by Mel Odom
“Stop.”
I stopped and looked at him. The virtual keyboard faded from the desktop. “Yes, sir.”
“Tell me what you did.”
“I closed one of the cold case files, sir. As you instructed.”
“This soon?”
I examined the question. “I’m confused, Lieutenant Ormond. The solution to this case was already long overdue. That’s why it was down here. If anything, I closed the case five years late.”
Ormond closed his eyes as if he were suffering a migraine. “Tell me about it.”
I did. As I did, he tried to calm himself. I kept my report short and to the point, but I covered the details.
When I finished, Ormond looked at me. “Sounds like a good collar.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But if it is a good collar, why did an assistant district attorney call me in?”
I looked over my reports. “I was not made aware that you had been called, or that an assistant district attorney was involved.”
“She is. One of the new kids on the block. She wants to make a name for herself and she’s a hard sell where casework is involved. If she’s calling me, something is wrong with the collar.”
Chapter Twelve
As Ormond had stated, ADA Kristine Winters was relatively young. Her black business suit hugged her trim figure and set off her white-blond hair and red lacquered nails. Shelly wouldn’t have liked ADA Winters because she was a woman who put too much stock in her looks.
I stood beside the lieutenant and Winters in the hallway outside the interview room where Steven Carmichael and his attorney of record sat.
“You’re Drake 3GI2RC?” Winters stared at me.
I said I was.
“And there’s no doubt that you’re a bioroid.” She seemed most unhappy with that fact.
“I am a bioroid.”
Winters turned on Ormond at that point. “Why didn’t he have a partner tonight?”
Ormond’s face colored slightly but he didn’t back down. “Drake’s partner was killed. It was in the media. Maybe you saw something about that.”
“I’m aware of Detective Nolan’s death in the line of duty, Lieutenant, but this unit wasn’t supposed to be out on the street without a partner.” She turned to me. “Where was your partner?”
“I don’t presently have one assigned.”
“Why did you arrest Carmichael?”
“Because he is responsible for the death of a young girl five years ago.”
Ormond held up his hands. “Back off just a minute here, counselor. I’ve seen Drake’s reports. The collar was a good one. Carmichael is good to go down for the hit-and-run.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t try case, Lieutenant.”
“What does that mean?”
Winters took a breath. “Did you know that the case hinges on the confession Carmichael gave Drake when the arrest was made?”
“Sure. Drake recorded the confession. No problem.”
“It is a problem. When that confession gets tossed, and it will get tossed, we’ll have to build this case from the ground up. The district attorney isn’t going to be happy about having to spend that much time in court over a five year old hit-and-run.”
“Why will the confession get tossed?”
“Because Drake didn’t have a partner with him to corroborate the confession.”
“He has the confession.”
“Digital media can be spoofed, Lieutenant. Surely you know that. You’ve got a whole department here that deals with cyber crimes. Maybe you should drop in for a refresher course on what hackers and crackers can do. Carmichael’s attorney is already impugning the vid confession, and he’s going to be able to make a case for it.”
I interrupted. “I found the car. It will have Carmichael’s DNA and the girl’s DNA. You can still make this case.”
Winters turned on me. “If we have to pursue that route, we’re going to have to also prove Carmichael was behind the wheel that night. All he has to do is say he wasn’t. Only one person on a jury has to believe that he wasn’t. The DA isn’t going to want to go into court with those odds for a no-win case.”
“Matti Harcourt is dead, and that man did it.”
“I believe you, Drake. I do.” She seemed sincere. “But that little girl’s death was over five years ago. No one cares anymore.”
“What you really mean is that no one cares who matters to the DA’s office.” I said it, but they were Shelly’s words. She’d told ADAs that before when they’d wanted to walk away from a case.
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, then she stared at me. “That’s right. It’s a sad thing, but that’s how it is.” Winters looked back at Ormond. “If you’re going to have Drake on the streets arresting people, get him a partner. Now.” She left us standing in the hallway while she returned to the interview room.
I stood there and didn’t know what to do. I thought about Shelly and how she would have reacted. I thought about the strange black-haired woman that was haunting me. I thought about the little girl that had lost her life five years ago.
Things were not balanced; I felt that sharply. I didn’t know how else to express it.
Ormond glared at me. “Go home, Drake.”
“I don’t mind working, sir.”
“No. You’re done working for the day. Get out of here.” Ormond left.
I had no choice. I departed as well.
*
I sat in my flat and reviewed the cold case files. Even though I wasn’t at the department, I still had access to them. I was restless, though, and couldn’t focus on any particular case. I knew I was limited. If I made another case, and I was certain that I would, then I still wouldn’t be able to effect a successful arrest.
I missed talking to Shelly.
*
The next morning, I arrived at the police department and started work. I had a few leads on some of the cases that I could run down, and I followed them up. None of them broke as quickly as Matti Harcourt’s had. I was patient, though.
