That was odd, too. If Bimstein hadn't wanted me to contact the senator, all he would have had to do was leave his name off. I laughed to myself. I wasn't thinking. If I contacted the others, someone might well mention Cannon, and then I could have contacted him. He probably wouldn't have returned my call, but that was another question. Was it just that Cannon didn't want to be linked to a ritzy filch soiree? Imagine that—the man of the people, not wanting to be linked to the elite. That also meant that Cannon had contacted Kerras, or the other way around, because Cannon never talked to Bimstein. All of NetPrime knew that story.
I started trying to call names on the list, beginning with the Claytons. I got simmies for the first ten, and left messages. Not a single person broke through the simmie to talk to me. Number eleven was Elfreda Jensen. She actually answered. With the swirled hair that was as stiff as synthstone, she had to have been one of Roberta Clayton's contemporaries.
"I'm Jude Parsfal…” I got through the entire introduction and as far as asking about young Tazzi.
"You really don't care about him. You just want a story. There isn't one. He never did any drugs, except a touch of soop. Now, you all want to find something that's not there. It's disgusting.”
With that, I was facing a blank holo projection.
I slogged through twenty names, and that was the best that I got.
Finally, I looked at the two names at the bottom, the two names that weren't guests. One was Marco DiMicelli, listed as accompanist, and the other was a Professor Luara Cornett, classical singer. I ran a quick net search on her. She was listed as adjunct faculty, voice and music appreciation, at UDenv. There was a databloc of art song listed as having been released several years earlier, and there was a very short publications list, with several articles. One was on Hugo Wolf, another on Francis Poulenc. I'd never heard of either, but I didn't pretend to know much about music, especially older or classical music, except that I liked what I'd heard, and I did have a modest collection of instrumental works, most of which were pieces composed centuries earlier.
The net search didn't show much else about her, except for older announcements of two art song recitals, and one of another recital scheduled for the coming October.
I wondered if she'd have anything new to offer, but those few filch I'd reached hadn't had much to say. In fact, they hadn't said anything. So I tried her link through the university.
"Professor Cornett? Ah… this is Jude Parsfal. I'm a researcher with NetPrime, and I'd like to talk with you for a moment.” I waited, looking at the static holo display that showed exactly the same picture as the UDenv catalogue.
Then the image was replaced by that of Professor Cornett. These days, there are few ugly people, only the poor, and those from devastated Afrique and ecologically ravaged Russe. When she appeared in midair, even the holo image was striking, and yet, as I looked at her, I couldn't say that there was a single aspect that was unusual. Dark red hair, mahogany, if you will, with gray eyes, a silver gray. Medium height, neither large nor small breasted, with legs that matched. The picture in the UDenv catalogue didn't do her justice, but I wasn't certain any picture would.
Yet, there was something about her.
"Yes?" Her voice was musical, as it somehow should have been.
"As I told you, Professor, I'm Jude Parsfal with NetPrime. I'm a researcher.” At her frown, I hurried on. "I'm not a caster with PrimeNews, or a T-head. I'm just trying to find background information. I understand you sang last night at a soirée at Dorn Clayton's.”
"Yes.” Her voice was wary, but she didn't look at all surprised.
"Someone else has already talked to you about this?"
"No one in the nets.” She paused, as if she were going to say more, but she didn't.
"The DPS?"
"Could I ask you what you'd like to know, Mr. Parsfal?" Her voice was polite, controlled, and yet carried a tone of exasperation. She moved her head in a graceful jerk that flipped a strand of that mahogany hair off her forehead.
"I'm sorry. Let me explain. I don't know if you've heard, but there have been a number of ODs recently. Laboratory studies haven't found traces of any drugs that would cause an OD. Last night, a young man who was at the soiree where you sang left, and several hours later died from that OD. Because he was the son of a well-known man, I've been asked to find out what I can about what happened.”
A trace of a smile appeared at the corner of her lips. "Thank you. I could play games with you, but I won't. Was the young man Ernesto Tazzi?"
"Yes. Did you know him?"
She shook her head. "I've never met him, but a DPS officer called just a little while ago and talked to me. He showed me a picture, and I did see this Ernesto at the soiree, just as he left, and just before I left.”
"Did he look… impaired?"
"Beyond the normal for a young man who could have cared less for a vocal concert?" Her tone wasn't quite sarcastic, almost resigned or weary. "He looked like he'd been on soop. He had that smile that they do. He wasn't, as you put it, any more impaired than he probably was most of the time.”
I couldn't help feeling attracted to her, but I had a job to do, with at least two others hanging behind this one.
"Did you talk to him? Or did he say anything to you?"
"No. I didn't talk to him.” She paused again.
"He must have said or done something for you to remember him out of all those people.”
She laughed, and it was like another kind of music, because there was, somehow, intelligence and beauty in the sound. "He wasn't exactly complimentary to classical music—or even the Golden Age vocals. He suggested that the works of all classical composers should have been buried with the composer.”
"Did he say anything else?"
"If he did, I didn't see or hear anything.”
