* * * *
Just what I needed. I called.
"This is Luara Cornett—"
The image cut to a short-haired man in a maintenance singlesuit. "Thank you for calling back. Would it be all right if we sent out someone right now to replace the defective components?"
"That would be fine.” Of course, it was all right. I just wished they'd done it right to begin with. They probably wished the same thing.
"Someone will be there within the hour, and thank you very much.”
I cut off the image. Like everything else, even repairing my systems was more complicated than it had to be. I went to the next message. Accept Crescent.
* * * *
Mahmed's image filled the foyer. "Luara… I thought you'd like to know. I've had two calls about you, one from the Crayno Agency and one from an outfit I've never heard of—they're not even in the book. They both are interested in your doing rez work for them. Crayno wants to test you for something with high-end professional services. They're very reputable. I did give them your name and link code. The other outfit called itself Jaguar Promotions. I took their number, but said you'd get back to them. If you want it, let me know. I've also attached several of the earlier rezads. Since they're being run in Deseret, you probably wouldn't see them. I thought you'd like to see. I assume we're still on for Tuesday. See you then.”
* * * *
If I wanted the number? Mahmed knew I wasn't anywhere close to filch. That meant he didn't trust the Jaguar people. If he didn't, I should find out why before following up. Since the Crayno people had to contact me, I really couldn't do anything about them but wait.
I debated about watching the rezads, but finally gave in.
The first image was that of the name Cannon, against the red, white, and blue stripes of the old Republic. I guessed he was wrapping himself in the ancient flag. Then came a series of images showing the senator in various places and actions.
The voice-over resonated through me.
* * * *
"Cannon for Deseret, Cannon for the people. For all the people, all the time…”
* * * *
The rezad went on to suggest that Cannon was a people's senator. Absently, I wondered how much of a people's senator, but I got caught in the closing song and music.
The scary thing was that I'd sung the words that had run behind his image. After hearing just one rezad, I almost wanted to vote for him. And I didn't care all that much for him.
The second one was clearly for a more Hispanol audience, but that touched me some, as well. The third was close to rezrock, and left me cold.
Still, the impact of the first two bothered me. I still wasn't sure I liked the man, or what he stood for, but I might have voted for him right after hearing the ads. With a shiver, I link-pulsed off the message link.
After Mahmed's rezads, I needed something to get my mind moving in another direction. I settled on NorNews as the least objectionable, while I set my new formulator on Jamaican Jerk Chicken.
* * * *
"… headlines for the next hour. Fatalities in SudAm from the mutated ebol4 virus have now exceeded six million. The Martian Republic apologizes for asteroid debris, but suggests it needs Earth technology to ensure it doesn't happen again. More mysterious ODs last weekend, and no cause in sight…”
* * * *
I pulsed the selector to the weather, to anything less depressing, and hoped the chicken wouldn't be too long. I also hoped that the Brazelton techs wouldn't be too late.
Chapter 41
Chiang
I didn't sleep well Thursday night. Was in the office by zero six-thirty on Friday. Went back over what I knew, what the files and evidence showed. Tried to figure out the missing connections. The Cewrigh thing nagged at me. Nanette Iveson had said that Erneld Cewrigh shouldn't have committed suicide. I sat there for a moment. That set of pieces snapped together. Not in a way that I could prove, but it made sense, If my suppositions about what resonance did were correct.
The captain didn't call me. Saw no reason to call her until I got the tech and homicide reports.
Instead, went back to the day-to-day business of trend-side. ODs were rising, including the mystery ones. They would through the weekend. TID- and GIL-related frauds were declining. Assaults and disturbances were still down. Made sense. Fewer people out because of the ebol4 scare, and people stayed more in their own space.
Sarao showed at seven hundred. I'm here, Lieutenant. Any news?
Still waiting for the reports.
Found a message from Cannizaro asking for a formal report of some sort on Ernesto Tazzi. Took me a minute to recall. What the captain meant was that she needed something for political cover. More than the facts. Started in on that. Took more than an hour before I had down all that I could prove. Added a section that said CDC was looking into aspects of the OD problem. Decided against sending it. Hoped we'd get an answer from CDC before the captain leaned on me.
Moorty's here, Lieutenant.
Have him come in. Checked the time. It was zero eight-forty.
Moorty looked like he'd spent all night up. "Lieutenant.” He extended a databloc and a bound hard copy. "I figured you'd need both.”
We both smiled.
"You're right,” I told him. "Have to meet with the captain about it. Is there anything else in it?"
"That we didn't cover last night?" He frowned. "There were some of the same basic routine twists in all the jobs.”
"Routine twists?"
"Just the way the circuits are put together, programmed. Looks like the same tech did them all.”
"Anything else?"
"Lieutenant, you got Brazelton—the company, anyway. There were defective modules and deadly program routines. The fuel cells had been tampered with, and there was circuitry there to make them fuse. Circuitry evaporated, but"—Moorty smiled—"the heat etched some of the components on the stone clear as a photo. The house was a death trap if anything happened.” He gestured to the databloc I held. "It's all there.”
"Thanks. Appreciate it. Lots.”
"Just get them.”
Hoped I could.
