The Predator and The Prey: An Inspector Thomas Sullivan Thriller (The Chronicles of Inspector Thomas Sullivan Book 1)

by K. C. Sivils

  “Introduce me next time we’re there and I’ll forget about it.”

  “Yeah, sure thing. Now that you’re cool with Joe.”

  ---

  I watched as the manager looked at the signed lease and the modifications I had made. She shook her head and looked up at me briefly before taking the hard credits I’d placed on the counter and making them disappear.

  “This isn’t standard,” she complained.

  “Nor is that finder’s fee you just accepted. Think of it this way, it’ll be good for the place to have a cop living here.”

  “I don’t know,” the manager replied slowly. “Might scare off some of the tenants if you know what I mean.”

  “You mean deadbeats who were always late on their rent?”

  The manager smiled and ran her fingers through her unkempt greying brown hair. “Now that you mention it, you might just class up this place a little. Bring in a better class of deadbeat.”

  Reaching into the top left drawer of her desk, the manager removed a set of key cards for an electronic lock. “These will get you in until you install your own locks.”

  I took the keys without saying anything and picked up my one bag and headed for the elevator.

  “I’d take the stairs if I were you,” the manager shouted. She fingered the credits in her pocket and smiled. He wouldn’t last long. At least he’d paid an entire year upfront. Nobody did that.

  ---

  Shutting the door behind me, I made my way over to the small window and glanced down at the intersection below. The main street was four lanes of hover traffic and ran in front of my new building. The cross street was two lanes and filled with trash and commercial refuse bins on the alley below my window.

  The room was empty, letting me have a good look at how the structure had been built. Made from shipping containers bringing the original tools and supplies to Beta Prime, the containers had made a one-way trip, as was often the case on newly colonized planets. Once emptied of cargo, the containers were repurposed to build housing or other necessary functions.

  I liked what I saw. Solid steel construction coated with a plastisteel coating to make the interior look better. It could use a coat of paint but that could wait. My first task was to change the locks on the door and windows. I opened my suitcase and took out the locks and tools I’d brought with me to Beta Prime for just this purpose. An hour later and a deep laceration on my left forefinger exposing my steel finger and my new place was secure for the night.

  I stepped out on the tiny ledge that served as a balcony and shivered in the freezing wind, letting its hard, icy bite cool me off from the frustrating task of installing my new custom locks. Looking around my new neighborhood, it became pretty evident this part of town was old. Probably built when the first miners arrived to exploit the planet’s mineral riches.

  Cosmetic overlays can only do so much to hide the fact all of the structures were basically boxes made from left over containers or prefab plastisteel buildings. Everything had a layer of grime on it, glued to the exterior by the odd combination of ice that had melted and refrozen and the freezing that wind whipped across everything, seeming to come from every direction.

  I watched as workers down on the streets below hurried to get home, shop for something quickly before what few shops there were closed or eat at one of the small eateries. Other workers walked with their heads down against the cold, wrapped in thick overcoats as they made their way to work. Shift change.

  Pickpockets would be at work. Tired workers coming home were in another world, wanting to only reach home, eat, watch some screen and go to sleep so they could repeat the cycle again tomorrow. Shift workers coming on were in a hurry to get to work, having slept in a little too long or been delayed by an errand. Either way, nobody below was as alert as they should be. The bone chilling cold wrapped itself around each individual, forcing them into themselves, ignoring the world as they hurried to a warm destination. A pickpocket’s haven.

  I looked down in the alley below and spotted a couple of homeless men, wobbling as they made their way to wherever it was they’d take shelter from the freezing cold tonight. How these people survived was a testament to humanity’s ability to survive and adapt. It was also a statement of how cold-hearted man could be to his fellow human beings.

  I shook my head at my own hypocrisy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done anything to help a homeless individual. While they were alive at least, I’ve done my share to help find their killers when they were gone.

  Tired from the long day, I pulled out some clothes from my suitcase to make a pillow for myself on the floor. I secured my window and checked the doors. Wrapped in my greatcoat, I stretched out on the floor. As tired as I was, I couldn’t fall asleep.

  NUMBER SEVEN

  I woke up in a cold sweat. It happens whenever I dream. This one didn’t seem that disturbing, but for some reason it was unsettling. My mind wanted to revisit my trip to Beta Prime on the Starliner St. Gabriel.

  The IAPF normally springs for a Second Class ticket on transfers or any work related interstellar travel. I had downgraded to steerage. I like the company better. As an Inspector I have the freedom to move about anywhere in public space on any common carrier interstellar transport, passenger, freighter or tramp. Since I spend most of my time either asleep or walking around, I don’t see any reason for more space than is necessary to sleep or lie on my back thinking.

  My dream took me back to the lower decks where the transient workers, indentures and people desperate to start over or hide traveled. Since I was relocating to a new planet, it paid to get an early start on meeting the people I was most likely going to be working with in one capacity or another, victim or criminal.

  It was there I spotted her. She was a pretty girl but that wasn’t what made me remember her. It was the fear just beneath the surface, the look of a prey animal being hunted, knowing it would not escape the predator.

