One return. No comm ID was listed, but it had an address. Apartment 307, The Lakeside Rooms. Another damn place owned by Webster. It was probably the fanciest apartment complex in Harem. The richer citizens lived there. It was nowhere near the lake. As far as I knew, Webster had wanted to build it out there, but the ground was too wet and unstable. He’d moved it out to the east side and kept the name.
I checked the time at the top of the screen. Nearly ten.
I grudgingly paid for the brown sludge and left. The miner was asleep by then. Didn’t wake. Around the corner, two cabs were double-parked so the drivers could chat. I climbed into the back of one.
‘East fifteenth,’ I told the driver. ‘Lakeside Rooms.’
He just nodded. Waved goodbye to his friend and pulled away. Another infrared thing above my seat dried me out again. They were everywhere in Harem. To dry the city that’s never dry. There was a factory over on the north side of town that made the things. One of the few sources of work for Harem citizens. There wasn’t a lot for a colony to do. Luckily for us the factory, and a few other places, sold their products off-world, which kept some money flowing in. Otherwise it just swirled round and round Harem like water in a drain. Without that bit of off-world income, we’d have sunk out here. We were pretty much self-sufficient in everything but that most important of things: food. Next to nothing grew in and around Harem, and you could only live on synthed food for so long.
I slid low in the seat. Made it look like I was dozing. Didn’t want Webster’s goons spotting me. We were heading straight into their territory after all. It would be just my luck if they did, just as I was about to get answers. Hopefully, anyway.
It looked like we were headed for the tunnel. I asked the driver to take a different route. He told me it would cost more, but quickly turned onto a new street anyway, in case I changed my mind.
With each block, my nerves increased. It was a different kind of nerves this time. Something laced with hope. This Jarvis guy might actually be able to give me the information I was after. If he couldn’t, I’d have no choice. I’d have to find my way to Cole Webster’s mansion. I doubted I’d survive it. But it was either that or go on the run, and on a rock like this there was nowhere to run to.
I found myself fingering the cigarette packet again. Still a few left inside. I hadn’t even thought about smoking since the club. I even had a lighter now. Maybe I’d quit. I’d almost managed it until last night. Yeah, I’d quit for good this time.
An increase in angle and pressure against my back told me we were about to pass into the east side. Where the rich lived and played. Of course, ‘rich’ was a relative term. The poor of Orion would look down their noses at Harem’s elite and laugh. Harem didn’t get to be so large because of well-off and important people deciding to make it their home. It got big because of people who weren’t wanted anywhere else. Except maybe by the law. Some of the inhabitants, for example, were descendents of pirates who hit a big score and had to find somewhere to lay low. Most had become relatively normal citizens by this stage though.
There was no point thinking how likely it was that every other person I saw in this part of town was in Webster’s pocket. How likely it was that he’d know where I was practically before I did. I had to find the information DeMartino and Lawrence needed. So I had to find Jarvis. So I had to go into the east side. So it was unavoidable. No point thinking about it.
Instead, I wondered if the girl had survived the storm drains. They’d have been pretty flooded. She’d probably have had to swim through them. I didn’t know how far they went. Maybe the current would have pulled her through. Maybe it would have pulled her under. Held her there till she stopped struggling. Shame. Meant I wouldn’t get my good coat back. Meant I wouldn’t get any more information from her. But she’d seemed tough. I thought she had some fire inside pushing her on. She’d probably kick Death in the face and take his scythe rather than go quietly. Then go claim Webster’s head with it.
From my position low in the seat, I could see that the lightning had stopped. For now. Rain still fell, but it pattered on the windshield instead of hammering. The further into the east side we travelled, the worse the light pollution got. All I could see in the sky was an orange haze.
We passed a street sign. It said simply, ‘E 15’. My stomach lurched. We were there. The cab started to slow.
