Necropolis PD

by Nathan Sumsion

“What files?” Armstrong asks cautiously.

  “If you took the files, you’d know what files, genius.”

  Marsh has an interesting interrogation technique—I’ll give him that. I glance over at Radu, but the captain is focused on reading Armstrong.

  “I don’t know anything about any missing files. We haven’t figured out which ones are missing yet.”

  “OK. You sure?”

  A level stare is all he gets in return.

  “Fine. You’re sure. Here’s another one. You kill anyone and leave their soulless corpse spoiling on the sidewalk?”

  “What? No!”

  “You doing anything to impede the investigation? Other than just general incompetence?”

  “Of course not!”

  Marsh turns to the captain. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  Everyone turns to look at me. I shrug. “I don’t have any questions for him.”

  Radu nods at me, then turns back to Armstrong. “You are dismissed, Detective.”

  Armstrong sits motionless for a few seconds, then he looks at each of us in turn. “You guys are crazy,” he finally declares. “Let me know if you need any more of my help. Maybe I can give you some more obvious answers you can pretend to need.”

  The captain turns to Ms. Greystone. “Send Detective Burchard in.”

  While Greystone is gone, Marsh turns to me. “Well, Sherlock? Is Armstrong our guy?”

  I shake my head. “No. He’s telling the truth. I’m sure he’s not involved. He definitely doesn’t like either of us, though.”

  Marsh shrugs and says, “Cry me a river,” as Burchard walks in the room. I haven’t worked much with Detective Burchard yet. He manages to avoid me whenever possible. He is cautious when he enters the room, and as he scans the three of us and notices Greystone floating in behind him, he gets very suspicious. His guard goes up; I swear I can almost see it lock into place behind his eyes.

  “What’s going on?” he asks.

  “You may sit, Detective,” Radu says, glancing at the empty seat. He is still leaning back in his high-backed chair behind the desk. Shadows are more concentrated around him, his side of the room is darker, but his eyes are so piercingly bright they almost glow. Burchard sits down across from us, crosses one leg so his ankle is resting on the other knee, and folds his arms defiantly.

  “Detective Marsh, Detective Green, ask your questions,” Radu commands.

  Burchard looks at us warily, expectantly.

  Marsh gets right to it. “Some files were stolen from the storage room. You know anything about it?”

  “News to me until Green told us,” Burchard replies, not moving an inch.

  “You know which files are gone?” Marsh continues.

  “I don’t think I need to. They’re files relating to the killings. You think I have something to do with this?”

  “Do you?” Marsh counters.

  “Hell no, I don’t.” Burchard’s scowl deepens. “And screw you for thinking so.”

  “You kill any corpses lately?”

  “Only after you buggered them. Is this really what I’m in here for? A fishing expedition?”

  Radu’s voice drifts out from his chair. “Just answer the questions, Detective. We’re asking everyone.”

  “No, I haven’t been killing people. I haven’t done that since living here.” He looks pointedly at me. “Back in the real world, I killed plenty of people. We all did. I was very good at it. I enjoyed it. I still would. But I’m not killing your kind back in your world,” he says, indicating toward me. “I’m not killing our kind here. And I’m not working with anyone who is.”

  Yikes. He’s telling the truth, which means I’m sitting in a room full of people who have killed before. I glance uncomfortably at Marsh and Radu, and I swallow nervously. In Radu’s case, I’m going to guess he did it a lot. I feel Radu’s gaze swivel my way as if he knows the direction of the turn my thoughts have taken.

  Marsh looks at me. “You got anything to add, Green?” I shake my head, not trusting my voice right now.

  “That will be all, Detective Burchard,” Radu says. Burchard stays seated for a moment, glaring at us, waiting for something else. When he’s sure we’re truly done, he gets up and leaves without a word.

  After he leaves, and Greystone goes to fetch the next of our coworkers, I whisper to Marsh and Radu, “He feels clean to me too.”

  “You sure?” Marsh asks.

