The BETA Agency

by Maxwell Coffie

  “You know what’s interesting about this?” I said.

  “You mean besides the fact that our victim is a black-blood?” Evon asked.

  “What’s interesting about this,” I continued, “is that the rubriq was bleached post-mortem.”

  Crawer raised a brow. “And we know this, how?”

  “What I hear from Bel...”

  “Who’s Bel?” he interrupted.

  “The victim’s best friend. Thank you for sticking around this morning by the way,” Evon said, with a derisive smile.

  “What I hear from Bel,” I tried again, “the victim always kept her neck wrapped in a scarf. Why cover your neck, if you’ve already got your rubriq bleached?”

  Crawer shook her head. “So the killer sliced off her face, and bleached her rubriq?”

  “A lot of trouble to hide her identity,” Evon said. “Considering that’s exactly what she was trying to do, he just might be the most considerate killer I ever heard of.”

  “This was all about hiding who she was,” I said. “Except, of course, the killer chose a more permanent strategy. I wanted to know who she was before, but now, seems that’s the whole point of this case.”

  “The real question here is: do we want to know?” Evon asked.

  There was an awkward silence.

  Crawer looked exhausted. “I have to go and notify Lieutenant Blunc. You two get back to your desks.” He left the room.

  “You know that the moment word gets out about what our victim was,” Evon said, “Senior Intelligence is going to be all over this like green on a vine. Black-bloods are way beyond our pay grade.”

  “Well then,” I said, and smiled. “We’d better solve this case before they get here.”

  It was a slow day after that. After releasing Bel, I typed up a lot of reports: on the murder scene, on the interrogation, on my discovery in the morgue. And then on a bunch of closed, pending, and dead-end cases that I’d been meaning to finish up. It was horrible. I hated writing reports.

  Facial ID came back without a positive match in the Metro State. Like the bio-mana, Tech had to run the test on every Facial ID in Aurora. It would take a day. Or two.

  By the time I was ready to close up for the day, I was cranky as muck. I asked Evon if she wanted to grab a drink, but she mumbled something about having a previous engagement. We usually went to those kinds of things together, so I was surprised that she hadn’t mention this ‘engagement’ till just now. But I was too tired to push for an explanation.

  It was raining when I stepped outside, and I wondered if the universe was trying to tick me off. I almost slipped on my way to my transporter.

  My mood was even worse by the time I got to my apartment building. I got to my apartment, and reached into my pocket for my key card.

  I stopped.

  My door was open.

  Instinctively, I felt for my blaster. Katrice usually spent her weekday nights at the public study hall. Had she come back early?

  “Hello? Kattie?” I called. I listened. No response. At first, I heard nothing. Then, I heard a sound.

  I whipped out my cell, and started dialling.

  “Metro Emergency Line, what is your—”

  “There’s an intruder in my home. District 7, Block A, Annibal Street. You’ll know my apartment by the bloodied burglar that will be dangling from the balcony.” I cut the line, and drew my blaster.

  “Just so you know,” I shouted, “I don’t shoot to disarm.”

  And I kicked open the door.

  “Surprise!” the twenty or so guests screamed. And then they screamed.

  Evon jumped out of the crowd. “Great Light, Arra. Give me that.” She relieved me off my weapon.

  I stared sheepishly at everybody.

  Katrice was standing up front. She stared back, expressionless as a slate. “Surprise.”

  CHAPTER 8

  I don’t like parties. I’m not very good at them. But I enjoyed this one; a lot of colleagues from the station, a few neighbours, delicious drinks, decent finger food. I had fun.

  After the last guest had left, I started to load the washer. Katrice stopped me.

  “I’ve got it,” she said. She nodded in Evon’s direction.

  Evon was waiting for me by the balcony door, a drink in each hand. We relaxed on reclining chairs on the balcony, and sipped on our cocktails.

  “Thanks for this,” I said.

  Evon smiled. “It was Kattie’s idea. The cake thing in the morning was supposed to throw you off.”

  “I swear, I looked at her today, making small talk with the guys, laughing at their stupid jokes, and I almost believed that she was feeling.”

  “Maybe, she was,” Evon said. “The therapy could be working.”

  “Either that or she’s becoming a brilliant actress,” I mumbled. I stared through the sliding doors at my sister. “Right now she’s only twelve, so maybe it doesn’t matter. But what about when she’s fourteen, or sixteen? Her classmates will be falling in love, and obsessing over semester dances, and mending broken hearts, and what’ll she be doing? She’ll be standing in front of a mirror, trying to perfect a convincing giggle?”

  “Giggling is overrated,” Evon said. “I’ve always been glad that Phyllians can’t giggle. Something to do with the structure of our larynxes. I can’t remember, but I read a study on it once.”

  “I don’t want her to grow up to become like one of those creepy spinsters that lives alone in a home full of house plants.”

  “Hey, don’t knock plant life. We make very good company.”

  I laughed.

  Evon grinned. “Kattie’s going to be fine. What do you think? That she’s going to grow up to be a serial killer?”

  The fear had crossed my mind before. “Of course not,” I said. I downed the contents of my glass. “She wants to be a doctor. Knowing her, it’ll be easy as cake.”