Fifteen minutes later, my office door opened. Kirchner didn't announce himself. Just walked in. Looked at me. He had a hard-copy report and a databloc as well. "Good thing for me you don't dice.”
"Murder by arson?"
"Cut and dried, once you look beneath the appearances. Smythers tried to ram a chair through the window and broke the legs of the chair. That's a pretty good indication he was trapped, and that the overrides were disabled. The autopsy of what was left of lung tissue shows certain particles. He tried to put out the fire. There were buckets there. We found the melted remains. The fire didn't burn the whole place.”
Frowned at that.
"The kind of heat that would melt stuff should have burned more than it did. That means it was set with a high temperature substance in the walls of those fuel cells. But all of the incendiary burned before the backup power cell for the defense screens failed. High temperature, and then the temperature dropped. Smythers asphyxiated, fell, and was burned. There should have been more carbonization of his body. There were lots of little traces, but they weren't obvious unless someone looked closely.”
His grin was off-center. "You can have this one, Chiang. I wouldn't go into any dark halls for a while, maybe a long while.”
I just looked at him.
"You've known this all along, haven't you?" he asked.
"Some of it. Had to prove it, though.”
He nodded and was gone.
Put in a call to the captain. She was still out, meeting with the acting District Coordinator. Asked to meet with her as soon as she returned.
Then I read through both reports one more time. Evidence was clear in parts, not so clear in others. Moorty and Alfonso had solid evidence that Brazelton had installed "defective" components that had caused the death of Smythers. The earlier reports would support the same for McCall and Ives
on, not quite so strongly.
The reports on Dewey were weaker yet. Evidence for tampering with the guideway system that had killed Dewey was suggestive, but not ironclad. I thought we could get Brazelton there on fraud or negligence—substandard original equipment.
Homicide had more evidence from the Smythers fire. Technical explanation was involved, but solid. Lots of details—particles in Smythers's lungs, compounds deposited and melted into the composite frame of the house, restriction of oxygen flow. List was long. Hoped it would be long enough.
Took the datablocs out to Sarao.
"Could you have two more hard copies made?"
She lifted her eyebrows.
"I want one. The captain needs one, and we'll probably have to provide one to a solicitor.”
"You're that close?"
"I'm hoping.”
Back in my office, I tried to figure out why Kemal wanted all the victims dead. It couldn't just be the OD and Cewrigh links. That would have been annoying, but not a reason for murder. McCall had known something else. Wondered if I'd ever know.
Chiang, this is Captain Cannizaro.
Yes, Captain. Think we have a breakthrough on the murders of McCall, Iveson, Dewey, and Smythers.
Smythers?
Need to come up and explain.
Give me five minutes.
Yes, ser.
Went out front to talk to Sarao.
"Still nothing from CDC?"
"Not a thing, Lieutenant. Do you still think there's something wrong with resonance music?"
"Something very wrong.” Wasn't about to say what. No point in it.
"You think CDC can find it?"
"Hope someone can.” I shrugged. 'Time to go see the captain.”
"Good luck, Lieutenant.”
Need that and more. Walked up the ramp. Didn't hurry.
Cannizaro was waiting. Door was open. She looked tired, more tired than Moorty. She'd look worse before it was over. Dark circles under the black eyes. Blonde hair was limp. Worry lines looked etched with black wire.
Door closed behind me. Privacy barrier blanketed us.
"Before you brief me, Chiang, did you get my message on the Tazzi case?"
"Yes, ser. Drafted a report. Like to wait to see if we get an answer from CDC.”
"CDC?"
"We asked for some special analysis. Don't know whether it will help.”
She nodded slowly. "I'd forgotten. We can use that. I'll tell Roberto that my people have even enlisted the expertise of CDC. Either way, it can't hurt. It shows we're trying everything. What about the newsies? Parsfal—was it?"
"He's the reason we have a case. He called yesterday. Said Smythers had died in a fire. Smythers was the former dean of UDenv Law School. Smythers was McCall's only confidant. Parsfal didn't think the fire was an accident. It wasn't.” I handed her the two hard-copy reports. "Tech and prelim homicide forensic reports.”
"This is going to provide some answers on the McCall case?"
"You won't like them, Captain.”
She sighed. "I never like anything you do on cases like this. No one else does, either. That means you do a good job. Now tell me what I need to know.”
"Brazelton did the McCall protective system. Put in unauthorized codes, overrides. We have a report on that. The same kind of work was done at Smythers's place. The techs found prints on the back of the system box at Smythers's house. Fresh prints. Prints might be Brazelton's. Also a new control submodule. New faulty module.”
"So?"
"Have to have special equipment to insert submodules like that. Rest of the box was five years old. One of the components wasn't manufactured until six months ago.
Same company that supplies Brazelton. The guideway components are used by both GSY and Brazelton, but GSY doesn't use the same control system as Brazelton does for domestic systems.”
"That's not enough to prove it's murder,” Cannizaro pointed out.
"Could get Brazelton on one or two counts of negligent homicide… cost him his licenses… and a few other things.”
Cannizaro looked directly at me. "You could.”
"Could also see if he'd drag in Kemal on a plea.”