  I shake my head again. “He doesn’t feel right for it. I’m sure.”

  Clark walks in the room. This ought to be good.

  “Woah, what’s this then?” he asks, smiling. He walks quickly over to the open chair, sits, and then scoots it closer to me so that our toes are nearly touching. He leans forward expectantly.

  “These detectives have some questions for you, Detective Clark,” Radu says, frowning. It always looks like Radu is biting down on tinfoil when he speaks to Clark, a grimace of displeasure.

  “Sure, sure. Let me have it.”

  Marsh leans forward, and Clark glances over at him. “You ever take any files out of the storage room?”

  “Oh, sure,” Clark answers. We all blink at him. His smile never wavers. “Wait, you mean like steal them? Then no. Not really. Maybe? Wait. Nope, I’m sure.”

  “Clark, it’s a simple question,” Marsh says.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “You’re sure you’ve never taken any files out of there?”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Because some of them went missing recently.”

  “Green mentioned that.”

  “Important files,” Marsh continues, clearly starting to get irritated.

  “Right.”

  “Look, Clark. Files relating to the murders have gone missing. That means one of us took them.”

  “Yeah, Marsh. I get that. I’m a detective, remember? So, who did it?”

  “You tell me.”

  “You think it was me?”

  “That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Detectives,” Radu says, glacially. I can almost feel the temperature drop in the room. “Is this getting us anywhere?”

  Clark shrugs. “I dunno. He’s asking the questions.”

  “Are you committing murders, Clark?” Marsh asks.

  “Nope. Well, yeah, in the line of duty.”

  “What? We don’t kill people; we can’t.”

  “Oh right. So, then no.”

  “You working with anyone who is committing the murders?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think so?” Marsh says, his teeth grating.

  “I’m pretty sure I’d remember.”

  “So that’s a no?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m no mind reader, but I can practically see the desire to reach out and strangle Clark radiating from Marsh’s head.

  “What do you mean, ‘yes?’”

  “Yes, that’s a no. Do you think I’m confessing to something?”

  I raise my hand to get Clark’s attention. “Detective Clark,” I interrupt, hoping Marsh will cool down. “Do you have any guesses as to who would have taken the files?”

  Clark grins even wider at me. “Sure. Someone who doesn’t want us to figure out who’s committing these murders. If you were smarter, I would figure you for doing it. But I think we’re pretty safe there.”

  “Right,” I agree slowly.

  I don’t know anything else to ask him. Marsh is glowering, his teeth clenched. After a few seconds of silence—where Clark glances first at me, then at Marsh, then back again—Captain Radu finally speaks. “You can go, Detective Clark.”

  Clark nods to us all. “OK, sure. Thanks, guys. Let me know if I can help out again.” He gets up and leaves the room. The door closes behind him, and Radu motio
ns for Greystone to stay where she is for a moment.

  “For the love of God, please tell me it’s him,” Marsh pleads.

  I shrug. “I don’t know,” I admit.

  “What?” Marsh demands.

  “I’m sorry, Marsh. He sounded like he was telling the truth the whole time.”

  “How is that possible? He answered each question every way possible.”

  “And I’m telling you, I can’t tell if any of his answers are wrong. Not without reasonable doubt.”

  “Dammit, Green! I don’t know if I hate you more than Clark right now or not.”

  “Was he deliberately trying to hide something? Or was he just being a pain in the ass?” I turn to Captain Radu. “You know more about this than I do. Is there some way he can fool this thing I can do?”

  Radu shrugs slightly. “It is possible, I suppose. There are charms or wards one could craft to confuse certain tells a body makes when disguising the truth. But they are usually powerful wards, and I would have detected them on him. I wouldn’t know specifically what they were for, but I’d know if he had some. And he doesn’t appear to possess any.”

  “But he was being deliberately evasive. You have to admit, that’s suspicious. Can we detain him anyway?” Marsh pleads.

