by Gerald Lynch
Frank took Kevin’s extended left hand in a sustained shake, easily. With others Kevin would hold out both palms, and the witnesses would be directed to rest their fingertips on his. Only rarely, after too short a time and always with suddenly embarrassed men, would the forgetful witness snatch back his hands and talk of lodging a complaint (which Frank would deep-six). Most often, fingertips would dance on fingertips, a bonding current would be mutually felt, and the witness, with eyes closed, would talk from places she or he had chosen not to remember. It was always a trying practice, but the information forthcoming had often led to the one solution. On his very last missing persons case, he’d even induced a man, a doctor, to recover not his own memories but those of the perp. That had never happened before or since, and it had shaken Kevin for a spell. So he’d become even more selective in messing with others’ memories and minds. He should talk to Dr. Randome about it.
But old-partner Frank was exceptionally easy. After a spell of regular breathing for both of them, a fully conscious Frank sighed deeply.
“To cut DeLint open, wide open, to expose the big creep to the world, of course. And defiantly, maybe as a show of power to send someone else a threatening message. Machete? Haiti? Scuttlebutt said at the time that Omphalos got out of the D-R just a half step ahead of the Tonton Macoutes and so-called annexation. There are still lots of islanders here at Omphalos HQ. Who knows what connections continued between Haiti and DeLint. Maybe some exiled Haitians here still had family back home, and Grand-Enfant Doc blackmailed them into killing DeLint. Maybe Haiti had been using DeLint, extorting Omphalos money or something, and was simply finished with him. Voodoo and machetes, bad blood, this mess.”
“You’re the best, Frank. Make sure MYCROFT profiles every Omphalos Haitian since the beginning. And try your scenarios on the computer. But for now just keep talking.”
Frank had nothing more to say. He let go Kevin’s hand and leaned out the hallway door to hold up a one-minute forefinger, then returned.
Kevin went through all his tics: the long nose pulled from bridge to pinched nostrils, the hand on the crown, dragged forward, then back to the crown and down the nape of his neck.
“How about this then, Frank: some disturbed Omphalos drone, possible Haitian seeking revenge or acting on orders from home, wants to draw attention to him — or her — self. Picks the most powerful victim available and concocts this extravagant M-O to guarantee that the police put their best investigator on the case, Chief Frank Thu himself. And maybe force Thu’s old partner, Detective Kevin Beldon, to end his medical leave? Such a someone would have to know how we work, Frank.”
“You think so? Sounds a bit far-fetched to me, Kev. But if the murder weapon was a machete, and Haiti’s involved, then extortion most likely, I’d maintain. It must cost a lot to keep those Tonton Macoutes happy. Maybe DeLint had no more to give, or just didn’t want to. We’ll see what MYCROFT makes of it all; even you’ll be impressed with the latest version since your leave.”
Kevin snorted dismissively. “It could well have been blackmail of some sort, but I was thinking of another motive too: pride, wounded pride. Such an extravagant killing — ritualistic, as you said — could be a gross display of hurt pride, and of a sick need to get even with more than the victim. Think: Omphalos, plus monstrous pride, plus revenge, plus you, plus me. What’s it all add up to, Frank?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Kevin, but I don’t like your cipherin’. I don’t want to have to take you off the case when you’ve just come on. Keep that in mind before you say another word.”
A non-aggressive stare-down ensued for a good half-minute.
“Sure. Frank, would you wait for me out in the hall for just a moment?”
Frank performed his own mannerisms, compressing his lips and exhaling heavily through his bud of a nose, head wagging. Then the drawl: “Sure, Kev, sure. I understand. No one else would, heaven knows, but I do. I’ve had to learn, haven’t I? And I have to confess: it’s always been worth my while.”
As soon as he stepped into the hallway a clamouring began from the other end. Kevin carefully shut the door on Frank’s “Not yet, Big…”
The MYCROFT scanbots paused and the SWISS guards flared their targeting array of ruby lights. But the SWISS as soon turned off and the bots returned to their fibre-grid work, weaving ever more tightly.
