EMPIRE: Imperial Police

by Stephanie Osborn

  The reward had been substantial, more than enough to offset the loss of the con.

  Not that Mia ever knew.

  But it had done something to Bronsky that he didn’t expect. Only in the aftermath, when he walked out of Armstrong’s house alive and considerably richer, did Bronsky experience the adrenaline rush, the surge of endorphins.

  Bronsky discovered he enjoyed killing.

  The police suspected Bronsky at first; he had been a known associate in the weeks leading up to Petticord’s death, and a known con artist. But he was not known for murder. And when the signet ring turned up missing, suspicion fell on Armstrong’s people. However, while the rumor was well known, Armstrong was not stupid, and had been careful to leave nothing that could be traced to him or his staff of enforcers. Further, his Estvian sympathies were largely shared by the police force in Savanna, and there was no serious desire to point a finger at such a staunch supporter of the “Wollaston for Estvia” movement.

  The fact that Mia had gone missing did not help the development of any case against Bronsky. He simply claimed that she had gotten homesick and left Wollaston, and he didn’t know where she’d gone.

  Bronsky was lying, of course. He was good at that. Mia had never left Wollaston. But no one was ever going to find the body, either. Armstrong and his people had helped him see to it. And he had learned a lot in the process.

  In the end, the Petticord murder had become a cold case, and Bronsky was smart enough to leave Wollaston and head for what he expected to be far better pickings, especially for someone who wanted to change “careers.”

  Imperial City on Sintar.

  No one knew the details except Bronsky himself, of course, but Ashton had some serious intelligence, imagination, and a distinct aptitude for investigation instilled by his late mentor Detective Waterford – who had lived just long enough to see Ashton graduate the Imperial Police Academy – and it didn’t take a great stretch of that imagination for him to suspect what had happened. For it was a demonstrable fact that Josip Bronsky had not resorted to con schemes upon making landfall on Sintar. He also had had no problems setting himself up in a new life on his new homeworld…which, to Ashton, spoke to being paid off handsomely by someone on Wollaston, though he couldn’t determine who, let alone prove it.

  Bronsky, or Bronze, as he now preferred to be known, dropped out of sight for a significant amount of time after arriving on Sintar. There was no evidence of employment, legal or criminal – or much of anything else – for nearly a year… though Bronze continued to maintain an apartment in the neighborhoods west of the Imperial complex.

  Then Wang Li had been killed.

  And suddenly Joey Bronze had surfaced again.

  It all appeared innocent, his resurfacing; when approached by any authorities, Bronze claimed to have cleaned up his act, got some specialized training, and become a consultant of some sort. Ashton dug and dug, but had a hard time determining who Bronze was consulting for, let alone how. But in fairly short order, Bronze had ditched the leased apartment and bought an upscale condo in Imperial Park East. His lifestyle began to change concurrently.

  I dunno, Ashton considered, studying his display in VR, all the info on that seems to go around in circles. Maybe I need to get back to my current case and my cold case and quit worrying so much about Bronze himself. If he did it, the clues will be there. I just have to find them.

  So he pulled up all of the known information about both cases and settled down to look at the details and try to correlate the information.

  And it was at that point, when he dug into the two victims themselves and compared the cases, that Ashton was shocked at the correlations. Both victims had been involved in efforts to bring to light corruption in government. Her Majesty Adannaya III had evidently had an investigation ongoing into medical matters, the young sleuth decided, though it had been somewhat before his time, and apparently hadn’t come to a head until the reign of her successor Ilithyia I had forced the issue. That had been when the principal information source, Wang Li, formerly of one of the major pharmaceutical firms, had met with unexpected “random violent crime.”

  This most recent murder had been another whistleblower, this time in the university education field, likewise for Ilithyia I.

  Both had been shot twice in the back of the head. Both had died essentially instantaneously.

