Archform Beauty

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Best that we really pump up the positive rezads over the next week, even though they'd only really begun hitting the nets. The music education bit would help, but that one would have to wait until it was done. That way, it wouldn't be a vain promise, but something I'd already done. That would take Hansen down a bit. Later on, we could hit him with charges that he promised, but I listened, and I delivered.

  My smile faded as I thought about Dewey—and Kemal. Dewey'd had his election won, and if Eric were right, Kemal had set someone up to kill him. We really needed to stop Kemal—somehow.

  Alicia's research had supplied basic volumes on the space industries. Eric had been right, in that many had been heavily traded. Over the past two years, the equivalent of close to seventy percent of MMSystems had been traded, often in large lots, but not any over one percent. There was no way I had, not without going for a committee warrant or a subpoena, to discover the buyers. Going for either required more evidence than I had.

  I wondered if Les Kerras would come up with anything that might help. He knew practically everyone and everything in Denv. Or… if I could come up with something, and let Les run with it—that would be even better. That way, we could keep running positive ads and let Les show the connection with Hansen. Then, the nets could keep uncovering things day by day, week by week, that would unveil Hansen's ties to Kemal, perhaps tie him to the unsavory business with McCall and Alredd. I nodded.

  Chapter 30

  Chiang

  Thursday hadn't been a total waste. Hadn't been as productive as Wednesday. I'd spent some time going over the reports on Dewey's death. My hunches had been right. Someone had tampered with the safety screens on that section of the bridge. Recsat records showed a GSY maintenance vehicle there. Only problem was that GSY could account for all of its repair lorries. None of them had been there. The "repairman" had worn a GSY singlesuit, but the investigation had cleared all of the GSY techs. Recsat records didn't show the face. Repairman had been average size. Nothing special.

  All of Brazelton's techs had been checked. All had absolutely airtight alibis. Couldn't have been tighter if they'd been planned. Brazelton himself had been playing the ancient game of golf with—guess who—Chris Kemal. Just the two of them.

  Again, highly suggestive. But they were on record on the club's systems, and had been seen by several people. Even the recsat confirmed that they both played all eighteen holes. No way to prove anything, exactly. No way to link the McCall and Dewey deaths, either. Except for nanite system expertise. The Justiciary wasn't exactly fond of circumstantial cases.

  No word from CDC on my rezsong suppositions, either.

  Talked briefly to Caron Hildeo. She knew nothing, said a great deal of less than nothing, and was extraordinarily pleasant. She had a very plush office at O'Bannon and Reyes, and it wasn't holo-simmie counterfeit, either.

  Kugeler didn't call. Nor did Parsfal, and nothing appeared on PrimeNews. Thankful for that. That was how Thursday ended.

  Hoped Friday would be better when I hurried in at zero seven-thirty.

  "Captain linked. On those ODs,” Sarao offered. "It's going to be one of those days.”

  "Oh?"

  "Ernesto Tazzi.”

  "Son of Roberto Tazzi? The formulator filch?"

  "Stet. Was at one of those filch affairs—soiree. You know the kind, with every filch finger food costing more than a hundred creds a gram. Formal dress, very formal. They had an old-style singer with an acoustic piano and an accompanist. Young Tazzi walked out. He got in his electral and went out to the Moulin Noir. Stayed two hours, and left. Made it a good klick before he went down, piled the electral into a tree on the side of the Bryant Guideway.”

  Sarao had been right. One of those days. Checked my link messages.

  When you get in, Chiang, come see me. It's about the ODs. The strange ones.

  I took a moment to dig through Resheed's report. The odd-type ODs were up. If Parsfal was right, that figured. More new rezrap shows and larger crowds at the end of the week.

  Rezrap? McCall had taken out all the rezrap equipment no more than a year before. Rezrap also increased alkie sales. Who benefited from higher alkie sales?

  Sarao?

  Yes, Lieutenant?