  “You know it will. See? Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” I still felt a knot in the pit of my stomach. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Okay. Did I tell you that Al asked me out?”

  I froze. “Al Scrubb?”

  “Do we know another Al?”

  “He asked you out? When?”

  “This afternoon, in the break room. He wanted to know what I was doing this Faedae night, and if I was free for a drink.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him I’d get back to him.”

  “Oh.” I looked into my empty glass. A different kind of knot was forming in my stomach.

  Al Scrubb was Tamish, so he was tan, and a little short. But he wasn’t ugly. In fact, the smoothness of his skin was rather appealing, and his features were attractively symmetrical. He was smart, and I heard he volunteered at shelters once a week. Evon could have done a lot worse.

  And yet, I was surprised to realize that the last thing I wanted was for Evon to go out with him.

  It was with great reluctance that I finally mumbled, “Al is a nice guy.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “He’s easy on the eyes.”

  “He is. He’s short though.”

  I nodded. “He is.”

  I looked up at Evon, and she was staring at me, looking amused.

  “What?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” And her eyes twinkled in that way they always did, and I felt a rush of warmth to my cheeks.

  What was wrong with me?

  “I don’t think he’s my type though,” Evon said.

  I felt relief wash over me, and then a little bit of embarrassment. “Why not?” I asked, as off-handedly as I could.

  “It’s not because he’s Tamish.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Evon wasn’t like other Phyllians, those who only dated members of their race.

  “I don’t know,” Evon said, coy all of a sudden. “I’ve always been partial to Rubies. Maybe I just prefer darker skin.”

  I blinked. Was she saying w
hat I thought she was saying? I forced a laugh. “You and a million other women in Metro State.”

  “Not in a superficial, herd-mentality way,” Evon said. “Just, you know, dark skin is pretty.”

  “And long legs, and blond hair,” I counted off the staple features of the men from my race.

  “Hair doesn’t have to be blond. It could be some other colour.”

  She gave me a meaningful look.

  I thought of my own red hair, and my heart skipped a beat. “Oh.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  After a few awkward moments, she stood up and said, “Better get going. Public transport gets real suspect when it’s late.”

  I nodded.

  She bent over, and leaned into me. I froze; I don’t know why I thought she was going to kiss me. But she only picked up her purse, and winked at me.

  She left. I just stayed there in my seat, mildly disoriented.

  After a few long moments, Kattie’s voice said, “You should court Evon.”

  I jumped, and turned around. Kattie was standing in the door. The juxtaposition of Kattie’s blank expression, with her soapy gloves and checkered apron was unsettling and amusing at the same time somehow. “Light, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I thought you were using the washer.”

  “Not all the dishes fit. It was easier to finish off the rest myself.” She looked in the direction of the front door. “You should court her.”

  “Please stop saying court. It sounds really creepy coming out of your mouth. And since when do you take an interest in my personal life?”

  “Since my counsellor said that it’s an important part of building bonds with family figures. You’re a family figure. This is just homework.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You two have been dancing around each other for years,” she said. “Just ask her out.”

  It wasn’t as if the thought had never crossed my mind. I bit my bottom lip. “We’re supposed to be friends,” I said, looking away. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

  “You mean weirder than they already are now?”

  “We work together. It would be inappropriate. Also, if she turns me down, I’ll never be able to face her again,” I admitted.

  “All valid concerns. But there will always be a reason not to take a chance.”

  “What are you, an expert now?”

  “No, my counsellor is an expert, and she told me that,” she said. “It seems to me sound advice.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve resolved to start making some friends at my learning centre.”

  I pursed my lips, and then allowed them to spread into a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She cocked her head. “You don’t think I can make friends?”

  “What? I haven’t said that.”

  “You don’t need to. Your condescending smile says plenty.”

  “I believe you’ll make many friends sweetie.”

  “If I make a friend,” she said, sternly, “then you have to ask Evon out.”

  I wanted to argue with her, but I was just feeling the full weight of my fatigue. “Sure, sure, okay,” I yawned.

  “Good.” She nodded at me. “It’s been a pleasure discoursing with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Good night, Kattie,” I laughed, heading for my bedroom.

  “Good night Arra.”

  Then, when I was out of earshot, I grinned and whispered under my breath: “Weirdo.”

  CHAPTER 9

  The next morning, I woke up to a call from Evon.

  Arra, should I ask her to call back later? DEB asked.

  I rubbed my eyes. “No, no, it’s okay. Voice link,” I said. “Hey Evon.”

  “Is your screen on?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Put your screen on. Metro Network. Now.”

  “You heard her, DEB,” I said. A video flickered to life on the opposite wall. Felius Shtump, the City Attorney, was on. He was standing on the steps of his office, at least seven microphones in his face.

  “The Enforcement Bureau has informed me of the gruesome murder committed yesterday morning in District 13. Admittedly, as a city, we have had our misgivings with black-bloods, and we have had our problems keeping black-bloods in line with the law. But, that gives no man or woman the right to take a black-blood life. The law protects the black-bloods, in the exact same capacity it protects you and me. Hate crime has not been tolerated in the past. It will not be tolerated now. Thank you.”