  Son of a bitch, Ashton thought, grim. I bet I know just exactly what sort of “consulting” Bronsky is doing. And somebody in the government has a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, and they’re willing to take out anybody trying to make a change. At least, anybody they can get to, he decided, thinking of the Empress herself.

  The next day, the news was full of the death of Empress Ilithyia I.

  Whenever a leader died unexpectedly, regardless of the time period, planet, or regime, there was always a concern that there could be unrest. So the Imperial Police turned out in force, creating a show of presence to keep the streets quiet. So Ashton and his roommate stayed busy for the entire week – by which time the new empress, Ilithyia II, had been duly installed and announced, if not yet formally crowned, and her predecessor laid in the Imperial Mausoleum with all due respect, pomp, and ceremony.

  When that was over, things settled down.

  And Ashton had a chance to think.

  Two whistleblowers, both working with the Empress, he considered. Or at least, with her investigatory teams. And I was only just starting to dig out any other murders – assassinations, really – that fit the same modus operandi. But even so, I found a couple. Double-taps to the back of the head, .25 caliber, no evidence of residue from the weapon so probably an airgun… He broke off. So there’s evidence of a conspiracy to fight back against the Empress’ reforms, he thought. And that’s just from one assassin. How many others might there have been?

  And then another, even more dreadful, thought hit him.

  They said that Empress Ilithyia I died of congestive heart failure. But these days, what with the state of the medical arts, I’d have thought that was just not a problem, that they could have cured her without difficulty. Especially with the resources available to the Throne. What if… he stopped, gathering his thoughts, not sure he even wanted to think it, what if it wasn’t really heart failure? At least, not natural heart failure? What if the heart failure was induced over time, by something someone was slipping to her? What if Ilithyia I was assassinated, too, to get her out of the way? Maybe somebody thought they could slip somebody into position if the Empress died suddenly and didn’t name an heir?

  In the end, however, he couldn’t figure out how to access any information to tell him, one way or the other. He was only a lowly beat cop and simply did not have the ability to find out who had had access to Ilithyia I, or what medications she had been given, or even what had been in her food and drink.

  Those should have been closely guarded, he realized, but if somebody really high up is doing this, they might be able to sneak it in. But I’m not gonna find it. Only an inspector could…and at this point, he frowned to himself, there’s not a one of the damn bastards that I would ever trust to even hint to, about this. Maybe Captain Carter. I dunno.

  So he filed it away in the back of his mind, in case he ever did get the chance, and turned back to his quiet little investigations of the two assassinations about which he did know a few things.

  Ashton only became more and more convinced that Josip Bronsky, upon his arrival on Sintar, had ditched con artistry and found someone to teach him a thing or two about assassination, though he had no idea who, or where, or even how. But while all of the trends pointed that way, by the time the various “investigators” – excuse for investigators, in his considered opinion – were done with the crime scenes, there was no evidence left with which he could work.

  He sighed and put both cases away.

  One of these days, he thought. Maybe one of these days, I can properly close a case. Maybe I can close this case.
/>   Round Two

  It had been just over a year since the incident with Stash and Inspector Thomas, and coming up on a year since the death of Empress Ilithyia I, and other than the odd pickpocket or domestic dispute, Ashton’s shifts had been relatively quiet. His roommate Stone had – finally – recently managed to transfer to his homeworld, and Ashton had spent most of his off hours for the last week getting ready to move to a new apartment, though he hadn’t filed the information with the department yet.

  By this point, he was basically a beat cop, having left his rookie status behind at his annum anniversary with the department, some months prior – though he hadn’t been moved into the investigatory division like he’d hoped. Other than the official change of status in his records, there had been no other recognition of the day…somewhat to his disappointment. He was supposed to be an assistant to Inspector Thomas according to all the paperwork, but Ashton had gotten no requests to attend Thomas for a case since that one incident, nearly a year prior. Which, he decided, wasn’t surprising at all. I don’t want to work with a dirty detective any more than that detective wants to work with a straight cop. But I do still want to be a detective, dammit! Now, if I could just figure out how to go about requesting assignment to a different investigator without getting Gorecki on my case, I might get someplace. Maybe I’ll go by and feel the Captain out about it, at the end of my shift.