  Have to go see the captain. Like you to see what you can find on something. First, who makes the alkie formulators used in clubs, theaters, places like the Red Moon and Moulin Noir? Second, does the manufacturer get a percentage of sales? Third, who owns the Red Moon and Moulin Noir?

  Got it. This have to do with the OD stuff?

  Don't know. That was the safest answer.

  Had another thought, and linked back. Also, can you find out if Nanette Iveson or Evan McCall knew the family of a suicide named Erneld Cewrigh? He's in the suicide file that has Al Elcado in it.

  Then I hurried out and up the ramp to the captain's office. She was waiting.

  She closed the door and waited for me to sit.

  "Sarao told you about Ernesto Tazzi. His father wants an answer. He wants to know why we haven't done anything. I told him that the techs couldn't find any substances but soop in his son's system. He said we'd better, and that it was a disgrace that DPS couldn't get to the bottom of this. You'd mentioned that you had an angle.”

  Wished I hadn't. But I told her.

  She didn't laugh. "It's just crazy enough to be true. How soon do you think you'll hear from CDC?"

  "We got an acknowledgment. That's all. Might take weeks for those kinds of tests. Or longer. If they even do them.”

  The captain snorted. "I'll get the acting coordinator to lean on them. It can't hurt.”

  We both knew it might not help, either.

  "In the meantime, you get to contact some of the possible witnesses at this soiree. Tazzi gave me a list.” She extended a copy.

  "He ODed two hours later.”

  Cannizaro nodded. "Politics. That's why you call. I already talked to the Claytons and their daughter.”

  Politics I didn't need. Neither did Cannizaro. But I'd go through the motions.

  "By the way, I got a call from Hans Kugeler. You impressed him.” Cannizaro looked at me. "What did you say? He doesn't impress easily.”

  "Told him there were three possibilities as to how the McCalls died—accident and suicide, coincidence, or murder. Said that there were problems with each, and that I'd look into all three carefully.”

  "Did you have to offer murder?"

  I looked at the captain, harder than she'd looked at me. "It was murder. Somehow Chris Kemal used Brazelton to kill both McCall and Dewey. Nanette Iveson's death was an attempt to frame McCall. When that didn't work, they killed him.” I went on to explain almost everything, including the inside ramp, and the override codes. I didn't mention the linkbugs that hadn't been there, although I was sure that they had been and that Kemal had been monitoring the McCalls.

  When I was done, I waited.

  "Who have you told this to?"

  "No one but you.” I held up a hand. "I'm not the only one. At least two newsies know. They came to me. Asked them to hold off.”

  "And they did?" Cannizaro raised her eyebrows.

  "So far. Been three days.”

  "What did you offer?"

  "First look at whatever we make public.”

  She winced.

  "What do you want me to do, Captain? No deal, and we have the nets claiming we're covering up a murder.”

  "What will you report?"

  She didn't ask me to go one way or another.

  "Unless things change, we either get enough evidence to indict someone, or we report that there's evidence it was murder, but not enough to link it to any suspect.”

  "Do you want to announce murder yet?"

  "I'd wait. At least till next week. We've already fouled up twice. Then we announce we have done a detailed review, and that we've discovered evidence of a very subtle and sophisticated plot, designed to mislead everyone. We claim delay and distraction because of the death of
certain possible key witnesses, such as Marc Oler.”

  "Can you pin anyone by next week?"

  Had to be honest. "Probably not. Maybe never: We've got hard evidence that someone tampered with the systems, and that they were experts. We've got hard evidence that someone wiped all prints all the way down to mini-microscopic levels. Again, experts. Beyond that, it's all circumstantial. Don't even have hard evidence of motive. Might be able to find that.”

  "We'll meet Monday morning. If this breaks in the nets before that, I'll announce that we're winding up the investigation, and you'll brief the nets Monday afternoon. You can give your newsies an hour.”

  "It'll keep.”

  "It might.”

  That was as close as Cannizaro was going to get to admitting I was right.

  So I went back down to my office. Took the hard-copy list of names that the older Tazzi had given Cannizaro. Just wanted to get through the list so that I could say we'd covered those possibilities. Hated the idea of talking to young filch snots.

