Extremes: A Retrieval Artist Novel

by Rusch, Kristine Kathryn

  “You’ll probably have to cancel that trip.”

  “The fees alone’ll eat us alive. God.” He put his face in his hands. “I hope she kept up the escrow account.”

  He hadn’t followed the business side at all—either that, or he was putting on a very good act.

  “Escrow account?” DeRicci asked.

  “Everyone who goes on a trip gives us a down payment when they make their reservation. We’re supposed to keep a percentage of it in escrow, so that we can refund if the trip gets canceled.” His voice was muffled against his hands. “Jane was always lax about this part. We even—.”

  He stopped himself. His hands clenched into fists, and he wiped his eyes.

  “You even what?” DeRicci asked softly.

  “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.” He raised his head. His eyes were red from being rubbed, the pupils small. “We were sued for breach of contract a few times, and our business manager raided the escrow account to pay for the court settlements. Jane found out about it and fired the business manager, swearing she’d reinstate the escrow accounts. I thought she had until a few years ago, when I went to refund a large deposit for a well-known client. There wasn’t any money in the accounts. Jane fixed it. She always could. But I’d been planning to see if she was still stiffing the escrows. I just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

  “Court settlements,” DeRicci said. “It sounds like you had some bad years.”

  He rose again, as if he found staying still completely impossible. “Jane liked edges. She thought everyone else did. She cut some of the wrong corners and we got sued. I made her stop. That’s when I started inspecting equipment, investigating travel destinations myself, doing the adventures with a handful of highly trained guides before we took any amateurs. Jane always said I was too cautious, that the name Extreme Enterprises should tip off anyone who wanted to come with us that they had to face some risks.”

  He walked around the room as he spoke, almost as if it caged him in.

  “She hired some lawyers, got this really airtight release, and had our new clients sign it. But even that wouldn’t be completely suit-proof. When someone died on one of our trips, we had to handle it. I finally convinced her to set up a death-benefits account, especially for trips too dangerous for our insurer to cover, but she didn’t like it. I had to force her every time we used it.”

  His tone was bitter, and he wasn’t making eye contact. DeRicci felt stunned by his revelations. Either he didn’t truly didn’t realize that Jane had been murdered—and that each word he uttered could have been used against him—or he didn’t care.

  “You’ve lost clients?” DeRicci tried to keep the incredulousness out of her voice.

  “Of course we have. It’s the nature of extreme sports. In that, Jane was right.” He was using the past tense now. Was it because of the argument he and Jane had had or because his mind was finally accepting her death?

  “How many have you lost?” DeRicci asked.

  “I’ve lost ten, mostly in the early years,” he said. “I don’t know about the company. For a while, Jane had set up some excursions on her own, using guides she chose. I ended that too. She was getting into my end of the business and she knew nothing about it.”

  “How many did those other guides lose?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have those numbers right off the top of my head. But there was the accident….”

  He winced as if he immediately regretted mentioning it.

  “Accident?”

  He sighed. “We lost an entire group, ship and all, because no one went through the proper decontamination procedures. Those new guides were awful. Clients died because no one had checked their suits, because no one had scouted locations, because the treks were too difficult for anyone human, even me.”

  Even me. He spoke those words without pride, just acceptance. Either he was arrogant by nature, or he believed himself to be very talented. Maybe he was both.

  “I’m amazed you managed to stay in business,” DeRicci said.

  “We’re not a heavily regulated industry,” he said, “and we had enough money to fight off any judgment. Besides, most of these things happened after Jane developed the ironclad release. A lot of judges just threw these cases out.”

  “It sounds like quite a headache for you,” DeRicci said.

  “It was a headache for her.” He stopped beside the small screen still showing the race, but didn’t look at it. “It was her mess. I made her clean it up.”

  This time, he met DeRicci’s gaze, and she thought she saw a challenge in his eyes.

  “You’re very angry with her,” DeRicci said softly, making sure she was using present tense too.

  “So I killed her? Stupidly? On some marathon track that I had no control of?” He crossed his arms.

  DeRicci didn’t answer any of his questions. Instead, she said, “I had thought, when you first came in, that you’d been crying, that you felt something for her. But now I realize that all you feel is anger.”

  “That’s not all. Jane and I….” His voice rose and then broke. “Jane and I….”

  He turned away, clearly unable to finish the sentence.

  “Were a couple?” DeRicci asked.

  He nodded, head still down.

  “Even though you spent no time together?”

  “Before,” he whispered.

  “Before what?”

  He wiped at his face again, then glanced at the screen. DeRicci could see shadowy figures moving along its path, but not how many or what they were doing.

  “Mr. Coburn?” DeRicci made his name sound like a command.

  He turned toward her.

  “You were telling me about your relationship with Jane Zweig.”

  “Business.” He cleared his throat. “These days, it’s just business.”

  “But before?” DeRicci asked, using his word.

  “Before, we were lovers. We started out as lovers.” His right hand ran through his hair again; a nervous gesture, almost as much of a tic as his relentless pacing.

