The Year's Best Science Fiction: Eighteenth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “Why?”

  “Because he was screwing me,” Claire suddenly yelled. “All right? He’d been screwing me for months. How the hell do you think I bought my car? From the money my loving father gives me?” She burst into tears. Daniel hugged her tighter, and she gripped at him in reflex.

  Margina’s mouth opened. She stood absolutely still, staring at her daughter in disbelief. “You’re lying. You little bitch. You’re lying!”

  “I am not!” Claire shouted back.

  Amanda stepped between them, holding her hands up. “That’s enough. Claire, you’re going to have to come to the station with us.”

  The girl nodded.

  “You could have ruined everything,” Margina cried shrilly. “Everything! You stupid stupid bitch. You’ve got a whole university full of men to sleep around with. What the hell were you thinking of?”

  “Don’t you ever care about anyone but yourself? Ever? You don’t know anything, you’re just an ignorant old fraud.”

  “I said: enough,” Amanda told them. “Mrs. Sullivan, we can arrange for a social case officer to counsel you and Tamzin if you would like.”

  Margina was still glaring at Claire, her breathing irregular. “Don’t be absurd,” she said contemptuously. “I’m not having a failed psychology graduate asking me impertinent questions as if I were some feeble-brained dole dependant. Colin will take care of everything we require.”

  “As you wish,” Amanda said calmly.

  Amanda decided to question the girl in her office rather than the station interview room. It was marginally less inhospitable. She got her a cup of tea, and even managed to find some biscuits in one of the desk drawers.

  Claire didn’t pay any attention, she sat with her head in her hands.

  “Did you love him?” Amanda asked tenderly.

  “Ha! Is that what you think?”

  “I don’t know. I’m asking.”

  “Of course I didn’t love him.” Her head came up abruptly, a worried expression on her face. “But I didn’t kill him.”

  “Okay. So tell me why you were having a relationship with him?”

  “It wasn’t a relationship. He seduced me. I suppose. We’d gone to see Tamzin at a fashion show in Peterborough this Easter. He fixed it somehow that I was driven back home in his limo. It was just him and me. I’d had a lot to drink.”

  “Did he rape you?”

  Claire gave a helpless grimace. “No. He was interested in me. That’s never … Tamzin was always the one. She’s always been the one. It’s like she was born with two people’s luck. Everything happens for her. She’s so pretty and glamorous. Byrne Tyler was her boyfriend. I mean, Byrne. I used to watch him on Marina Days.”

  “So you were flattered, and it was exciting.”

  “Suppose so.”

  “And afterward? Then what happened?”

  “He said he wanted to keep seeing me.”

  “You mean to have sex?”

  Claire blushed and hung her head. “Yes.”

  “So you went back? Voluntarily?”

  “Mum’s really frightened, you know? You wouldn’t be able to tell, not with her. She doesn’t let anyone see. But she is. We don’t have any money; mum’s in debt to dozens of shops, just for food half the time. We can’t get credit anywhere locally anymore—no bank will issue her with a card. Tamzin … well she can look after all of us. Since she met Byrne her career is really taking off. She earns tons of money.”

  “So what did Byrne Tyler tell you?”

  “He said to just keep things going the way they were. That he’d never tell Tamzin as long as he was happy, and everything would stay the same.”

  “And he bought you the car?”

  Yes. It was so I could drive out to Bisbrooke whenever he wanted me. He used to call me in the evenings, when Tamzin was away on an assignment. I’d tell mum I had late study at DeMontfort. It’s not like she’d know any different.”

  “And you were there on Wednesday evening?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “When did you arrive?”

  “About nine o’clock.”

  “And you left when?”

  “Just after eleven.”

  “And Byrne Tyler was alive when you left?”

  “Yes! I swear it. I left him in bed. I got dressed and went home.”

  “Was there anyone else there with you?”

  “No. Just me.”

  “Claire, do you remember if it was cold in the apartment that night?”

  “No. It never is. Byrne didn’t like sheets or duvets on the bed. He always kept the bedroom warm enough so he didn’t have to use them.”

  Amanda noted that in her cybofax. “Interesting. I need to know about the bedroom, I’m afraid. Did you have champagne up there that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “We only found one glass. Isn’t that a bit odd?”

  “Oh.” Claire looked hard at the top of the desk. “I have the glass. Byrne liked to … well, he poured some on me.”

  “I see. Did he say if he was meeting anyone else after you left?”

  “No. Nothing like that.”

  “Had he met anyone before you arrived?”

  “I don’t know. He never said.”

  Amanda sighed, resisting the impulse to reach out and grip the girl’s shoulder in reassurance. “Sounds like you’ve had a pretty rough few months.”

  “It wasn’t that … I know it all sounds awful. He really liked me, though. You must think I’m some dreadful cheap tart.”

  “I don’t think that at all. But what I’d like to do is refer you to a counsellor. I think you could do with someone to talk to right now.”

  “Maybe. Do I have to?”

  “No. But I’d like you to think about it.”

  “I will. Can I go now?”

  “Just about finished. I’ll need a DNA sample from you to eliminate any traces we find at the apartment. After that you’re free to go.”