  She took one look at me and vanished down a side corridor but not before my cybernetic eye scanned her. The poor girl stood 170 cm tall and her body mass was 55 to 56 kg. She had long brown hair and dressed in old clothes. Her most striking feature were her eyes, big brown doe eyes. I think that is the correct term to use. She had hauntingly beautiful pale white skin. Her features were finely defined, her face squarish in shape with a strong jawline. Her lips were slender yet managed to have a pouty look about them. As to her age, I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. She could have been 20 standard years of age or as old as 30.

  I’d followed her in my dream, just as I had on the St. Gabriel. She’d seen me following her and it had frightened her even more than she already was. I didn’t know her name, but I’d checked the passenger roster for steerage. Everybody had a common destination. The same one I did, Beta Prime.

  Not wanting to scare the poor girl more than she already was, I let her give me the slip. I figured I’d run across her again and introduce myself, maybe as a cop, maybe as a civilian. I didn’t see her again on the entire trip but she’d left an impression on me. That much was for sure.

  The dream was unsettling. It reminded me I was a cop, I was supposed to protect frightened civilians, if that was what she was. I shouldn’t have let it go so easy. I should have invested the time to locate her and find out what had her so frightened.

  I didn’t want her to wind up like the last frightened young woman I’d not taken the time to learn what had her scared.

  My room was so cold I could see my breath. I got up and went to my balcony window and looked out. It was snowing lightly and the flakes had covered the dirty surfaces of the neighborhood with a dusting of clean white specks. It would all melt in the morning, adding to the grit and grime of the neighborhood, but for now, it seemed peaceful.

  I glanced at my watch and decided not to go back to sleep. I’d have to be up in an hour to report for my first official day of duty. I took a hot shower, if you want to call it that, and dressed as quickly as I could in my cold
apartment. I put on the last of my clean clothes and left, locking up my place.

  That one-hour was going to be put to use to get a name for that young girl.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  She looked around the area, seeing nobody noticeable. Earlier in the day she’d discovered the CCTV cameras in the immediate area had long ago stopped working. If nobody saw her, it would be possible to be somewhat warm while sleeping that night.

  In the days since the St. Gabriel had landed she had not felt safe a single time. Until she found a safe place, a routine and an understanding of the new city, there could be no possibility of feeling secure.

  Not so long as there was a possibility of being hunted.

  ---

  “Hey Grace, you going to stop by and have one with the guys?”

  Grace looked back at the cute patrol officer whose query had stopped her momentarily. Detecting a trace of hopefulness in his voice, she felt intrigued enough to almost change her mind and go to the local cop bar. Almost but not quite.

  “Sorry, Sergeant’s exams coming up soon. I’ve got to hit the books.”

  Noting his disappointed expression, Grace was quick to add, “I promise, as soon as I take the exam, I’ll stop and have one or two with you.”

  He smiled back, relieved Grace had at least not turned down his request out of hand. The patrol officer waved and turned to follow his friends and fellow officers as the precinct station hummed noisily from the activity of the shift change.

  Weaving her way through the busy corridors, Grace paused at the station house doors to brace herself against the always frigid winds of the streets of Capital City. Leaving the warm comfort of the precinct, Grace made her way out on to the streets she had spent long hours patrolling and directing traffic. Tired from standing all day, she walked slowly, enjoying the slow pace.

  Grace decided to treat herself to a meal at the diner near her tiny apartment. It would be a nice break, a change of pace. And then she would go home and hit the books for the sergeant exams. Unlike most officers, Grace intended to pass on her first attempt.

  Looking ahead, Grace noticed the streetlights for most of a block were out. She’d report the issue as soon as she got home. Halfway down the block, Grace noticed she was alone. Being alone didn’t frighten her, she could handle herself and she was armed. The sensation of being watched, that something was about to happen did set her nerves on edge.

  Grace adjusted her uniform jacket and bravely looked ahead to the next working streetlight.

  It’s just your imagination silly. You live in a safe neighborhood.

  Yyyeeeooowwwwwlllllll!

  Grace jumped in alarm, looking down the alley to her right just in time to see a pair of mangy longhaired tomcats run down the snow and trash covered alleyway.

  Placing her hand on her chest, Grace laughed at her racing pulse.

  “Stupid cats.”

  She watched as the larger of the two cats jumped atop the fence at the end of the alley, having been vanquished by the smaller cat. Feeling her heart rate begin to slow, Grace smiled at the victory of the smaller cat and turned to hurry to the waiting warmth of the local diner.

  Nobody saw the dark form slip from the shadows of the alleyway.

  ---

  Stepping out of the simple structure, a converted interstellar shipment container, he rubbed his hands together before stretching. It was a short walk down several blocks to reach his new parish. There weren’t many opportunities for Anglican priests this far out in space from Earth. To be placed on a planet as troubled as Beta Prime was an opportunity he had long prayed for. A chance to be of true service to people who needed God’s message and comfort, an opportunity to redeem himself for past sins.