  Made seven calls before something came up. From one of the snots. Male, self-important.

  "The singer. That professor. Ernesto hated what she sang. He wanted to talk to Senator Cannon about a job on his staff, but the senator was talking to the professor. They talked a long time, and then the senator left. He looked real thoughtful. She—the singer—she was upset. Had a whole plateful of stuff. She didn't eat any of it, just set it down and hurried out with her piano guy right after that. Ernesto left right before that.”

  "Did you hear what they were talking about?"

  "Not really. She was gesturing and talking fast. He smiled most of the time. The kind of smile you wear when you don't want to upset someone.”

  The snot didn't have much else to add. After I broke the link, I wondered.

  The singer? Didn't sound like she had anything to do with Ernesto. He'd gone to the Moulin Noir for rezrap. But a professor talking to Cannon? Both of them upset? I probably couldn't reach Cannon. I could reach her. She was on the list Cannizaro had given me. Probably ought to talk to her because Tazzi would find out sooner or later, and the filch always cast around for the hired help to blame. Ought to know what her story was, in any case.

  Also interested to talk to someone who'd argue with Cannon enough to make him think. Unusual for a soiree where no one remembered anything. Except the older people bleed half of what she sang. The younger ones didn't like anything.

  I put in a call to her. Wasn't at the university. Tried home. Got a simmie there as well. Left a message. "This is Lieutenant Eugene Chiang of the DPS. I have a few questions about the soiree where you sang last night. Thank you.”

  Linked to Sarao. Did you find out about the alkie stuff and the formulators?

  Yes, Lieutenant. In your Mink. Also, FlameTop was performing last night at the Moulin Noir. I haven't found out about the Iveson/McCall-Cewrigh connection—if there was one. Stet.

  I checked through what she'd found. The alkie formulators were manufactured by an outfit in Cedacy, Deseret District—CerraCraft. CerraCraft was a wholly owned subsidiary of CK Constructors. Had been for about three years. More interestingly, CerraCraft had run most of its competition out of business in the last two years, by offering a cheap lease arrangement and percentage of alkie sales. The Red Moon and Moulin Noir were both privately owned. No information available. Had my suspicions, but they'd stay suspicions.

  Lieutenant, there's a professor on the incoming. Doesn't look like a professor.

  I'll take it. "Eugene Chiang, DPS.”

  Sarao was right. Holo image showed a slender redhead, silver eyes, slight Mediterranean darkness to the skin. Wore a green suit with matching trousers, and modest silver jewelry. Looked more filch than most filch. "This is Luara Cornett. You left messages for me here at the university.”

  "Yes, Professor. Last night you were at a function at the Clayton home?"

  "I wasn't there as a guest, Lieutenant. I was hired to sing. What would you like to know?" Her voice was melodic, polite, wary.

  "You may have heard in the news. About ODs of a mysterious nature. Young man who was at the function died later that night. Looks to be the same.”

  She frowned. "Outside of my accompanist, and the Claytons, I didn't know anyone there. I usually don't. They don't talk to the hired help, except to give directions or request that I sing a particular song.”

  "Have you heard the name Ernesto Tazzi?"

  "No.” She shook her head.

  I keyed in an image of young Tazzi. "Here's what he looked like.”

  She studied the image for a moment, then nodded. "I did see him. He didn't like what I sang, and left early, even before we did.”

  "How did you know he didn't like what you sang?"

  "Most of the younger set don't like either classical vocal or Golden Age vocal, but he made a point of walking by me as he left and making a sneering remark to the woman with him about how the music of classical composers should have been buried with them.”

  "Didn't that make you angry?" She laughed. Rueful and sad. "I teach here at UDenv. Sometimes it upsets me, but most of the younger ones are like that. You can't let it get to you. At least some of their parents have taste.”

  Liked the professor. Couldn't say why. But wanted to know more. Especially about Cannon. "You said you didn't know anyone at the party. But one of the people there said you had a long conversation with Senator Cannon.”