East Fifteenth Street. Few streets in Harem had any kind of real name. Those that did could mostly be found here in the east side though. The city was arranged kind of like an H. The east and west sides continued all the way up and down the sides of the city. Technically the diagonals of a compass. The north and south sides were the smallest areas, nestled in the little squares either side of the horizontal line. That line was the train line. Cut straight through the middle of town before turning around the southern marshes and then down to the mining operation. Then from there, back out east to Anshan.
My stomach lurched again. The cab sat still against the kerb. The driver held his hand out. Must have told me the fare, but I hadn’t heard. I handed him a fifty to be sure and waited for the change. It was an awkward number. Something with a seven. The smallest credit chips were fives. Conveniently meant I had to tell him to keep the difference.
I checked the time before I climbed out. Ten fifteen. He’d driven slowly because of the wind. Better than wrapping us around a lamppost I guessed. Taken a more indirect route too.
Outside, I barely felt the rain. The wind had died down now. It was like another city. Brightly lit, clean. Still raining. That was a given in Harem. But it was gentle rain. Maybe these rich people bribed someone for nicer weather.
I stared up at the building. Lakeside Rooms. The name was emblazoned in gold lettering on a thick black oval sign to my left. The sign swayed gently, suspended between two wooden posts in the grassy area between the road and the semicircle driveway. The building itself was white stone and glass. There was nothing special about the design, but there was an indefinable air of fanciness and upper class about it.
I skirted the sodden grass and crossed the pristine driveway. Wide stone steps led up to a wooden door. Even at this time of night, it was open. A small porch area for tenants to store umbrellas and overcoats. Then on through a sliding glass door that seemed to know the difference between me standing to take in my surroundings and wanting to go through it. The air inside was warm. Uncomfortably so. My fingers tingled. Swelled in the heat.
The lobby of the place was big. It was like the entrance hall of some grand mansion. Two curved staircases swept up to the next floor, both polished wood. Between the staircases was a reception desk. I guessed the man behind it had opened the glass door for me. From the look on his face at my approach, I also guessed he’d done so before taking a good look at me.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ He was careful not to put any ounce of respect into the last word.
‘I’m here to see Harold Jarvis,’ I told him. Held up my badge.
The receptionist, or concierge, or whatever he was, carefully looked me up and down. His piercing little eyes looked as though he was staring right through my clothes and my skin to see that my blood was definitely not cop colour.
‘The name is not familiar…Officer,’ he said.
‘Detective. You’ve got, what, two hundred tenants here? You know them all by name?’
He took on a firmer tone. ‘Perhaps not, but I certainly recognise the names of those who reside here. And this Mr. Jarvis is not one of them.’
‘Perhaps you’d do me a favour and check the books. Just in case.’ I smiled. ‘Long way to come from the precinct for a quick “no”.’
The more I pressed the issue, the more uncomfortable the guy looked. The white shirt had become greyer around the armpits. He kept straightening his red waistcoat. His eyes kept flicking down at something. I couldn’t see what. A gun, maybe. Or an alarm button. I leaned on the top of the reception desk to wait. He couldn’t go for anything, gun or button, with me so close.
‘Very well,’ he yielded eventually. ‘If you insist.’
‘I do.’ I smiled again.
His eyes flicked over what he could see of me again. He didn’t like me much. Didn’t like having someone who looked like me in his nice clean lobby. Or foyer. Or whatever the correct hoity-toity word was.
He dragged a moist finger down his screen. From my side, it looked like he was just waving the finger in mid air. Maybe he was. He certainly didn’t look like he was actually searching for the name.
‘As I said, there is no one by that name residing in the Lakeside Rooms,’ he announced after what he probably thought was a sufficiently unsuspicious period. His eyes flicked down again. He took a casual step towards whatever it was.
I’d had enough of his shit.
‘I think you’re lying. And I don’t have time for it.’
I slapped the badge down on the desk. His eyes instinctively followed it. Meant he didn’t register fast enough when I reached over the desk and grabbed him. Yanked him towards me. Then reached to the back of his head with my other hand. Drove his head straight down and through the desk. It didn’t actually go through, of course, but that’s the strength I was aiming for. It ensured his lack of consciousness.
