Dominance (Fox Meridian Book 8)

by Niall Teasdale

  The office itself was comfortable but relatively utilitarian. The furniture was modern and masculine. The desk was large and featured a black-glass surface and chromed legs. There was a high-backed leather chair behind it while the chairs in front of it were smaller. Shelves around the walls picked up the black-and-chrome look and were there to support various bits of sports memorabilia and a few framed photographs, all of men.

  Chorney took the seat behind the desk and motioned for Fox to take one of the others. She ignored him and remained standing. ‘Thomas Winsford,’ she said. ‘I’d imagine you’ve heard that he’s dead?’

  ‘I saw the news bulletins. They were uninformative, but I assumed that you wished to speak about him when your PA asked for a meeting. He was, I assume, murdered if you’ve been assigned, Captain.’

  ‘This is a homicide enquiry, yes. His android told me he left his apartment at twenty thirty on the seventh, Saturday, and that he was coming here. Autocab records say he arrived at twenty forty.’

  Chorney smiled, even if his eyes remained flat. ‘You wish to know whether he actually entered the club, of course. The issue is that what our members do when–’

  ‘I don’t care what he did here, or who he met. At this stage. I know he came here by cab, and I know he went to a ten p.m. appointment, which he was there for. I simply need to know when he left here and if he actually came in.’

  The smile remained fixed. ‘Our member’s privacy is our highest priority, Captain Meridian. If you were to obtain a warrant…’

  ‘I’d have thought that was trumped by the need to find out who killed your member, Mister Chorney. Whether he entered, when he left. Just that and nothing more.’

  ‘I’m sorry–’

  ‘Kit,’ Fox said, and Kit appeared beside her, dressed in her pencil skirt outfit and glasses, and holding a legal pad and pen. ‘Get me a warrant for any and all materials and documents regarding membership of the Blackburn Club, including a full member list and the entry and exit times of all members on Saturday seventh and Sunday eighth of January twenty sixty-two.’

  ‘Of course, Captain,’ Kit said, scribbling notes on her pad.

  ‘Any and all…’ Chorney sputtered a little and then got himself under control. ‘You’ll never get it. There are a number of judges in our membership.’

  ‘And I have the legal departments of Palladium and MarTech Group available, and they know a few judges too. Female ones. It’s going to take a little time to get the warrant, but then I’ll be back with a full computer forensic team and I assure you that we won’t be especially quiet about it.’ Fox leaned forward, resting her hands on his polished desk. ‘New year, Mister Chorney, new policing. I’d imagine you voted for it and now you have it. So there’s no precinct eighteen bowing and scraping over the rich and prestigious. If you put petty roadblocks in the way of a homicide investigation, I will make your life just as painful as you make mine.’

  Chorney glared at her for long enough to realise that she was not joking, but then he had probably forgotten that it was hard to outstare a gynoid. He turned his head to look at a virtual display he was keeping private. ‘Mister Winsford signed in at twenty forty-one. He left at twenty-one fifty having requested a cab. He did not give destination details at that time. If that’s all?’

  Fox flashed him a smile. ‘Thank you. Kit, cancel that warrant. I’ll see myself out.’ Turning, Fox headed for the office door with something of a spring in her step.