  Meanwhile, he tried to concentrate on doing a good job as a beat cop, and developing a social life. He dated a good bit, mostly outside the force, but never managed to find a woman that seemed to “click” for him.

  Until one morning when another cop, passing by in the break room as he stood up from fetching the coffee from the under-counter cabinet, pinched his ass, then turned and grinned.

  Officer Tabitha “Tabby” Koch was a tanned honey-blonde, around half a foot shorter than Ashton’s six feet, with big blue-green eyes and pearly white teeth that showed when she grinned. And that grin was making it plain that she thought Ashton was cute, if not downright sexy. And in turn, it made her downright sexy.

  Ashton was instantly smitten.

  “Hey, big guy,” she said, continuing to grin. “Sorry about that. I never could resist a tight, round ass.”

  “Hey yourself,” he responded, matching her grin. “I’m just glad you think it’s tight and round.”

  “Oh, definitely. I thought I was gonna dislocate a knuckle when I tried to pinch it.”

  “I was doing a reverse squat, after all.”

  “True, true! I’m Tabby Koch. Pleased to meet you.”

  “I’m Nick Ashton. Likewise.”

  “There’s an empty table in the corner, and it’s fifteen until the morning brief. Wanna join?”

  “Sure.”

  He promptly ascertained that her beat was in the arcade next to his, then invited her to join him for coffee at a convenient café during their next break.

  She accepted.

  They laughed and talked and were almost late going back on duty… but not before they’d arranged to go out to dinner that night, once they got off work.

  Thus began an intense relationship that lasted several months…

  …Until Nick discovered that Tabby was General William Kershaw’s niece.

  “Holy shit, Nick, I can’t believe you didn’t know that!” Peter Stone, who would be leaving for a slot on his homeworld in just a few days, told Ashton one night after a particularly hot date. “And he dotes on her! She’s the daughter of his favorite sister, and word has it, he was the father figure after her dad got killed on Wollaston! I was wondering why the hell you were dating Kershaw’s niece, given everything you’ve said about your personal ethics!”

  “Aw, damn,” Ashton said, perturbed. “Well, at least she doesn’t take after him.”

  “Buddy, I hate to tell you,” Stone said, solemn, “she most certainly does.”

  “No,” Ashton averred, deeply disturbed by the accusation. “I don’t believe you.”

  Stone shrugged.

  “You’re the one wants to be a detective. Find out for yourself. Just do it before you get in over your head.”

  So on his next day off, he arranged that it should not coincide with Tabby’s, and then spent the day doing “case studies,” as he told her. “After all, I need to keep my hand in, even if I’m not seeing much but street shit.”

  He also didn’t tell her that the case studies were hers.

  It wasn’t so much that he believed Stone – although, admittedly, Stone had never lied to him, and had helped him in a few close shaves, into the bargain – as much as it was that he wanted to prove to himself that Stone’s accusations weren’t true. It troubled him to think that an innocent Tabby might get undeservedly tarred with her uncle’s filthy brush. So he sat down at the desk in his bedroom and checked into VR, digging out as many of her records as he could legitimately access, all the way back to her police academy days.

  Tabby Koch had done well at the police academy, there was no doubt about it. She was smart, and quick, and knew what she was doing – which wasn’t surprising, given who her uncle was. But in the end, you could do well in school and not so well on the street, and the real test for academy graduates was how they did on the street.

  There had apparently been no question that Tabby would return to Sintar; several other sectors had made offers, but she had turned them all down. She had been in the class six months behind Nick’s, so she’d been on the beat around three-quarters of a year at this point.