  Cold weather wreaked havoc on the arthritis in his knees, a constant reminder to him that he was flawed. His “thorn in the flesh” as the Apostle Paul had said.

  The walk to the parish church where he would be installed as the rector was interesting. The first two blocks took him past housing units that had seen better days, or at least needed better tenants to take care of their outward appearance. Approaching the major intersection of the area, he noticed the large apartment building and small local businesses struggling to survive in the gritty neighborhood.

  He watched as a band of young pickpockets made their way toward the plant workers on their way to work for the shift change. Watching with interest, he identified the leader and the four other members of the group as they waded into the stream of people heading toward the mass transit station. Smiling to himself in anticipation, he felt confident the five youngsters would be regulars at the parish as soon as he was able to implement some of the changes he had planned.

  Whether they wanted to be regulars or not.

  Making his way past the intersection, he quickened his pace hoping to get out of the cold and into the warmth of his newly adopted eatery for his morning breakfast, Joe’s. Entering the establishment from the main street, he paused to soak in the warm blast of air blowing directly down on customers as they entered the establishment. He waited patiently for the harried hostess to return to seat him.

  “Good morning, sir. Will it just be you?”

  The hostess stopped in her tracks after greeting him, staring at him as if he were the oddest thing she’d ever seen.

  “It’s okay, young lady. I don’t bite and I took a shower this morning,” he said politely in response to her stare.

  “I’m sorry, uh, Father. I’ve only seen images of priests before. I’ve never actually seen one in person.”

  “Well, now you have. I promise you, there’s nothing special about me or any other priest you’ll meet. We have to eat just like everyone else.”

  “Oh, yes, eat. Is a booth okay, sir? Do I call you Father or sir? Would you prefer Mister?”

  “It’s okay,” he smiled, trying to relieve the young woman’s nervousness. “Father Nathan is fine. Treat me like you would any other customer.”

  He followed her to a booth in the corner along the front windows of the establishment, allowing him to watch the people of his part of town as they hurried about their business in the morning cold. She waited for him to take a seat and laid a menu in front of him.

  “Coffee?”

  “That would be fine. I’ll take a look at the menu while someone brings me a cup of coffee.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sitting at my empty desk, I stared at the list of names registered on the St. Gabriel’s inbound passenger manifest. Eliminating all of the male passengers in steerage along with all of the children and other individuals below the age of 18, I’d been able to reduce the list of over 1,000 passengers to a mere 228. If I eliminated married women from the list, I was left with 42 names. Something told me the young woman wasn’t married. That same something told me her name wasn’t on the short list either.

  A glance at my desk chronometer told me it was 0624. Time to go to the morning meeting to start the shift. No reason to get on the Chief and Markeson’s bad side on my first real day on the job.

  Not wishing for anyone to see what I’d been working on, I downloaded all of the information I collected onto my pocket tablet and deleted all of the files. I’d scrub my computer later when I had a chance. I stopped by the precinct coffee pot, thought better of it, and headed to the meeting room for the briefing as the day shift started.

  I took a seat in the back and watched as the uniforms, detectives, undercover and desk sergeants all filed in and sat down. Cops are some of the most habitual people in the world and I always learned a lot about a precinct by just observing my fellow law officers go about their daily routine.

  The uniforms, for the most part, looked tired, like they knew no matter how hard they worked at policing their beats, it wasn’t going to make a difference. The undercovers had that crazed look they all get if they’ve been under too long. It’s a confusing job. The lines get too blurred for my liking.

  The detectives, now they were a diverse bunch. Some looked
quite professional in their demeanor. They’d only made the grade a few years ago and hadn’t become cynical yet. Others had that hard look about them. They’d seen too much on the job and had taken to the bottle, were on the take or had learned when they could take the law into their own hands.

  I wasn’t on the take and never would be. The bottle? Sometimes it was my best friend. I’d learned the hard way it was a fickle friend that could turn on you in the blink of an eye. Taking justice into my own hands? That I was guilty of at times, a pattern of behavior I couldn’t seem to break. It had played a role in my winding up in one hellhole after another with orders to clean the sewer up.

  Then there were the brand new, fresh from passing their exam, newly minted Detective Sergeants. They had a lot in common with puppies, followed you everywhere and made messes someone else had to clean up. I spotted the newest of the new come stumbling in and laughed to myself. My new partner had just reported for duty that morning.

  Markeson would not pass up the chance to make his new Inspector look bad by assigning a young pup like that one as my partner. My job would be hard enough without having to keep the pup out of trouble, making it even easier to send bad stuff my way.

  I listened as Chief O’Brian made a few remarks and turned the morning briefing over to his Captain. Pretty routine as far as I could tell, not that I’d expected to find out what I’d really been sent to clean up at a shift change meeting. Markeson went down the duty roster for the day, making assignments and setting deadlines for updates on current investigations.

  “Hit the streets people. Let’s keep our citizens safe and get the bad guys locked up.” With that bit of cliché encouragement, Markeson sent everyone on their way for the day shift.

  Markeson cast a dark glance in my direction and gruffly announced, “Sullivan, in my office in five. Josephson, you too.”