He went to the windows and leaned on his fingertips against a clean pane, rested his forehead against the warm glass as if he would commune with something beyond. But there was no movement way down on the streets, nothing, what with everybody taking cover from the midday sun. He looked across the canal at the dilapidated Parliament Buildings. Money is a mug’s motive for murder. Every really interesting killing is done for pride and power. Only saints and fools act otherwise.
If the spot of increasing warmth he felt on the back of his neck was from a SWISS guard, then MYCROFT was now alert to unacceptable scene contamination (likely the windows had not been scanned) and asking itself if the intruder should be rendered inoperative. That could mean anything from shaking off a stun-warning to coming out of SWISS-induced neural scramble. To Kevin it hardly mattered which anymore. Because now he knew: it was personal again all right. This porno display was for him. A taunt. The scene was arranged to speak to him, to deliver a message:
You are still obsessed with the Widower? With Omphalos? Maybe Eugene DeLint was the Widower. Where would that leave you, Detective Inspector Beldon? You want to talk hurt pride? Well, how about your own, Kevin? Because you couldn’t catch me. A pathological need for vengeance? Ditto. A year ago you did just enough to disrupt my…pleasure. And look what happened to your wife? Now listen up: you and yours are going to pay even more for fucking with me, Beldon. I’m the one bringing it.
So a tease, a taunt, a threat — that’s what this scene is all about.
Kevin turned from the window and a SWISS guard was hovering just above his forehead. Its ruby beams fixed both eyes, blinding him as it processed his identity and considered determent. He smiled small. Then he’s there, in the scene, witnessing the moment of truth: the call from the doorway that lifts and poses DeLint’s head, the back-swing of the machete like an inhalation, the whoosh of honed steel through crisp air. The head sitting in place for a moment. It falls off. The knife-artist swings overhead like splitting firewood, cutting though the back of the chair as he divides the torso cleanly through the breastbone. He must jerk the machete free, then slashes and chops till the…the accomplice at the door risks his own life to stop him, drags him off before he can…climb the spiral staircase?
That overdone madness was the cause of the disturbance behind the desk and at the base of the spiral stair, not a struggle with the drugged DeLint. There had been two murderers, and one had gotten carried away with his work and had to be controlled. There had been big-time hatred at work here. He could feel and smell its residual rot. It was hatred of him, Kevin Beldon.
There and then Detective Inspector Kevin Beldon found his life’s crime, or he’d been found again by his perfect criminal, the Widower. A brain more convolute than any he’d encountered, a mind more twisted than any he’d imagined; that diabolical soul wanted his soul, and again. Even Cynthia’s life hadn’t satiated this voracious puking demon.
He would have to lie to Frank. For practice he winked at the SWISS guard and whispered: “We can work together on this, MYCROFT.”
The SWISS blinked its red laser, startling Kevin with what had to be a returned wink. Then, satisfied, it ascended to the trap door like some spider on a retracting line of web.
Kevin gaped after it for seconds, then hooted his satisfaction: “Bring it!”
Chapter 6
All business now, Frank said, “For an operations centre I’ve commandeered the big empty room on this floor kitty-corner to DeLint’s office.”
He waved a come-on to those at the end of the hallway, and there was a
subdued hustle towards them, like aging fans for rush seats at an oldies concert.
“Have them put in a cot.”
“Kevin… Okay-okay, I will — bunk beds if you like!”
“One’ll be fine.”
“Well…”
As they negotiated details — requisition all Omphalos hard and digital records, a globally linked MYCROFT terminal (with an old virtual keyboard), highest access code for Kevin, two backup monitors, no SWISS outside DeLint’s office, only essential security armed at the elevator 24/7, smoking privileges — police were going into and coming out of the office wearing one of two looks: pasted grins or blank faces. One younger man hurried back retching into his palm, but he made it to the bathroom across from the kitty-corner room.
Frank had followed him with a growing grin. “I actually prefer a cop like that.”