  “Why do you need that?”

  “Because this is now a murder investigation.”

  “Why is it murder?” Vernon asked.

  “Claire claims the air-conditioning was operating normally when she left.”

  “Tyler could have changed it.”

  “We’ve been over this. That temperature isn’t one you can live in. The only reason to change it is to fudge the time of the murder. And the controls were wiped. The murderer did that.”

  “All right, damnit. I’ve done some background data-work for you. He was insured by his management agenda and we now have reasonable doubt. I’ll squirt the appropriate information off to them. We should get a response fairly quickly.”

  “Thank you. I’d like a scene-of-crime team to look at the apartment, and a full autopsy.”

  “I can give you that now.”

  “Great. I’ll also need full access to all of Tyler’s financial and personal data. Alison can start running it through some analysis programs.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a magistrate sign the order this evening.” Vernon fixed her with a thoughtful stare. “Did the girl do it?”

  “She certainly had the motive. She was there around the time it happened. Unless we can put someone else at the scene, she’s the obvious choice.” She caught his troubled expression. “What?”

  “I don’t get it. She was smart enough to lower the temperature, so she must have realized everyone would find out she was sleeping with Tyler. Why not simply say he slipped, that it was an accident?”

  “Guilt. Plain and simple. Trying to cover her tracks. You can see it in the way she talks. She’s cautious about every word that comes out of her mouth, as if she’ll give herself away just by speaking.”

  “Okay, Amanda, if you say so.”

  The next morning Amanda caught the Tyler story on Globecast’s breakfast news. She was smoking an extremely illicit cigarette, trying to calm herself for the day to come. Tyler didn’t rate much time: archive footage of him arriving at some glitzy part
y with Tamzin on his arm; the fact they were engaged, and she was believed to be flying home to be with her family; and a mention that the police investigation was ongoing, hinting that officers considered the circumstances unusual.

  How do they find out so quickly? she wondered.

  Amanda checked in at the station first, mainly to make sure there were no problems with Alison’s analysis. The probationary detective gave her a grumpy look from behind her desk. Four terminal cubes were full of what looked like Inland Revenue datawork as she used her court access order to pull in details from his accountant, agent, solicitor and banks. Apparently Byrne Tyler’s financial affairs were complex to the point of obscurity, not helped by the way showbusiness used accounting methods unknown to the rest of the human race. Amanda told her to concentrate on finding out if he had any large debts, and to confirm that he had bought the Ingalo for Claire.

  With that part of the investigation on line she was ready to drive up to the apartment and supervise forensic’s sweep. Vernon brought Mike Wilson to see her before she could get away. Wilson was from Crescent Insurance, who provided cover for Tyler. A real smoothy, she thought as they were introduced. Late thirties, in a smart blue-gray business suit at least two levels above a detective’s price range, ginger hair neatly trimmed, a body he had kept in condition without being an obvious gym-rat. She didn’t think he’d had any cosmetic alteration, his cheeks were slightly too puffy; but he certainly used too much aftershave.

  “How much coverage did Tyler have?” she asked.

  “His agency had taken out a full investigatory package,” Mike Wilson said. “Whatever it takes to get the culprit into court and secure a conviction.”

  “Sounds good to me. Just give us your credit account details, we’ll invoice you.”

  Wilson’s smile was tolerant. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. We like to see first hand what our money is being spent on.”

  She gave Vernon a tight you’re-kidding-me look. He smiled in retaliation. “Mike Wilson will be assigned to your team for the duration of the investigation.”

  “As what?”

  “I have worked on a number of police cases,” Wilson said. “I appreciate you don’t want what you regard as outside interference—”

  “Bloody right I don’t.”

  “—however, the facts are that I can offer immediate access to considerable specialist resources such as forensic labs and database mining, which the police have to outsource anyway. And I’m certainly happy to finance any reasonable police deployment, like the scene of crime search. That goes without question.”

  “How active do you see your helpful role?”

  “I only offer advice when I’m asked for it. It’s your investigation, Detective.”

  Her terminal bleeped for attention. Mike Wilson and Vernon Langley watched expectantly. Without making too big a deal of it, Amanda sat behind her desk and pulled the call through. It was Denzil.

  “I have good news and good news,” he said. “From your point of view anyway, if not Byrne Tyler’s.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Narcotic toxicology was minimal, except for a very recent infusion of Laynon. Our boy was improving his bedtime performance that night, but nothing more. But there were plenty of residual traces. He’s a regular and longtime user of several proscribed drugs. However he didn’t have enough of anything in his bloodstream to impede locomotion or cause disorientation at the time he died.”

  “The champagne?”

  “Minimal alcohol level, he couldn’t have drunk more than half a glass.”

  “Thanks, Denzil. What else?”

  “Dried saliva trails on his skin. And small scrapings of skin under two fingernails.”

  “They must be from Claire.” She glanced up at Mike Wilson, raising an eyebrow. He gave a small bow. “Run a DNA comparison for me, Denzil.”

  “Yeah, I heard we got money.” His image vanished from the screen.