  Chorney looked down at his desk and frowned. The glossy, black surface was still just as glossy. He had expected to see her handprints marring the polished surface, but there was nothing. It was as though she had never been there.

  ~~~

  ‘So, what do you have on Alexander Chorney?’ Fox asked as she rode back home in an autocab. Her next appointment was not until eleven and it was barely ten a.m.

  Kit resolved herself in Fox’s sensorium, sitting beside her in the cab. ‘The Blackburn Club was founded in twenty thirty-four by the current Mister Chorney’s grandfather. He died five years ago, but Alexander Chorney has been effectively running the club for eight years. He’s twenty-eight, unmarried, and has had no long-term relationships. The club makes a substantial amount of money. Mister Chorney is not a poor man, but he does not fall into the same income categories as many of his clients.’

  ‘The grandfather passed the running of the club to his grandson?’

  ‘Yes. It appears that Alexander’s father never wanted anything to do with the place. He lives in Boston Metro with his wife of thirty-one years and his two daughters, twenty-eight and twenty-six. It may be notable that Alexander’s grandfather went through four wives. My belief is that Alexander takes after his grandfather.’

  ‘Huh. Well, he didn’t like giving me some very basic information. I know Winsford didn’t die there, so what’s he hiding? That was not just keeping his members’ business private. I suppose it’s vaguely possible that he just didn’t like giving in to a woman.’

  ‘I have managed to find mention of the Blackburn Club on a number of feminist websites. I think it is more than vaguely likely. Though I should point out that a number of those sites give somewhat rabid reports on the misogyny of the club.’

  Fox shrugged. ‘Rabid is the only way to get attention on the internet unless you already have a huge following. I’m pretty sure they’re up to something that at least bends the law a lot, but I don’t know what and I don’t have cause to go looking. We’ll just keep digging into Winsford’s friends and enemies and see where that gets us.’

  ~~~

  By four thirty in the afternoon, digging had uncovered precisely nothing, and Fox was quite sure that she would have had a headache but for her lack of an organic brain. Score one more for a cybernetic body.

  Everyone she had talked to had been pompous and absolutely sure of their various convictions, and every one of them had exploded into affronted disbelief when asked where they had been at the time Winsford had been murdered. They seemed to think it was some personal insult that Fox had asked to interview them. ‘This never would have happened when we had NAPA running things’ came up a lot, despite the fact that every single one of them had campaigned for the private policing resolution.

  ‘This is why I hate politics,’ Fox said as she walked down the corridor in her apartment, heading for the lounge. ‘Politics leads to politicians. Nothing good ever came of politicians.’

  Belle appeared in the hall, just ahead of Fox. The house AI’s avatar never seemed to change: always the same blue suit, always the powder-blue hair and the slightly deferential attitude. Maybe this time there was a reason for the deference, however. ‘Fox, Senior Operative Candler has just arrived and is requesting a moment of your time.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘I am sorry, I–’

  ‘Not your fault.’ Fox spun on her heel and started back toward the stairs. ‘Let him in. Keep an eye on him. I’ll meet him in the hall.’

  Blonde and handsome, Senior Operative Blake Candler was standing in the front hall of the house without his mirrored shades on, which meant Fox could see the man’s rather pleased expression at the sight of her trotting down the wide staircase toward him. The shades were missing, but he was still in a suit: slate grey and immaculate, coupled with a white shirt and dark-blue tie. His wardrobe had got a little better since he had been given the job of police liaison officer for New York Metro; even if his rank had not gone up, his salary had.

  ‘Captain Meridian,’ Candler said, smiling what Fox determined to be a diplomatic smile. ‘Always a pleasure to see you, but you’ve been holding out on me.’

  Fox raised an eyebrow and waved for him to follow as she walked past him and into the lounge. ‘I can’t think of anything that’s come across my desk that NIX needs to be aware of. Have a seat.’ Fox took one of the sofas and waited for Candler to take the one opposite.

  ‘Thomas Jefferson Winsford,’ Candler said as he unbuttoned his jacket and sat down, leaning forward sl
ightly and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘A politically motivated murder needs to be reported to–’

  ‘Have you actually seen the crime scene reports, Special Operative? I haven’t been notified of a request for them.’

  ‘Uh, no, but you’ve been questioning a number of people and we’ve been made aware of the case.’

  ‘Martin Fitznorton,’ Fox said flatly.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss the source of–’

  ‘You don’t need to. Fitznorton is even more conservative than Winsford was. He sees terrorists on every street corner and he thinks there are Caliphate bombers hiding under his bed. This isn’t a terrorist case, Blake. This was personal. It’s about Winsford and, maybe, his somewhat hypocritical private life. I’m only interviewing people likely to benefit from his death to cover the bases. Whoever killed him, they had a personal reason for doing it.’