  She flushed. "I'll never live that down. He took me off guard. I didn't know who he was, and he made some comment about politicians being more honest than historians. Then, he was condescending to me, and I told him that… well… let's say I got very passionate about art and music and suggested it ought to be taught in greater depth because no culture ever lasted long without great art. He wanted to know what a politician could really do, and I told him. I didn't even know who he was until after he left, and my accompanist told me.” She shook her head. "I get passionate about music, but I'm not very good when I'm caught off guard. That was what the conversation was about. After that, I was so upset that I couldn't even eat, and I made Marco take me home.”

  "That upset you that much?"

  "Lieutenant, I was hired help. I probably insulted one of the most powerful senators in NorAm, and if he spreads it around, I won't get hired for more soirees. Those gigs are probably a quarter of my income. Wouldn't you be upset at yourself?"

  "I thought you were a professor.”

  "I'm adjunct faculty here. I carry about three-quarters of a normal load. I get paid less than half what a full-time contract junior professor does. I take whatever outside singing jobs that I can. Except performing live rez stuff.”

  Interesting, and all probably true. Didn't do much for what I needed. "One last question. Do you recall anything about young Tazzi? The man who wanted to bury classical music? Anything at all?"

  Another frown, and a long pause. "He had that fixed smile, you know, the one so many of them get when they're dosed on soop. I can't think of anything else.”

  Tried several more questions, but she couldn't offer more. Almost hated to break the connection.

  That was a professor? Sarao inlinked.

  Professor and classical singer.

  My son gets someone like that when he gets to college and I think I'd worry.

  Seemed like a nice lady.

  You could use a nice lady, Lieutenant.

  Nice, but not my type.

  Learned that lesson a long time ago.

  Sat at my desk, looking out on a gray noon. More confirmations of suspicions, but no new and hard evidence. Wondered if that was the way both the McCall case and the ODs would end up. Holo dramas—half of them ended when the villain was discovered. Too many didn't follow through on how hard it was to prove what you knew.

  Had to find more proof… somehow. Some way.

  Chapter 31

  Parsfal

  By late Friday morning, I still hadn't heard anything from Chiang, and I really c
ouldn't go back to Kerras, not until I had something firm. I was working on a "success" story, a piece Brianne was putting together on how a GIL counterfeiting operation had been shut down by the combined efforts of the netops division of DPS and the medical researchers at CMS. It had gotten nasty, with close to thirty people disabled or locked away while the TID larceny took place. Some of the victims would never be the same.

  After that, I was supposed to develop some more backstory stuff on a couple of pending appropriations bills that would come up the next week.

  Parsfal?

  I hated it, but I couldn't help wincing whenever Bimstein blasted a rink at me.

  I'm here.

  Rehm's off today, and besides, you did the stats on the mysterious ODs, right?

  I also gave you a background source piece. It didn't hurt to remind the man of what I'd done. No one else would—that was for certain.

  Even better. Last night Ernesto Tazzi died in an electral crash. You know who he was? Someone to do with the formulator family?

  That's right. Son of Roberto Tazzi. He wasn't killed by the crash, but by one of those ODs. Got a copy of the report. Don't ask me how, but I'm sending it to you. Also, some names who were at the soiree he attended earlier in the evening, and the names of the people he was with when he was at the Moulin Noir. See what you can find in the next hour or so.

  You want me to put aside the GIL story?

  Of course, good news can always wait.

  He was right. The good news gave watchers the warm fuzzies and made them feel good about PrimeNews, but that wasn't why they watched.

  I scanned what Bimstein sent. Ernesto Tazzi had probably been killed by a rez-induced OD. There was only one problem with that. We couldn't report it because we couldn't prove it. We couldn't even speculate on it without some scientific evidence. All we had were Chiang's observations, which I couldn't quote, and my conclusions.

  I went back to the incoming files and pulled up Bimstein's list. I scanned it. One of the attendees was Senator Elden Cannon. There was a note on that. "Don't contact Cannon on this. Don't mention him.”