At a quarter to ten, Ormond called me up to his office. I expected to be introduced to my new partner.
I wasn’t.
“We’re going to work the cold case files differently.” Ormond didn’t look up from his flat desktop PAD as he spoke. He moved some holographic images of files around with his fingers. “You’re still assigned to clearing them, but you’re not going to be out in the field. You’re going to work up leads here at the station, then hand them off to Detective Hansen.”
“All right.” I knew Hansen. He was a good investigator—not really creative, but he stuck like a bloodhound. Shelly respected the man, but she’d never wanted to work with him. “Does that mean I also turn over all interviews I can’t do over the Net?”
That made Ormond pause.
Most cold cases weren’t solved by new evidence. I hadn’t found new evidence in Carmichael’s case. I had found a car no one else had been able to locate.
Usually, breaking a cold case meant constant interviewing and re-interviewing, chipping away at stories until new testimony emerged. Sometimes someone remembered an aspect of an event that hadn’t been recalled before, or an investigator could turn up a new witness that hadn’t been found, or who hadn’t come forward for reasons of their own.
The majority of the time, though, partners involved in a crime—murder included—got mad at each other and told someone the truth. Eventually, that truth made the rounds back to the police investigators. Then, the interview process began again until someone broke down and a confession was given.
Contact with the people involved in a cold case was paramount.
“No.” Ormond wasn’t happy about his decision. “Conduct the interviews. But if you turn up a solid lead, or an interview that you know is going to bear fruit, loop Hansen in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Go.”
I w
ent.
*
I was in my mental office reviewing files when I felt the black-haired woman arrive. One moment she wasn’t there, the next she sat across the desk from me. She had on a different dress, this one dark blue.
I glanced out the window and saw that it was no longer day in 1930s San Francisco. A fat moon hung in the window and fought the city lights for supremacy.
I blanked the computer by hanging up the phone. “Who are you?”
“You’ll remember.”
“I have never met you.”
“No.” She smiled agreeably. “You haven’t. But you’ll remember me. That’s what this is all about.”
“What is this?”
“You’ll remember.”
“You were with me in the hotel.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t dream, and I’ve never been there.”
“You’re not dreaming and you’ve never been there, but the hotel was real.”
“If it was real and I’ve never been there, it couldn’t have happened.”
“It happened. You’ll remember.”
“Why don’t I remember now?”
The woman shrugged. “Because this is a mystery. Because there are pieces that you haven’t found yet. You will.”
“How do you know?”
She smiled again. “Because I know you.” Then she looked sad. “Except for all the lies you told.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“No, I suppose you haven’t.” She leaned forward and picked up a two-dimensional picture from the corner of my desk. I hadn’t ever noticed it before.
As she held it, I saw the picture was of Shelly, Kurt, and the girls. I felt uncomfortable about the woman holding the picture.
The woman looked at me. “Did you ever lie to your partner?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
It was an odd question and I had no response. “How did we get out of that hotel?”
She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It was a very close thing. We almost didn’t.”
“Where were we?”
“That would be telling. I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s not allowed.” A serious look firmed her features. “What was done was a very chancy thing. Very difficult. No one had ever done this before.”
“Done what?”
The seriousness evaporated and she smiled again. “You’ll figure it out. After all, you’re a detective now. Detect.”
I stared at her.
“There’s something else on your mind, though, and you need to take care of it.”
“What?”
“The little girl is unfinished business.”
“The case has been dismissed. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Death isn’t just about a court trial.” She smiled sadly. “People have to know things. Don’t you think the little girl’s parents deserve to know what happened to their child?”
I had thought about that, but I had pushed the thought out of my head. Shelly usually handled talking to victims’ families. I didn’t know if Ormond had assigned someone to talk to the parents, but I doubted it.
“Don’t you want to know who is responsible for your partner’s death?”
“Do you know anything?”
“No, but someone does.” With that, she faded out of view and I was alone again in my office.
*
At 1400, I took a late lunch. Even though I didn’t eat, I was allowed to take a lunch break just like my coworkers. Shelly and I had occasionally taken lunch outside the department, so my departure didn’t raise any red flags for Lieutenant Ormond.
I flagged down a taxi in front of the building and gave the Ecuadorian driver the address I wanted to go to. I had looked for Beverly and Grant Harcourt on the Net and found an address for Beverly.
She lived in a nice apartment on the west side of the megapolis and worked from home as a medical transcriptionist for a podiatrist. Her flat was small but neat when she invited me in.
Beverly Harcourt had aged over the intervening five years. Her black hair was much shorter and shot through with grey. She had put on a little weight, but she looked good-natured and professional.
My appearance set her back when she saw me. I had only sent an email requesting to talk with her about her daughter. She had been reluctant at first, and I had neglected to mention that I was a bioroid.