Kevin was intentionally shouldered by Otto Parizeau barrelling past. Following Parizeau was the woman Kevin recognized as the plain and shapeless female officer he’d missed when he gave Big Ot the grieve-this crotch-jiggle. She glanced and caught him looking, smiled and blushed, reached DeLint’s door and waited. He was already thinking he could have been wrong about her — those dark eyes — she was pretty in her way. But it was mainly the smile. When was the last time a woman had smiled at him like that, like she knew him and still liked him? Not even Kelly. Not since Cyn…
Parizeau stuck his head out and barked at her, “Come along then, come in, madame police woman. You want to be play with the big boys since? Then jolly well regard this!”
Frank shook his head. “I’d thought a female partner might bring out whatever good’s left in Parizeau. I was wrong.”
“Frank, after a point, you cannot change people like Big Ot.”
“You’re right, of course. But we also work for a criminal justice system that is paid handsomely to send thousands of offenders to Omphalos rehabilitation camps, so keep that insight to yourself.”
“Frank, I want into the Dome.”
The pinched mouth, some anger: “That is a non-starter, Kevin. It was put off-limits by the highest authority. As I said, the world’s most powerful have had dealings with Omphalos, and the Dome must contain their files. The SWISS guards at the hatch — the only entrance to the Dome — are set on discretionary disable for now. I think you know what that means.”
Kevin stiffened and talked across Frank’s head: “Don’t lie to me, Frank. You can disable the SWISS. Either I have the run of the building, including the Dome, or I’m going home. Put those SWISS guards to sleep some time tonight, a short nap, that’s all I ask. I’ll find my own way, you don’t have to know anything about it.”
“Kevin, don’t drive me to the wall on this. We’ve already had to send repeated assurances to UNSecure, EuroPol, CIA, and the sad-ass Mounties: no one goes into the Dome. Every other closet in the building is open to you, but no Dome. If you can’t live with that, then do go home. And I think you know how it pains me to say that, Kevin. But I will shut you out of this investigation in a wink if I hear you breathe the word Dome again! Or if I even suspect you’re thinking the Widower. There, I’ve said it for you. Do we understand one another, Detective Inspector Beldon?”
Kevin closed his eyes and bowed his head. Whom does he love, really? Cynthia, Kelly, Bill, and Frank. That’s it. Or Frank’s Claire, too. Among the living, whose love can he count on? Kelly’s. Frank’s… Dr. Randome cares about him, he’s sure of that, but Ewan’s being paid for his interest. So he said nothing to Frank, just grimaced and nodded.
Frank asked, “Do you want anything from your apartment?”
“No.”
“Don’t be like that, Kev. My hands are tied… Okay, have it your way. Given your level of tech savvy, I’ve selected a junior partner proficient in the latest version of MYCROFT. I want you to meet h —”
“No partner.”
Frank looked away shaking his head. Returned. “Kevin, I guess I’d better tell you: I did not want you on this case, given your previous involvement with Omphalos. I was worried about how that history might influence our eventual case in a court of law. I was equally worried about how it would affect you. But some almighty power has ordered that you be brought on. I was able to make myself the prime investigator with you consulting. When I settled down, I was very happy with that, having you back. But someone right at the top knows all about Detective Kevin Beldon — probably from that fucking factioning article — and just loves his ass.”
Kevin said, “The ass thing again, Chief?… But if that’s the case, then I really don’t have to listen to you, do I?” And more jokingly: “I thought you loved me, Frank?”
Frank was too riled to be jollied. “Continuous backup is the one thing all the other law-enforcement agencies insisted on when they heard that the famous factioning detective would be investigating. If you’re to be left alone in Omphalos, I have to cover my ass by assigning you a partner, really more of an assistant.”
Frank paused, controlled his breathing. “Kevin, in about three years I’m outta here, with a package that’s gonna buy Claire and me a cottage on a lovely little Aleutian island. If this were bad vid, that information would pretty well guarantee my death on this case. But this is my real life, and you are not going to fuck it up, Beldon, do you hear? So no more talk about the Dome or you-know-who, comprenez?”