"I assume that there were no drugs there, except for the alkie and whatever soop the younger people had.”
She smiled. "I wouldn't call what they had at the bars alkie. Everything was fully fermented or distilled the long way.”
"The kind that would take a month of my salary to buy one bottle?" I managed a rueful twist.
She laughed again.
"Was there anything else unusual?" I asked.
"There wasn't anything at all unusual. Unless you count the fact that there were actually a few people there who appreciated classical vocal music.”
"I take it you don't care for rezpop or rezrap.”
"For listening or entertainment? No. It makes me very uneasy, and to me there's very little truly musical and artistic about it.”
I asked more questions, more than I needed, but I liked looking at her and the sound of her voice, but she really couldn't add more.
When I broke the connection, I thought of Shelley's lines about when soft voices die, music vibrates in the memory. I frowned. Why had she made such an impression on me? She hadn't been flirting. She hadn't been doing much of anything except cautiously answering my questions.
Was it the fact that she had been answering, and not avoiding? That she'd actually been helpful? Or something more?
I didn't know, but I had too much more to find out, and I wasn't accomplishing much. Bimstein wouldn't be at all pleased. I needed to try the accompanist. Maybe he'd seen something and would talk.
And then, there was the McCall thing. I still hadn't heard from Chiang, and I hadn't come up with anything more. Not anything we could cast on the net.
Friday was definitely looking very grim and unproductive.
Chapter 32
Kemal
Urgent! Urgent! Family urgent!
The emergency link jolted me awake. I bolted into a sitting position. For a moment, I just sat there.
Urgent!
Query? Who would be calling at three in the morning on Saturday? And why?
Barbra Saul.
Accept. I had a sinking feeling.
The holo image of Barbra appeared at the foot of the bed. It cast a pearly light
across the bedroom. She wore a thin white jacket over a green singlesuit. Her hair was disheveled. Her face was blotchy red, and tears oozed down her cheeks. "Chris… Chris…”
Marissa turned over, mumbling. "Who? This hour…”
"Barbra. Something's wrong.” I raised my voice. "Barbra, I'm here. What is it? What's the matter?"
"It's Stefan… God! It's Stefan…”
"What about Stefan?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
Marissa sat up beside me, and we both looked at Barbra's image.
"I didn't want him to get that Tija. I told him it was dangerous…” She stopped and sobbed. "He didn't listen…”
"What happened?" I asked again. "Was he badly hurt? What can we do?"
"He's dead, Chris… he's dead!"
"Where are you? We'll be right there.” I looked at Marissa.
Marissa nodded.
"At home,” Barbra stuttered. "I had… I couldn't tell… everything was burned… could barely recognize the electral…”
"We'll be right there,” I repeated, climbing out of the bed.
Barbra just continued to sob. After a minute, she looked up. "I'm not… going… anywhere.” Then the image blanked.
Marissa triggered the lights. "How terrible.” She winced and shook her head. "She cared so much for Stefan.”
I took a deep breath. "That was the problem. It's terrible, and she'll never forget. But… you know I met with him. He barely listened to me. He didn't listen to his mother. Now… everyone's hurt. His mother, his sister… any girlfriend he was close to.”
"You can't say that to her, dear.” Marissa started for her bathroom.
"I know. That's why I said it to you. All we can do is be there.” I shook my head. 'That won't be enough. It never is.”
"You were worried about Stefan, weren't you?" she asked.
"I was. He didn't really seem to understand how the world works. He almost humored me when I was working to restructure that loan he took. As if it happened to be my duty to provide him credits without limit and without work.”
"Barbra said you had spent some time with him last week.”
"We talked. We even talked about his electral, and I warned him that they could roll if he drove it too fast and tried to corner it too tightly. He said I was just like his mother. I wonder if that's what happened. Barbra didn't say.”
"It was some sort of accident with the Tija.”
I took another deep breath. "We'd better get dressed and going.”
Marissa nodded sadly.
It was going to be a long night—and morning.
Chapter 33
Cannon
The weekend and Monday passed, and nothing happened, except the education bill and our music amendment went through. I even got some unsolicited support from the other side of the aisle. I couldn't say I was surprised. They knew a good thing when they saw it.
Outside of mat, and the normal routines, nothing happened, and no one told me anything new. Canthrop didn't have the results from the opening rezads of the campaign. Les Kerras hadn't gotten back to me, and none of my inquiries—official and unofficial—seemed to have had any effect in finding out more about how Kemal was trying to become a major force in NorAm business and politics.
Right after the morning Economics and Commerce Committee meeting on Tuesday, I was leaving the dais when a dark-suited man who'd been watching the proceedings stood and stepped forward.
"Senator?"
"Yes?"
"I'd like to talk with you. I have some information.”
"I'm always open to information. You can't get enough of it.” I smiled. He looked harmless enough, and he couldn't have gotten through the screens in the committee room if he had been carrying a weapon.
"You were looking for this information. About a certain contractor who's moving into major commerce. Is there somewhere we can talk?"
"My office is as safe as anywhere.”
"If someone sees me walking in there?"
