why I keep lapping you in Golden Gate Park.’ She paused. ‘Are we going to have a problem?’
‘I… One question. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Any number of reasons. It’s safer. For you. There are very few people who know Bianca and Mink are the same person and it’s always been a matter of… utility that they did. Elaine knows. She built me a number of gadgets to help me do what I do. Cygnus, Twilight, and June know, because bringing down the Nine Kings and Blutadler required it. I think Ultramech knows, but he’s never said he does and I think he’d deny it if asked. That’s it. Oh, except for the woman who taught me to fight. Pretty sure she knows, but that’s another one who’s never acknowledged it.’
‘And now you need me for this case?’
Mink frowned. ‘And now this case has given me an excuse. I could have handled this differently.’
‘Okay…’ Damian considered the implication of that statement and found he liked it. ‘Contact lenses?’
‘Uh-huh. With a wireless HUD interface and ultraviolet vision enhancement, as well as the amber tint.’
‘Magic bracers?’
‘Elaine. She built force field generators for Ultramech, so…’
‘You’re demystifying the enigmatic Mink.’
Mink shrugged. ‘I’d rather you didn’t think I was a sorceress or a mutant, or any of the other fan theories.’
‘I know you’re not a mutant.’
She gave him a rather pointed look. ‘Oh? How?’
‘It’s… I just know. You’re looking into this “suicide” because it might have been Beatdown?’
Frostburn (Ultrahumans Book 4) Page 20