  Captain Radu ignores Marsh and turns to Greystone. “Let’s continue. Send in Detective Kim, please.”

  “Dammit,” Marsh grumbles. He turns to me and pokes me hard in the chest, almost knocking me out of my chair. “Get it right this time, Green. We only have one shot at this. I don’t think we can keep calling them in to ask them point-blank questions.”

  I’m still rubbing my chest, trying to take some of the sting out of it, when Kim walks in. He glances at all of us and remains standing, casual but alert.

  “Have a seat, Detective,” Radu stretches out his hand, pointing at the empty seat. “These detectives have a few questions for you.”

  Kim doesn’t say anything. He sits down, his back straight, and he stares at us without expression.

  “OK, Kim,” Marsh starts, still pissed. “Maybe you’ll be less of a smart-ass than Clark.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Kim responds while Marsh is preparing his next words.

  “Here we go,” Marsh growls. “Kim, we’re missing some files from the storage room.”

  Kim’s expression doesn’t waiver. He waits a few seconds. “Is there a question there?”

  “Did you take the files that are missing from the storage room?”

  “No.”

  Marsh stares at him a few seconds but gets no reaction. “Do you know anything about the missing files?”

  “No.”

  “You know who took them?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t talk me to death, for crying out loud,” Marsh says. Kim continues to stare.

  “Fine,” Marsh continues. “We think the files are related to the murders being committed. Which means someone on the squad might be involved. You know who that might be?”

  “No.”

  “You know who is committing the murders?”

  “No.”

  All of Kim’s answers are direct, confident, and absolutely true. Marsh looks like he’s gathering steam for another round, so I jump in. “Thanks, Detective Kim. That’s all we needed.”

  Kim looks at everyone, seeing if anyone is going to contradict me. When no one does, he stands up. “If that is all. Captain. Detectives.” He turns and leaves the room.

  I just shake my head at the questioning looks the others give me. “Of everyone so far, he’s the clearest read. He’s definitely not involved.”

  “So that just leaves Meints,” Marsh declares. “He’s a shifty bastard. Let’s get him in here.”

  Shifty? Marsh is just spoiling for a fight now. Detective Meints walks in a few minutes later. He’s wary, probably sensed the mood from everyone else walking out of the room.

  “Hello, Captain. What do you need?” he asks, addressing Radu and ignoring us.

  Radu nods his head towards the empty seat. “These detectives have a few questions for you. Just answer them truthfully.”

  As Meints takes a seat, I study his face. His stubble is peppered with gray. The beard actually makes it harder for me to read his expressions. But behind it, I can see he is nervous, much more so than anyone else so far today.

  “Hey, Meints. How they hanging?” Marsh asks. I think he senses Meints’ nervousness as well.

  “Fine.”

  Marsh just waits, silently observing the other detective. Meints glances back and forth between the two of us.

  “What?” he asks.

  “Hmm? Oh, nothing,” Marsh says, looking down at his hands. “You ever take any files out of the storage room?”

  Pause. Hesitation. “No,” he lies. “Uh, I mean, not without authorization.” Lie again.

  “You were authorized to steal files?” Marsh presses.

  “No! I didn’t steal any files.” Another lie. “I mean, what files are you looking for?”

  “Missing ones, Meints. Missing files that might relate to the murders.”

  “Oh.” Meints swallows nervously. “Those. I don’t know anything about those files.” Again, he’s lying, but something isn’t quite right about it.

  “You aren’t doing anything that would hinder our investigation, are you?”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Wait a minute,” I interrupt. Meints looks at me as Marsh scowls. “Detective, these files you didn’t steal without authorization. What were they related to?”

  Meints hesitates. Radu leans forward a few inches. The detective answers slowly, “I borrow cold case files. To study. On my own time.”

  Interesting. “But you return those files?”

  He shrugs. “Eventually.”

  “Are they specific cold cases? Or any that happen to be lying around?”

  Meints is clearly uncomfortable. “Look. I study cold cases, OK. I figure I can maybe solve a few.”