"They won't,” I assured him. "There are back doors to all senators' offices, for obvious reasons.”
He nodded, dubiously. "I'll follow you, if you don't mind.”
I understood that.
I walked, and he followed. That gave me an eerie feeling. He joined me when I went down the side corridor, and opened one of the lifts to the back hall above.
Once we were in my office, I linked. Ciella, I'm back. I'll be in conference for a bit. Don't disturb me unless it's urgent.
Yes, sir.
The unidentified man looked around the office nervously, his green eyes flitting from point to point. He'd been in a senator's office before. He'd probably been in a committee room before that morning as well.
I triggered the privacy screen, and we were surrounded by the misty gray shield.
"You never did say who you are.”
"I'd rather not. If you wanted, you could find out, but there's a certain amount of protection this way.”
"I can see that. You said you had some information.”
"I do. There's MMSystems stock changing hands, just under the reporting minimums, and it's all going to various trust accounts, with irrevocable trusts.”
"Irrevocable?" That was definitely strange. "Who's the trustee?"
"KCF Management.”
I'd never heard of it. "Who controls it?"
"KCF Management was set up years ago by a fellow by the name of Arturo Kemal. He was in the fabricating and construction business. For years, it was just a private holding company. The company invested in strictly true blue industrial, infotech, and financial issues. It pays its taxes, reports on time, and operates strictly on the level. About two years ago, KCF began to invest more, in the millions, in the hundreds of millions, and those investments were all in what one might call critical industrial and space-formulation industries. Less than six months ago, large blocs of stock in MMSystems appeared in the portfolios. The closeness to reporting levels triggered the NASR alerts, but since no trust was over the threshold, nothing was done. It was unusual to have so many irrevocable trusts with so much capital in the names of the members of one family, but not illegal. Then yesterday, the paperwork came through to change one of the trusts because the young man who was the beneficiary had died over the weekend. What was strange about that was that he'd collateralized the stock in his trust to take out a large loan. The loan was paid off, not by the trust, but by another entity, and the trust reassigned, with all the necessary penalties, to another family member, a young girl who was only two.” He smiled. "You can do that. You just can't ever have it revert to the giver.”
"If I understand what you're telling me,"—I frowned—"these irrevocable trusts hold the majority interest in MMSystems.”
"Not quite. They hold something like forty-six percent. Chris Kemal's personal holding company openly has about six percent.” He opened his jacket, very carefully, as if to show me that he wasn't pulling a weapon, and extracted several sheets of paper, which he extended. "The details are there.”
I took the sheets without looking at them. They were either what he said or they weren't, and looking at them wouldn't change anything. "Why did you decide to tell me now?" I kept my voice pleasant, reassuring.
"Rumor is out that you decided to look into MMSystems. I saw what happened when you looked into XenoLift. The people who tried to hush things up were forced out of NASR.”
So… he was in NASR, and that meant that someone there was being pressured not to act. That wasn't surprising, but it was hardly reassuring. Sometimes, the privacy laws had become more of a shield for misdeeds than a protection from government or organizational intrusion.
"I'm more interested in what's happening outside the bureau,” I said. "But I won't forget. If you need me to look at something, I'll be here.”
He stood. "That's all I have.”
"Thank you.” I escorted him out to the back hall, and he took the lift and vanished.
Then I went back to the office and studied what he ha
d given me. If all the information happened to be correct, then Kemal was violating the spirit of the holdings laws… but not necessarily the letter of the law, unless we could dig up proof that he was coercing the various trusts to vote the stock his way. I'd have bet that there hadn't been any coercion in voting. Not yet.
I had proof of my suspicions, but not proof of wrongdoing. The other aspect of the problem was one of public policy. Relations with the Martian Republic were strained enough, and NorAm—or all Earth—didn't need a cowboy gangster taking over MMSystems at such a time. Still, whatever happened, I'd need to make copies of the evidence and make sure they were in places where others could get to them if necessary.
Ciella, I'm done with the conference. Can you set up a call with Mr. Canthrop?
Within minutes, I had Bill on a holo projection. I liked seeing people. It wasn't as good as being there in person, but a lot better than just a voice or a link.
"The first of the rezads hit the nets last week, but it's taken a while to figure out the results. The initial response is good, but it's too early to tell.” He paused. "We'd better hope they're good. Alredd is running against you, Senator.”
"I thought he was running for District Coordinator.” I knew what Bill meant, but I'd thought I'd try for a laugh or a smile.
"With Dewey's accident, there's no real opposition, and he's picked up on the Southern Diversion. He's claiming that the environment won't hold all the people that the water will support, and that you just want to overpopulate Denv to pad the pockets of your filch friends. The tag line is that they need him to protect Denv against you. It's not worded that way, but that's the message. And because it's national news, the stories are running in Deseret as well.”
"We'll have to step up the positive rezads then.” I smiled. "Bill, we've added an amendment to the education bill. It's not a big thing, but it's something that people in Deseret District will back. The whole country might back it as well. It's another positive thing, and it's not huge. I'm having Ted send the package to you.”
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