  “And then what happened?”

  “What happened?” He shook his head. “Jane happened. She—I don’t know. She decided it was over, I guess.”

  DeRicci let the last two words resonate, but Coburn didn’t elaborate. She would get him to eventually. “When?”

  “Just after we started the business. But we stayed friends.” He paused. “Sort of friends.”

  “What does that mean?”

  He gave DeRicci a small smile, then came back to his chair. “It means she stayed friends with me. I was ready to cut all ties. I kind of did. I’m rarely here in Armstrong, and when I am, I don’t see her unless I have to.”

  “But you’re here now,” DeRicci said.

  He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

  “For the race?”

  “No.” He sat down. “Jane said there was trouble, so I came back.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “She didn’t tell me the details.”

  “But you don’t know?”

  “I only got back a few days ago. We were going to meet after the marathon.”

  “Why not before?” DeRicci asked.

  “Because we both wanted to train. I’d qualified before, but never run the marathon, and Jane loved it. She wanted to finish better this year than last. I think she was on pace, too, at least in the beginning.”

  His voice quivered. So many emotions about one woman. DeRicci had learned long ago that volatile emotions were often the most dangerous—and the most likely to lead to murder.

  “You watched her run?” DeRicci asked.

  “She always starts quicker than me. She’s a runner. I told you that.”

  “And you are?”

  “A nut.” He laughed weakly. “At least, that was what she called me.”

  “I thought you excelled in a number of sports.”

  He looked up at her, his expression suddenly blank, as if he had just remembered who sh
e was and why she had brought him to the bungalow. DeRicci cursed herself silently. She hadn’t planned to reveal any of the cursory research she had done while waiting for him.

  “It’s easy to excel,” he said, “if you know where to participate.”

  “Where to participate?” DeRicci didn’t understand him.

  “Know your skills, know the races.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t like running in low gravity, but I’m good in one-G. I like climbing and swimming, and I do both well, so if a sport combines them, then I participate. I always did that, and then I started designing trips for myself at first, bringing some friends. It was Jane who convinced me to open the excursions to the public. She said a lot of people wanted to test themselves, and she was right. She was right about a lot of things.”

  “Like what?” DeRicci asked.

  He shook his head. “Little things.”

  He wasn’t going to answer that yet. DeRicci felt like she was circling him, trying to find an opening, a way to pry open the door leading to Coburn’s secrets.

  “You said you just got back,” she said. “From where?”

  “Freexen,” he said. “Jane wanted an event there.”

  DeRicci thought his wording was interesting. He didn’t want an event there. Jane did.

  “What kind of event?” she asked.

  “Whatever I could design.” He spoke too quickly. He had already planned that answer when he mentioned Freexen.

  “Freexen’s a long journey from here,” DeRicci said. “Jane must have contacted you a while ago to get you back.”

  “Yeah,” he said, not elaborating further.

  He no longer paced, and no longer spoke as freely. DeRicci wondered if that was because of the topic or because of her blunder a moment earlier.

  Time to change the interview’s nature and focus.

  “What did you do when you found Jane’s body?” DeRicci asked.

  “Hit the panic button,” Coburn said, frowning. He obviously hadn’t expected to change the topic.

  “Hers or yours?” DeRicci asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “Mine.”

  “Why not hers?”

  His mouth opened, then closed, as if he thought the better of what he had been about to say. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” DeRicci let doubt creep into her voice for the first time. “You could have pushed her panic button, then kept going. No one would have blamed you. You would have been able to finish the race.”

  He let out a small snort, as if her words had shocked him. “Jane’s dead, Detective. Why would I want to finish some stupid race?”

  The right answer said with the right amount of indignation. In spite of herself, DeRicci was convinced.

  She didn’t want to be. Coburn had a traditional motive for murder, and enough volatile emotions within him to carry it out. Although she wasn’t sure how, not if Jane Zweig had been alive when the race started.

  He seemed to understand the direction DeRicci’s thoughts had turned, because he said, “I’m not the only person who had troubles with Jane.”

  “Really?” DeRicci wished he had stayed silent. One of her old partners, back in the days when the police department thought she would amount to something, said that anyone who volunteered information in a murder inquiry, particularly about other suspects, was usually guilty.

  “Really,” Coburn said. “Jane’s a difficult person.”

  DeRicci already had the sense of that.

  “I had to vouch for her,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “The marathon.” He stared at DeRicci as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t know this information.

  “The marathon organizers?”

  Coburn nodded. “She tried to take over the event last year, make it one of ours. They didn’t like that.”

  DeRicci felt a chill run down her back. “How could you vouch for her?”

  “I had to promise them she wouldn’t disrupt the proceedings, that I’d take full responsibility if she did.” He sighed. “But I guess I was wrong, wasn’t I? She disrupted things after all.”

  “Somehow,” DeRicci said, “I don’t think it was intentional.”