"What good would that do?"
"Brazelton's guide systems were the ones that failed in Dewey's death… and in Nanette Iveson's death. They weren't the originals in either case. Then the Smythers's case. At least three counts of being an accessory to homicide… that's three separate and discrete violations. That's cause for permie treatment. At a minimum, it allows for use of truth nanites even under privacy law.”
"For a street lieutenant, you have a nasty mind, Chiang.” For the first time, she smiled. "Go try it.”
"Yes, ser.” Couldn't help smiling. Only one problem. Doing it was harder than telling the captain.
"You can hold off on the Tazzi report until next week. And the McCall report.” Captain looked up at me again. "Get on with it. Keep me informed.”
"Yes, ser.”
Walked down to trendside to start the legalities to call in Brazelton for questioning.
Chapter 42
Parsfal
By Friday morning, I was stewing. Almost a week had passed, and I'd gotten nothing from Chiang. Bimstein had been on me all week about one thing and another, and I was about ready to break the McCall-related stuff, regardless of my promise to Chiang.
I hadn't more than walked in the office when Istancya was standing there. Her face was frozen, as if she'd had bad news of some sort.
"What is it?"
"Les Kerras died last night.”
"What?"
"They think he had a heart attack.”
"People don't have heart attacks anymore. Not many do,” I added. "Where?"
"In his office.” She looked down. "Bimstein just linked. He said Paula Lopes would be taking over for him for now.”
Parsfal!
I winced. I'm here.
We need an analysis of the impact of the economic sanctions the Martian Republic just proposed. I'm sending over the draft they sent to the NorAm Executive. Need something within the hour. Feed it to Metesta.
"Bimstein?" Istancya whispered.
I nodded.
I'll do what I can.
Do better than that. With that, he was off-link.
"Bimstein,” I said slowly. "He wants an economic and tech analysis of the economic sanctions being threatened by the Martian Republic. He wants it now. He didn't say anything about Kerras.”
"Les doesn't matter, now.” Istancya gave a small sad smile. "He was a disposable T-head. The news must go on.”
I nodded. Then, I walked slowly into my cubicle and sat down in front of the console. Les Kerras… dead? A heart attack in his office? I had my doubts. Bimstein hadn't said a word about Kerras, as if he were already forgotten and cremated.
There was a set of lines in my mind… not mine… but those of the Irish bard.
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
To balance with this life, this death…
No one even had a moment to spare to consider Les Kerras. Or what his life meant.
I sat there in front of my console, taking a moment before calling up whatever it was that Bimstein had sent. I looked at the console. It had been moved. Not a lot, but just a little. I frowned and started to sit down. Then I looked again.
There was an envelope wedged under my console. I eased it out.
My name was written on it—Jude.
Finally, I opened it.
Jude—
If I'm still here, just keep this for reference. If I'm not, you know what to do. KCF Management = Asset and control dump for trusts held by the children and grandchildren of Arturo Kemal. Irrevocable life trusts to each child. Each trust holds 4. 5% of the stock in MMSystems. It's not that simple. Each trust owns 55% of the stock in another holding company, and in some cases, two. There are ten trusts in KCF. Sketched out the pattern on the next she
et.
Chris Kemal holds 5. 5% percent of the MMSystems stock outright… also is the executive officer of KCF (aka Kemal Children's Fund) and of his own personal holding company (ChrisCo).
All the secondary holding companies are operated by Kemal family members or by trusted subordinates.
Irrevocable trusts not considered "controlled" by the giver or trustee under NorAm law. Privacy law prevails.
McCall was the one to set this up, before he left O'Bannon and Reyes.
Also… found sizable transfers from the Nauruan National Bank to one of Kemal's holding companies—ChrisCo. Sizable means nearly a billion credits over a year. NNB is the bank that handles the Earthside funding for the Martian Republic. Couldn't confirm. That's because NNB is the only large financial institution that has refused transparency in the case of suspected criminal activities.
NASR is hiding things. Don't know what. No one there will talk. Not officially. Cannon knows some of this, but I don't know what he'll do. If anything happens, let Chiang know. In person. I couldn't reach him.
Clearly, Les had set out what he'd known in a hurry. But why me?
I looked at the two thin sheets behind the scrawled letter. Then, I looked again.
"Istancya!"
She darted into the room.
"I need a favor. A big favor. Les left me something, and I have to go to DPS. Bimstein wants an economic analysis of the economic sanctions threatened by the Martian Republic. I told you that—"
"I'm not an economist,” she protested.
"I know. I can rough out the numbers, and the salient points in a few minutes. Could I beg you to polish them and send them to Metesta?"
"You beg so well, Jude.” She laughed ruefully. "I'll do what I can.” She paused. "Is what Les left you important?"
"He thought it was. But I can't take it to Bimstein without DPS clearance.”
"You'd better get busy on the numbers. I'll watch and ask questions.”
She stood behind me as I worked and tried to explain what I'd done and why. The numbers weren't my best, but they were in the right district, so to speak. The threatened sanctions would hit Afrique the hardest, then EastAsia, and the SudAm. That made sense, because those continents has less advanced formulator technology.
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