“I hear you, Frank, and you really are beginning to sound like bad vid yourself. How about Parizeau for backup? He’d keep a close eye on me, you can jolly well bet since. And that way you’d get to break up his mismatched team.”
“Big Ot!… Oh, you’re joking. I’m getting rusty, we really should get together more often, old partner. But I was thinking Parizeau’s new partner, Brigid Ertelle, for your assistant.”
“Wha… No way.”
Frank smiled to himself. “You probably don’t remember, but she’s the kid you helped on the church land-flip murder, about five years ago when she was fourth-class constable? She’s sergeant herself now, and no one’ll be happier than me to make her detective inspector one day. She knows her stuff. She knows your stuff. Despite our best efforts, she suspects you behind every big case I’ve ever solved. She’s studied —”
“You did solve those crimes, Frank. My part amounted to little more than sniffing at the evidence you brought me and pointing like a dog.”
Frank tolerated this with a smirk. “She’s studied your methods, understands her junior role as assistant, so there’d be no conflicts. Truth to tell, I suspect she’d jump out a window for the great Detective Beldon.”
“I thought I recognized her from somewhere: the case where the Mohawk Brotherhood tried to hang the land scam on poor old Father Tierney, who turned up dead, scalped. Okay, I could use a little hero worship. But do me a favour, Frank: tell her no perfume. And none of this assistant bullshit. She’s my partner, and that’s what you tell her.”
“I don’t know about Brigid and hero worship,” Frank mumbled. “But I’ve already told her your rules. Know what she said?” Frank does a poor effeminate voice: “No scent? I’m dying to see how he sniffs out the perp through the stink of his cigars. Oh, she knows you all right, Beldon.”
Kevin glanced at the woman, who had refused to follow Otto Parizeau into the room. From the poise of her head, she conveyed a sense of knowing she was being watched.
“Maybe I will ask her to jump out a window.”
Frank called her over and introduced them. “Partner?” she echoed in surprised pleasure, reaching, then quickly switching hands and shaking Kevin’s left.
As Frank and Kevin talked about equipping the operations room, she listened to them both and took notes, then asked only one question: “Can I have an industrial air filter?”
Frank nodded. “But, Kevin, we are going to have one helluva time when Omphalos Climate gets its first whiff of those rotten little cigars. An alarmed system
is capable of sucking all the oxygen out of a room, you know.”
“If it’ll help Detective Inspector Beldon cut back, I’ll spritz myself every morning with eau de cheapo tobacco.”
He joined Frank’s laugh. Then said to her, “Kevin.”
Frank emphasized, “And remember, it’s junior partner, Brigid.”
With a less anxious smile she went off to supervise the setup of the operations room.
Watching her go, like a long drink of dark water, Kevin observed in small surprise, “She’s actually quite lovely.”
“She’s also married.”
“C’mon, Frank. You know me better than that.”
“I do, unfortunately. From the back she could be mistaken for a guy, if you know what I mean.”
“Jesus Christ, you should be arrested for gender crime, Thu.” Kevin laughed loudly, surprising himself and startling the retreating Brigid Ertelle, who halted, dropped her head, but didn’t turn.
Controlling himself, Kevin shouted, “A natural death would be too good for you, Thu, saying that about our beloved Senators!”
Frank frowned bemused confusion. But Kevin had said it for Brigid to hear, because he’d worried she might have thought they’d been laughing at her.
She raised both arms and gestured backwards with her palms in a shrug, as if to say, Who knows what you old boys snicker about, and who cares? She hurried on.
Chapter 7
The bright empty room felt gym-size to Brigid Ertelle, and even sounded so at first with empty echoing. She moved awkwardly among the technicians setting up and testing equipment, as she’d always moved clumsily in gym class. It didn’t help her comfort level one little bit that she was assisting — actually partnered with — Kevin Beldon. It didn’t help that he refused to participate in the setting up of the room, as if it were woman’s work. It did help that he was tall. But he just stood staring out the south-side windows at the canal, answered all requests about his preferences with grunt or monosyllable.