As he slumped and dropped to the floor, I hoped he didn’t bash his head again there. He was a pompous ass, but I didn’t particularly want to have killed him. I already had the cops on me for a murder. Two, in Lawrence’s case.
After making sure I wasn’t being watched – a little late now – I stepped around the desk. It was a panic button of some kind. I didn’t know if it alerted the cops, or went directly to Webster. Like everything so far, I suspected the latter. This guy knew who I was. Or at least had a good idea. Or maybe he was just meant to alert Webster if anyone ever asked for Harold Jarvis. That boded well for me.
A quick search of the concierge and his desk sadly didn’t produce any guns, so I moved on to his computer. An equally quick search of this told me that a ‘Jarvis, H’ lived in apartment 317. Looked like Webster was confident that his efforts to hide Jarvis were solid enough that he didn’t need to worry about using a fake name for him here.
A small break room behind the reception desk proved to be ideal for the storing of unconscious asses. There were no communication devices in the room and the door locked with a key. I locked him in and threw the key off to the side somewhere.
I decided to take the stairs. It was the paranoia again. I didn’t want anyone seeing the elevator moving, or what floor it was going to. I considered sending both of them to a different floor – neither to the third – but that was probably taking it too far. I was meant to be getting a grip, after all.
The transition of my footsteps from thick carpet to wooden steps was deafening in the otherwise silent lobby. Despite the urge to rush to 317, I forced myself to walk casually. The cream coloured walls of the two floors were pretty bare. Four or five paintings prevented it from being too empty, though for the life of me I couldn’t work out what they were paintings of. A single arched window in each of the side walls showed the orange haze, distorted by raindrops. In the middle of the ceiling was a round…thing. It looked like there was meant to be a chandelier hanging from it.
At the top, my footsteps were silenced once again by fawn-coloured carpet. It wasn’t immediately obvious where the next staircase was, so I turned and followed the balcony back around towards the front wall. I found the staircase concealed behind a thin wall above the porch. The outside wall was entirely glass. I looked out at the shining gambling houses, bars and restaurants. They all begged me to come inside and unload my pocketful of credits. All I was interested in was seeing that the driveway was still empty.
On the third floor, my stomach was twisting and turning again. I just hoped to hell this Jarvis character could tell me what I wanted to know. What I needed to know.
As I was about to turn off the stairs, I heard a door open. Whispering. A giggle. Faint, soft footsteps hurrying somewhere. I peeked round the corner. Saw an arm disappearing through a door, pulling a thirty-something blonde behind it. The opposite door clicked shut. Secret lovers. Not a threat.
When I heard the click of their door, I continued around the corner. Their two apartments were 304 and 305. At the end of the corridor was 308 and 309. I could go left or right. Still no signs. I took the wrong turn the first time, but it didn’t take long to find the gleaming brass numbers: 3-1-7.
There was nothing different about the door. Nothing special or outstanding. I felt like there should be. No sign of cameras, though if Webster really wanted to spy subtly, they wouldn’t be detectable by eye.
After a deep breath, I knocked three times on the polished, dark brown door.
Silence. Then an unpleasant screech, like something hard scraped across a polished floor. Heavy, slow footsteps. Definitely a wood floor. Not that it mattered. Just seemed to inflate each second to infinity. I wished he’d hurry the hell up. After what felt like a couple of minutes, the footsteps stopped at the door.
There was silence again for a couple of seconds. I realised he was examining me on the peep-screen. I held my badge up to the little round sensor. Thought about how Webster could probably just hop onto that feed, rather than placing his own cameras. Given that he’d allowed Jarvis’ real name to be used in the tenant register, though, I doubted he’d find reason to bother.
The clunk of a lock came next. The brass doorknob slowly rotated. I took a deep breath again. The door opened a few inches before an old-fashioned chain stopped it. The face through the gap threw me. I hadn’t expected this. But it made some kind of sense, I guess. At least made sense of what the girl said in the tunnel. Made things more difficult though.