“I apologize. I should have told you about myself.” I stood in her doorway and wished I could put her at ease.
“No, it’s all right. Please forgive me. I think the biggest surprise is that the police are still involved in this investigation at all.”
“I won’t take up much of your time, Mrs. Harcourt. I know you’re probably busy.”
“My daughter meant everything to me, Detective Drake. If you have news, I want to know. Please, sit.”
I sat on the edge of the chair she pointed me to and watched while she sat across from me on the sofa. I noted that the things in the room were hers. There was no evidence of a man around the room. The only pictures on the walls were of Mrs. Harcourt and Matti.
She muted the 3D, which was showing continued coverage of the Moon’s bid for the Olympics, Mara Blake’s kidnapping, and the bodies that had been discovered in Gila Highlands. Reynolds and Mack had discovered another pit with more bodies, so the killer’s total was now in the double digits. The case was definitely intriguing.
“Can I get you some tea?” She stopped herself as she realized that I wouldn’t need tea. “Sorry.”
“No need to be.” I didn’t often have people forget that I was a bioroid, but Mrs. Harcourt was distracted. “If you wish to have tea, please do so.”
“No, I’d rather hear what you have to say.”
“I found the man that killed your daughter.” At first, Mrs. Harcourt stared at me in stony silence. Then, gradually, the old feelings rose to the surface and her iron resolve fractured. She wept openly.
I explained about the evidence I had found, the way I had discovered the crushed hopper, and my arrest of Steven Carmichael. I also let her know that the DA’s office wasn’t presently interested in prosecuting her daughter’s killer.
“So he’s going to get away with it?” Mrs. Harcourt’s voice was shaky and weak.
“Unless the DA’s office can be persuaded to push the case forward, yes.”
“You said this man wasn’t doing very well.”
I shook my head. “He’s an alcoholic, Mrs. Harcourt. His health isn’t good. He’s barely managing to take care of himself.”
“From what I’ve seen, people in his condition generally don’t get better until they seek help.”
“That’s true.”
“And if the DA was able to make the case against him, this man would get the help he needed inside prison?”
“Help would be offered, yes.”
“Then I hope you don’t mind me saying that I hope that man drinks himself to death.”
I looked at her. “I don’t mind, Mrs. Harcourt.”
She took a deep breath and stared at her hands. I noticed her wedding ring was missing. “I don’t think any of us survived what happened to Matti, Detective Drake. My husband and I weren’t able to deal with our grief together. We concentrated on assigning blame to each other. Our marriage…didn’t last.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
She nodded absently. “We weren’t solid before. What happened to Matti ruined us.”
“I can talk to your husband if you’d like.”
She shook her head. “No, I can do that. We still talk. We still care about each other, we just can’t live together.”
“All right.” I stood. “I have to get back.”
“Of course.”
“Again, I am sorry for your loss.”
She walked me to the door. Then, before I knew what she was going to do, she leaned over and hugged me fiercely. �
��Thank you for your time, Detective Drake, and for coming to tell me about my daughter.”
“You’re welcome.” I felt awkward in her embrace. I patted her back gingerly, mimicking what I had seen Shelly do under similar circumstances. After a moment, she released me and turned to go back into her flat.
I returned to the elevator. As the doors closed, I remembered again the vision I’d had of the woman in the hotel room. I could almost hear the gunfire blasting around me.
I pushed those “memories” away and thought about Shelly. I wanted to know who had taken my partner from me.
She was dead, and I was supposed to do something about it.
Chapter Thirteen
Ten more days passed. I toiled away in my basement office and managed to close two more cases, both with confessions that Hansen got credit for. Hansen wasn’t going out of his way to be friendly to me, but he was starting to look eager when I contacted him. I was doing “all kinds of good” for his career.
During that time, I followed the nosies on the rags and on 3D. Lily Lockwell remained fixated on Cartman Dawes’s death, tying it in with the Martian rebel problem that was ongoing, Mara Blake still hadn’t been found and the story was losing steam, barely getting any mention, but Reynolds and Mack’s serial killer chase was racking up the attention. There was a pool at several of the casinos regarding the number of bodies that would eventually be found.
I focused on Lockwell. The reporter contended that the three assassins had been hired by anti-Earth Martians. The link to the bombed manufacturing plant was too great to remain unexploited.
If I had been working the case—if Shelly had been working the case—we would have stayed locked on that angle as well. Lockwell wasn’t having much luck turning up leads, though. She might have been a good investigative reporter, but she was limited to the number of rocks she could turn over on Mars. Still, she tried. But I knew the instant another—bigger—story fell within her reach, she would be off. She was already trying to ingratiate herself with Reynolds and Mack.
On that twelfth day of my reassignment to the cold cases division, I found a loophole.