  Candler was an odd one for a NIX agent, as far as Fox was concerned. He looked the part, and he was loyal to NIX. He seemed to believe that the intelligence agency’s reputation was undeserved, which Fox considered naïve, but he had a strong sense of duty to the country he worked for. Indeed, to Fox anyway, it seemed like Candler thought of himself as working for America, not NIX. Maybe that was why they had made him liaison for the New York area, interfacing with a woman who had plenty of reason to believe anyone to do with national security was untrustworthy. Fox was willing to play the game: they had got onto a first-name basis in the couple of short meetings they had managed in December.

  ‘You don’t think that’s a little naïve?’ Candler asked. ‘You don’t think a terrorist cell would try to cover up a death like this somehow?’

  ‘No. They’d want it splashed all over the media. Look, first off, do you have any intelligence indicating a Caliphate cell operating in this metro?’

  Candler pursed his lips for a second and then shook his head. ‘What about UA?’

  ‘Not United Anarchy’s style. In summary, Winsford liked to hire a dominatrix periodically so he could roleplay S&M scenes. My information is that the only way he could get it up without drugs was to be tied up and whipped. The arch-conservative, anti-prostitution vote broker regularly hired a licensed prostitute and, from the setup in his bedroom, he liked chaining women to his bed, feeding them Cupie and himself Rockit, and then getting down to business.’

  ‘Rockit?’ Unconsciously, Candler’s thighs shifted together. ‘That stuff’ll make your dick drop off.’

  Fox gave him a smirk. ‘No, but if you take it long enough, not even Rockit will get you to stay up. It destroys the blood vessels in your penis. Uh, well, that can result in gangrene…’

  ‘Could we change the subject?’

  ‘Sure. Winsford was out on one of his S&M nights. The killer gained access to the room, drugged the dom, and then spent a while treating Winsford to a real whipping. Then they rammed a foot-long dildo up his ass’ – Candler winced at that – ‘and opened various blood vessels. They bled him to death. Fairly slowly. I’d imagine he was in a lot of pain while he died. That’s the pathology of a very violent sex offender, like Reginald Grant, or someone who was in it to make Winsford suffer. I’d say the violent penetration and the choice of venue are important, but I’m not entirely sure yet. I think this was revenge for something. Rape or sexual assault seem likely.’

  ‘Huh. Well, I agree it’s not UA’s style. They’d have blown him up at some event or just gathered evidence to discredit him. I’m going to ask for the case files because my superiors are going to want me to have a good reason for not looking at this.’

  Fox nodded. ‘Fair enough. You and your superiors are going to have to learn to trust me, but trust is earned. I was the one who came up with most of the antiterrorism methodology that went through, remember? I’ve got a vested interest in seeing it work and I’d get crucified if I didn’t bring you something I thought fell into the national security category pretty much as soon as I thought it.’

  Candler nodded and got to his feet. ‘Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. I guess it’s just that this is the first time anything like this has come up and I’ve got some pressure to look at it. I’ll let you get on with solving the case.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ Fox got up to escort him to the door.

  ‘Of course, coming down here to see you isn’t exactly a chore, you know? Maybe I was just using this as an excuse.’

  Fox opened the door and looked out. There was drizzle falling again, the kind of rain that didn’t look much but it managed to soak into everything after a few minutes. ‘Looks like you’re going to pay for it if that’s the case.’

  Candler gave a shrug as he walked out into the rain. ‘Could be snowing,’ he said as he walked away.

  10th January.

  Fox was riding the BQ-line down from northern Manhattan when Kit signalled a call through from Naomi. The Sister was looking mildly annoyed and harassed when her image appeared, but she forced a smile. ‘Fox. Good afternoon. Getting anywhere with the case? You look a little weary.’

  ‘Huh,’ Fox replied. ‘Imagine how I’d look if I was still organic. In the official jargon of police everywhere, I am pursuing all angles to attempt to resolve the case with speed.’

  ‘That’s a no then.’