‘The hell do you want?’ Jarvis demanded. ‘You know what time it is? I was about to go to bed.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr. Jarvis,’ I said, and noted the slight widening of his eyes. Then the slight narrowing. He’d hoped this was a random door-to-door or something. ‘But this is important. I need to talk to you about Leonne.’
He stared at me for a moment. His expression couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be blank or defiant. The longer he glared, though, the more his lip began to quiver. The more shiny his eyes became.
He slammed the door.
I considered my options for a moment, delaying the anger that would erupt inside me soon. Then I heard the scrape of the chain. A faint green ripple across the doorway as Jarvis deactivated the security shield. Probably just as well I’d kept my cool. My first instinct would have been to kick the door open again. But a shield like that was designed to allow only the slow moving through, like a hand knocking on the door. Something quick, like a kick, would have had me flying backwards into the wall.
The door opened again. All the way this time. Jarvis turned and ambled back into the apartment. I stepped in. Closed the door after me, once I’d checked the immediate area for Webster’s goons. I wasn’t about to let my guard down now, on the edge of uncovering answers. Finally.
On the way past his glass coffee table, Jarvis’ shin knocked its edge. The movement against the polished wood floor produced the unpleasant screech. The old man swore a few times before collapsing into his armchair and rubbing his shin.
And an old man he was. Probably about seventy, I guessed. It wasn’t the creases of his face that had surprised me when he opened the door. It was the colour. He was black.
‘Well?’ he demanded. Idly gestured to a cream couch on the other side of the table. I crossed to it. He grasped the walking stick beside his chair. Fiddled with it nervously. Nervous, but still defiant. I noticed a bruise with a small cut in the middle of it, right above his eye. Someone had paid him a visit.
‘What was she to you?’ I asked, sinking too far into the couch. Might as well get straight to the point. ‘She was too young to be your daughter. Granddaughter?’
A pearl of salt water escaped his eye. He caught it quickly with the back of his hand. ‘Pour me a drink
.’ He jabbed his stick towards a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room.
I felt a flare of heat inside. But I’d waited this long. Come this far. I could afford to wait long enough to fix a drink. Two drinks. The amber liquid came from a thick glass decanter, but the synthesiser was badly hidden behind a dying houseplant. I guessed Jarvis liked to feel as though he enjoyed the finer things, but this was synthed just like everything I drank.
He pulled the glass out of my hand as though every second it wasn’t to his lips was another second of agony. In the blink of my eye, the glass was empty. I sat again, taking care not to lean all the way back this time. Took a sip. It made my gums tingle and lovingly burned my throat.
‘Leonne,’ I said.
The way he glared at me made me think for a moment that he might deny knowing her. ‘Yeah, she was my granddaughter. So the hell what?’
‘So the hell what?’ I tried not to shout. ‘So she was murdered and c—’ Maybe the other part wasn’t necessary information for him. ‘And I’m the one they’re trying to put away for it.’
His eyes flicked up at me again. Full of fire. His knuckles went pale with the force of his grip on the walking stick.
‘Obviously I didn’t do it, or I wouldn’t be here,’ I said, in the hopes of placating him. I probably shouldn’t have told him at all. It kind of slipped out. I guessed my detective routine was blown.
‘Who the hell are you?’
‘My name’s Jack Mason. They tell me I killed your granddaughter. I disagree.’ I took another sip to give me a moment to plan the next sentence. ‘If I don’t find out what really happened by tomorrow morning, I’ll be packed off to Anshan and the real killer will get away with it.’
Jarvis just looked at me. I could tell he didn’t know what to think. Part of him probably wanted to split me open with that stick. Even if I was telling the truth, it would still kind of feel like he was taking revenge just because the accusation was out there. I remembered seeing one of the other suspects in Lucy’s investigation. He was being taken into an interrogation room just as I was being dragged out of one. I’d wanted to jump on him. Hit him again and again. And I knew damn well he’d done nothing to her.
Acts of Violence Page 13