  Her first case had been under Inspector Ron Thomas. It had been labeled a suicide. Knowing Thomas’ predilections, Ashton dug a little deeper, pulling the forensics and coroner’s reports and studying them. The first thing he checked was the top-level coroner report, then he sat back in dismay.

  IMMEDIATE CAUSE OF DEATH: A knife wound which penetrated the left ventricle of the heart.

  DETAILS: Width of incision was between 1-2” and some 5-6” deep; rear wall of ventricle was fully penetrated and interior front wall was cut but not penetrated.

  OTHER CONTRIBUTING FACTORS: None.

  OTHER ADDITIONAL INJURIES: Some bruising in the throat and clavicle region.

  TIME OF ONSET: Approximately 10:20am.

  TIME OF DEATH: Approximately 15 sec after onset.

  LOCATION OF INJURY: Between the third and fourth ribs on the left posterior portion of the thoracic wall, immediately adjacent to the left scapula.

  DESCRIBE HOW INJURY OCCURRED: Subject self-inflicted the injury.

  MANNER OF DEATH: Suicide.

  “Damn,” he muttered to himself, “that was blatant. What the hell did the guy do to deserve that?”

  Another quick side search verified that the victim had been an employee of the principal weapons maker for the Imperial Marines. More importantly, he had been contacted by a member of the Empress’ Staff for information regarding the testing processes for some of those weapons.

  “Oh. Well, that explains it,” Ashton all but snarled, face twisting in disgust and anger; he and Stone had had several very private discussions of how matters laid in Imperial City, the military situation being only one, especially after a minor disaster in one of the systems toward the Rim. “He probably blew a whistle, and they got him for it.”

  Then he saw the evaluation that Inspector Thomas had written on Tabby, and the room spun as the blood seemed to leave his head.

  The rookie Tabitha Koch was extremely helpful and caught on to the nature of my work very quickly. Unlike some recent recruits, who sometimes seemed to believe themselves detectives in their own rights, Officer Koch was smooth and polished, and did not try to explain away the crime scene, but did exactly as she was told with no demur and no complaints.

  “Shit,” he whispered in dismay.

  Several additional case studies produced similar results. Evidently Tabby was completely inured in her uncle’s ways, and content to go along with the flow and the corruption. Ashton felt sick to his stomach. He had been serious abo
ut Tabby, and had been thinking about whether or not to take their relationship more intimate, maybe even asking her to marry him. He would have invited her to meet his parents, but they had died when the house in which he’d grown up got struck by lightning and burned down overnight, shortly before he had graduated from the police academy; it had been the reason he had not gone back to Flanders to begin work.

  Then a thought hit him.

  She’s regularly working with Thomas, and I’m not, even though I’m supposed to be assigned to him. And she’s gotta know half the upper echelons, given who her uncle is. And her first come-on was really blatant. Fun, and sexy, but blatant. What if she was told to get my attention? What if she’s either spying on me, or trying to sway me to their way of doing things? SHIT!

  “Hey, Pete?” he called then, standing and heading toward the living room. “You here?”

  “Yeah, Nick. What’s up?” Stone asked, coming out of the kitchen with a beer.

  “I need to ask you something…”

  “…Yeah, Nick, that’s why I thought you needed to know,” Stone said, after Ashton had told him what he’d found, then explained his concern. “That’s exactly what I was afraid she was doing. Either way, spying or influencing, it ain’t good for you, man. Watch out for that chick.”

  “Hell,” Ashton said with feeling. He had felt like they had something, something good, and now he found she had likely been fooling him the whole time. It hurt badly; he had trusted her, and it sure looked like she’d betrayed that trust from the beginning. Before, really, he thought, deeply pained. Her whole intent looks to have been to turn me, one way or another. Well, at least it explains why she never wanted to talk about her family. In a lot of respects. Let alone bring me home to meet ‘em.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, buddy,” Stone said softly, putting a hand on Ashton’s shoulder. “But look at it like this – better to find out now, while you have a chance to break it off, than later, when you’d tied yourself to her.”