  I think I understand what I’m seeing here. He isn’t lying so much as he feels guilty or ashamed. He’s doing things he doesn’t want us to know about, but not necessarily anything illegal. Marsh looks at me questioningly, and I shake my head. I don’t have any more questions for him.

  Radu’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Detectives, do you have any more questions for Detective Meints?”

  We both shake our heads.

  “You are dismissed, Detective,” Radu says.

  “Uh, OK. Good day.” He gets up and walks out of the room. The door closes on its own after he passes the threshold.

  Marsh chuckles. “Well, I think we got our guy.”

  Captain Radu continues to stare at me. “Detective Green, do you agree with your partner’s assessment?”

  I ponder this a bit. I think back to how everyone answered their questions. Clark was the most evasive, but Meints is certainly the guiltiest; I just don’t think he’s guilty of what we’re looking for.

  “I don’t think it’s Meints,” I say.

  “What?” Marsh is incredulous. “That guy’s practically got thief written on his face.”

  “Exactly. ‘Thief,’ not ‘murderer,’” I shoot back.

  Marsh sneers at me for being a smart-ass, but Captain Radu’s gaze doesn’t leave me. “Continue, Detective.”

  “Meints feels guilty, but not of this. I think he just has a guilt complex. It just didn’t ring right.”

  Marsh stands and fumbles through his pockets, coming up with a cigar and a lighter. “So,” he lights it, takes a deep drag, and begins to pace angrily around the room. “You’re saying that the guy you think feels guilty doesn’t feel like the right kind of guilty? Am I understanding this right?” Marsh stops directly in front of my chair, his knees crashing into mine, and he towers over me with a men
acing sneer. “OK, genius. Who is our guilty guy then?”

  I glance over at Greystone. She was looking at me but averts her eyes quickly. I’ve damaged that relationship; I’ll have to fix it soon.

  “There’s one that didn’t sit right with me. I want to look into Clark.”

  Marsh leans in even closer to me, and the grin he is wearing is terrifying. “Now, we’re talking!”

  Chapter 35

  You sure this is the place?” I ask pointlessly. Marsh snarls something that I take to be assent.

  “Yes, Detective,” Greystone says, patiently. “This is where your friend Miss Everin, resides.”

  “He has friends?” Marsh mutters, not expecting a reply. We’re outside a three-story building in the heart of Meridian. The two lower floors are some kind of nightclub. A saxophone cuts through the murmur of the crowd packing the space inside and spilling out into the street. The upper level is mostly glass where I’m guessing there are a few apartments. Pretty swank digs, all in all. Given that most of the people here wear somber colors and live in dim lighting, a bank of windows lit up brightly from inside is a little out-of-place. There are some nearby buildings that are taller, that are more what I expect from abandoned tenements, but Jessica’s building looks positively classy.

  It’s strange. From what I know of how the city works, these are buildings and portions of cities that have been forgotten in the real world. Overlooked, abandoned, concealed with glamours, and completely written out of history. But this building is almost modern; it would fit in downtown LA or New York just fine. How does something like this become completely forgotten about by everyone ever involved with it? Where this could have dropped off the map is beyond me.

  The crowds around here are larger than I’ve ever seen in this town. There are a lot of people walking the streets and going in and out of buildings, clustered together in pairs and groups. Evidently, this is the hip part of this dead town. People shuffle past us, constantly bumping into me but wisely giving Marsh a wide berth.

  I’m not looking forward to this. Jessica was upset the last time we spoke. I spurned her advances, and she was severely offended. Now that I know I see the world differently than everyone else, I understand what’s going on. She must have a doozy of a glamour on her, which I can see through. To me, she looks like a corpse, and no matter how attractive it might be, a corpse is not going to turn me on. But she thought I was seeing a living, breathing woman. From her perspective, it has to be something about her personality I’m rejecting. Any way I look at it, I don’t think I can explain it without flat out telling her the problem.