  ‘I’ve been interviewing people who might have some reason to kill the guy, but none of them really have reason to want to overkill him. What’s up? You look like I feel.’

  Naomi frowned. ‘I have had approaches from a… Reporter seems the wrong word for someone from IB-two-six-nine, but it’s the word we have.’

  ‘I prefer “maggot.”’ IB-269 was a gossip channel primarily concerned with New York and Boston, though they were not above digging a little dirt in any of the east-coast metro areas. They had annoyingly good investigative reporters who frequently did not need to cheat to get the information they liked to parade for their audience. They preferred sex scandals; politics was secondary, but worth the time if it was something sensational. If they could get sex and politics in one story, they viewed it as Christmas at any time of the year.

  ‘Well, one of their maggots has made a couple of attempts to reach me for comment on the Winsford murder. Someone has told them Winsford’s wholesome image was rotten at the core, I think.’

  Fox gave a shrug. ‘It was bound to happen. He may have been careful about it while he was alive, but his death was semi-public. I was thinking it might have lasted another couple of days…’

  ‘I think not. IB-two-six-nine will put something out today. You know they won’t keep back something like this just because they get no comments from the people involved.’

  ‘Yeah. Too juicy. Okay, Naomi. Thanks for the warning.’

  ~~~

  The warning came right on time as Fox detected a maggot near the house’s door as she walked down from 46th Street station. He was a well-turned-out maggot, about Fox’s height with a body she doubted he had gained through regular exercise. There was a hint of excessive sculpting about the handsome face which suggested that the body had seen some muscular enhancement and maybe even a little structural work. Pale-blonde hair hung to the nape of his neck in a carefully manufactured style which attempted to look entirely casual. He was tanned, had unnaturally blue eyes, and then there was the smile which almost glowed, despite the overcast sky. His suit was probably something more than grey: there was a vaguely reflective quality that suggested it turned silver in the right light. Whatever the case, the suit was expensive. Probably very expensive.

  ‘Zak Zaff,’ Kit supplied as Fox approached and the man waited, smiling. ‘He’s with IB-two-six-nine. On-stream talent and investigative reporter.’

  ‘That’s “digs his own shit and throws it at the audience himself,” Kit,’ Fox replied. Aloud she said, ‘Mister Zaff, what can Palladium Security Solutions do for IB-two-six-nine?’

  Pleasure at being recognised appeared to war, briefly, wit
h annoyance at the same time. ‘Miss Meridian, I’m looking into the death of Thomas Jefferson Winsford, and–’

  ‘It’s Captain Meridian, and the Winsford case is active, which means I can’t discuss any details of it.’

  Of course, Zaff was not to be put off by small details like that. ‘Information has come into my possession suggesting a possible motivation for Mister Winsford’s murder. I was hoping to get your reaction to that. If you don’t wish to give me that reaction, well, I can go on-stream with what I have…’ He tapped his lapel where a small body camera was sitting, facing Fox.

  Fox smiled and Zaff proved he had instincts because his own smile faltered for a fraction of a second. ‘Mister Zaff, if you have information pertinent to my investigation, and you have not communicated that information to myself or Palladium Security Solutions, I will have you arrested and charged with obstruction of justice.’

  ‘First Amendment, baby! You can’t–’

  ‘The First Amendment guarantees you the right to publish what you like, not withhold evidence, but… I’m quite sure you don’t have anything pertinent that I don’t already know. So, here’s your reaction. Palladium Security Solutions takes every criminal investigation seriously and is determined to bring Thomas Jefferson Winsford’s murderer to justice. We are following all leads, pursuing all angles, and will continue to do so until that justice is done. Goodbye, Mister Zaff.’

  Turning, Fox walked up to the door of her house and pushed through. ‘He’s going to go live with his “information” no matter what,’ Kit observed into Fox’s mind.

  ‘Uh-huh. However, maintaining the reputation of an asshole like Winsford isn’t part of my job. Send a message through to PR about this and we’ll see what happens.’