  Wilson gave Vernon a meaningful look. “If it is the sister, the tabloid channels are going to have a feeding frenzy.”

  Amanda made an effort at conversation on the drive up to Bisbrooke. It wasn’t that Wilson was unlikable; but her instinct was that he had no place on the investigation. Of course, intellectually, she appreciated his presence was due to social injustice rather than politics. External funding was a factor she would have to accept, especially in the future.

  With the body gone and the air-conditioning back to normal, the apartment had lost its cheerless quality. Two scene-of-crime officers were moving methodically through the ground floor, examining every surface with a variety of sensor wands. Rex was out in the courtyard, taking statements from the neighbors.

  “What do you need to move for a prosecution?” Mike Wilson asked as they took a look at the cast-iron stairs.

  “Basically, a lack of any other suspects. I expect the prosecution service will accept she changed the air-conditioning. She is a medical student, after all.”

  “So you’ll interview his friends to see if anyone threatened him?”

  “Friends, his agency, people he worked with. The usual. I’d love to try and track down his supplier, as well. But that would really cost you—they don’t exactly rush out of the woodwork at times like these.”

  He gave a small grin. “I know.”

  “Previous case?”

  “Crescent insures a lot of celebrity types. Having dealt with them before, I can see why we set the premiums so high.”

  “Really?” Amanda was wondering if he was going to let any gossip loose when her cybofax bleeped. Denzil’s face appeared on the screen with an indecently malicious expression. “What?” she asked cautiously.

  “The saliva is Claire’s. The skin under the fingertips is not.”

  “Oh bugger,” she groaned. Even so, some part of her was glad Claire had possibly been cleared. Although she was still convinced the girl was hiding something. “Run a match through the central criminal records at the Home Office.” She didn’t even consult Mike Wilson with that one.

  “Already running,” Denzil said. “Plot getting thicker, huh?”

  “Yeah, right.” She ended the call.

  Wilson was looking up at the top of the stairs. “So what do you think? Skin scrape from whoever pushed him.”

  “Looks that way. One last desperate grasp as he started to fall.” She walked over to the red outline of the body on the terracotta tiles, and turned a full circle. “So what else have we got? No sign yet of a forced entry, which implies either the security ’ware let them through or it was a professional hit and they could burn through the system without a trace.”

  “Pushing someone off the top of the stairs isn’t a widely used assassination method. It’s heat-of-the-moment. Which fits.”

  “Fits what?”

  “Someone turned up just after Claire left. A friend, or someone he knew. He let them in. There was an argument. It would also explain the air-conditioning. If it was a professional hit, then whoever did that wouldn’t need to confuse the time of death, it wouldn’t matter to them. For some reason, our murderer still cares about messing with the time.”

  “Still doesn’t fit. If it was a friend, then the security ’ware would have an admissions record. There was nobody.”

  “We’d better have it checked very thoroughly, then. Get into the base management program and see if there’s any sign of tampering.”

  Amanda nodded. “You have somebody who can do that?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “While they’re at it, make sure they enhance the surveillance picture of the Ingalo when it left, I’d like to confirm no one was inside along with Claire.”

  “Fair enough. What else do you need?”

  She gestured out of the window wall. “Unless it was a real professional who yomped in over the fields, the only way to get here is to drive through the village. And believe me, that’s not so easy. Bisbrooke is small, and confusing. The villagers would know all about strange cars. I
want a door-to-door enquiry asking if any of them saw anything that night, any cars they didn’t recognize, as well as full interviews with the neighboring apartments.”

  “That’s a lot of labor-intensive groundwork. Could we just wait and see if the DNA register comes up with anything first?”

  “Okay. We need the other angle anyway. This will give us some time.”

  “Other angle?”

  “The motive, Mike. Personal, or financial, or professional jealousy, whatever … We need to start the good old-fashioned process of elimination. So, you get your expert here to examine the security ’ware, and I’ll get back to the station and give Alison a hand with Tyler’s finances.”

  It was late afternoon when Alison slapped a hand down on her terminal keyboard with a disgusted sigh, canceling a search program. “He doesn’t have bloody finances, you’ve got to have money for that. All Tyler has are debts.”

  Which wasn’t strictly true. Amanda glanced at Tyler’s bank statement again. To think, she always worried about her monthly salary payment arriving in time to satisfy her standing orders and credit-card bill. Some people obviously operated on a higher plane. Although he owed close to quarter of a million New Sterling, the banks just kept extending his credit limit. Why he didn’t pay it off she couldn’t understand. His cashflow was more than adequate. Of course, neither she nor Alison could track down where half of the money actually came from, and in most cases where it went. One account at a bank in Peterborough was used just for withdrawing large sums of hard cash.

  Amanda looked over at Mike Wilson who was studying some of the details himself. “I think we might justifiably request a qualified accountant at this point.”

  He ran a hand back through his hair, looking at a twisting column of numbers in one of the cubes with a perplexed expression. “I think you might be right.”

  Denzil came in and grinned at the blatant despondency in the room. “Having fun?”

  “Always,” Alison said sweetly.

  “I have a positive result.”

  Amanda sat up fast. “What?”