  “Can you believe that guy?” Evon said, when the video feed had switched to hoverball highlights. “Hate crime? When was the last time he saw a hate crime that involved ripping off a face?”

  “Hey, the guy’s got to get re-elected, right?” I grinned. “Hate crime’s a great buzz word.”

  “Great buzz word.”

  “It could’ve been a hate crime though.”

  “Yeah, I know. I think I’m just peeved we didn’t think of it first,” Evon admitted.

  We laughed.

  “See you at work?” Evon asked.

  I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “See you at work.”

  Link disconnected, DEB said.

  Just as I got out of bed to take a shower, DEB notified me again of another call. It was from Crawer.

  “Voice link. Good morning, Sergeant.”

  “I should think so. I’ve got good news.” Then, he told me there’d been a positive match on the Facial ID. We knew who the victim was.

  I was at the station in less than twenty moments. As soon as Evon, half a dozen other enforcers, and I were seated in the conference room, Crawer began.

  “Luna Cegal, age 25,” Crawer said. The screen behind him lit up, and our first picture of the victim—the one Bel had given me—showed up. So did a younger, less flattering photo of her. “This second picture was taken five years ago in Yuri City, the Cluster States, after she was arrested for shoplifting a thrift shop.”

  “She shoplifted a thrift shop?” Evon muttered next to me. “Talk about hard times.”

  “Records show that she was bailed out by a Lunis Cegal,” Crawer said. “We’re going to assume that’s her brother.”

  “Parents?”

  “No record of a father. Mother was a victim of the Syfron Experiments, so that’s who our victim inherited her rubriq scars from. But mommy died from brain cancer six months ago. As far as we know, this Lunis Cegal is the only living relative of our victim. Like his sister, he’s got no IDs, not even a birth certificate. And now that I think about it, considering their mother was an early generation black-blood, that makes some sense.”

  I nodded. Understandably, black-bloods, especially second and third generation victims of the Syfron Experiments, were very distrustful of authority. It wasn’t farfetched that one of them would purposely raise her children to live completely off the grid.

  “Tech has been brilliant,” Crawer said, and turned to the screen. “Look what they dug up.”

  On cue, a video clip popped up, and started to play. It was a surveillance clip of a public transport stop. At first the bench was empty. Then, a woman walked into the frame and sat down.

  I squinted. “Is that the victim?”

  “Yes. Last week. Route 3B, District 18,” Crawer said. “Keep watching.”

  We kept watching. A man stepped into the frame, and took a seat next to Luna. They talked for a few moments. But then, their conversation seemed to be escalating into an argument. The man jumped up and started to yell something. He looked furious.

  “No audio,” Crawer said. “But look who our hothead is.”

  The video froze, and zoomed in on the man’s face. There was no doubt who the man was: Lunis.

  “You think the person who literally defaced our victim was her own brother?” Evon looked sceptical.

  Crawer folded his arms. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please tell us about the numerous other suspect
s you have in mind.”

  “Granted.”

  “Plus he’s got motive,” Crawer argued. “Maybe Ms Cegal was about to make a decision that would compromise him. Maybe she was tired of being invisible. Or maybe she ate the last piece of milk berry pie in the fridge when they were six—I don’t give a muck, and neither should you.” He tapped the picture of Lunis. “Right now, all we know is that he’s our first concrete suspect.”

  “Do we know where he is?” one of the guys asked.

  “We think we do,” Crawer said. “In the last hour, one of our analysts was cross-referencing registered apartment leases with state-recognized IDs, when this name raised a red flag.”

  ‘Sunill Cage’ flashed onto the screen.

  Crawer smirked. “Look familiar?”

  I frowned, and racked my brains.

  But Evon only laughed. “Is he kidding me?”

  “What am I supposed to be seeing?” I asked.

  “Sunill Cage? It’s just an anagram for Lunis Cegal,” she said. “He should’ve stuck with his sister’s methods.”

  “Yeah, but then we wouldn’t be able to drag his black-blooded rump in here for questioning,” Crawer said.

  With those words, an address appeared beneath the name on the screen.

  “Well.” Crawer drew his blaster, and armed it. “Who’s ready to nab the bastard?”

  CHAPTER 10

  We rode to the target address in a hover carrier. There were six of us: Evon, Crawer, three members of the tactical division, and me. Every one helped themselves to a blaster rifle, but I held on to my hand blaster. I preferred to stay light.

  Crawer prepped us. “Remember, Cegal is not only a black-blood, he was brought up specifically to avoid situations like this. Expect resistance. If he proves hostile, immobilize. Do not shoot to kill. I repeat, do not shoot to kill.”

  We changed our weapon settings to low.

  “Everybody, ready?”

  We all nodded.

  The carrier landed on the street, opposite an apartment building.

  “Go, go, go, go!”

  We jumped out after Crawer, and moved quickly to the building. We used the back exit. I kept my eyes peeled, as we climbed flight after flight of stairs. On the eighth floor, Crawer led us to the fifth door on the right. We took our positions, and waited for his signal.