  “Me, either,” Coburn said. “I suspect no one was more surprised than Jane. She always thought she’d find a way to live forever.”

  DeRicci let that thought filter through her consciousness for a moment, not quite sure what to make of it.

  “You know what the funny thing is, though?” he said.

  “What?” DeRicci asked.

  “I always thought that if Jane came face-to-face with death, she would win.” He stood, the restlessness obviously back. “I guess I believed her. Jane was such a force. I never thought that she could lose.”

  FIFTEEN

  OLIVIARI HAD LOST COUNT of how many runners had removed their environmental suits and handed them to her. The runners’ faces had blurred together; she had even stopped searching for Frieda Tey’s features in the crowd.

  Oliviari’s back ached, her finger—with its little DNA swipe—hurt, and her head throbbed. Sweat drenched her. The space she was working in—with all the tired runners, Hayley, and two security guards—seemed even smaller than it had before.

  The runners weren’t happy any longer. They were just as tired as the others who had come through, but that glow of accomplishment didn’t fill this group. They knew they wouldn’t be allowed out of the race area, and they were angry. They wanted to take out that anger on someone, and Oliviari was the closest target.

  She wiped the sweat off her forehead, ignored the questions being shouted around her, and concentrated on swiping bits of DNA as she moved the suits to Hayley.

  Hayley was being quiet too, keeping her head down as she worked. Perhaps she felt that if she didn’t make eye contact, no one could yell at her.

  “Ms. Ramos?” The male voice carried over the din of exhausted conversation.

  Oliviari took the next suit, its material damp, its neckline sweat-stained. The young woman who handed it to her had high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was a light shade of green, but Oliviari couldn’t tell if the green was an enhancement, a genetic alteration, or an affectation.

  “Ms. Ramos?” Louder this time.

  Oliviari turned, remembering only a half second too late that Ramos was the false name she was using for this job.

  The medic who had helped her with the exhausted man stood at the door to the main part of the tent. The medic looked exhausted now. Exhausted and worried.

  His gaze met hers. “Can you come with me?”

  She shook her head, sweeping her hand toward to the group filling the entry. “I’ve got to stay here.”

  “Someone’ll cover for you. I need you in the main part of the tent.” He clearly wasn’t making a request.

  Oliviari cursed softly. There was no way her luck would hold twice. She wouldn’t be able to find out which runners she had missed.

  She slipped the DNA swiper into the pocket of her pants.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Hayley.

  Hayley looked up, as if she had just realized that something was wrong. “Now what?”

  Oliviari pointed with her head toward the medic at the door. “They need me.”

  “They need a pair of arms. Have them get someone else. We need you here.” Hayley spoke loud enough for the medic to hear.

  “Ms. Ramos.” This time, his tone held a warning.

  “I’m sorry,” Oliviari said again to Hayley. “I have to.”

  She handed the diagnostic wand to one of the security guards as she passed him, then stopped at the medic’s side.

  “What’s so important?” she asked.

  “Not here.” He held the door into the main part of the tent open for her. She stepped inside.

  The air here was cooler and smelled fresher, probably because there weren’t so many bodies packed into the place. A lot of people sprawled on beds, though, and even more stood nea
r the refreshment stand, downing glasses of liquid as if they were having a contest to see who could drink the most.

  The medic put his hand on her back and propelled her toward yet another door. She’d never been through this one. It led into a windowless office with a makeshift desk stacked high with equipment boxes. The only chair was covered with boxes as well.

  “You feeling all right?” The medic was tall, muscular; he had circles under his eyes, and sweat streaks on his brown skin. A nametag on his shirt identified him as G. Klein.

  “Tired,” she said. “But that’s to be expected. Why?”

  “Because.” He leaned against the wall and ran a hand over his face. “The man we helped—the one who finished the run? He just died.”

  Oliviari felt her breath catch. “Of what?”

  “That’s just it,” Klein said. “I’m not sure.”

  “You’re not sure.” Oliviari shook her head. She hadn’t expected this. “What do you mean, you’re not sure? If someone died after a race like this, cause of death should be pretty straightforward. Either the strain triggered something already wrong, or he had some kind of suit malfunction or—”

  “I checked all of that. I’ve been with this race a long time. I thought we’d seen everything.”

  She was getting chilled. The cool air, which had felt so good a moment before, seemed frigid.

  “So I have to ask you again,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  “You think this is something contagious.” She wasn’t asking a question. It was clear from his behavior that he did.

  “Please.” He sounded tired. “Just answer me.”

  She shrugged. “I’ve been working hard. Sweaty, tired, exhausted. I have no idea how I am.”

  “He fell against you,” Klein said.

  Her skin crawled with the memory. The man’s sweat had long since mingled with her own.

  “Yes,” she said. “So you figure if anyone would get infected, it would be me?”

  Klein didn’t answer her.

  Oliviari ran her hands over her arms. They were covered in gooseflesh. “You took readings. I know you did. What did they show?”

  “Nothing that should have killed him,” Klein said.