“Think it’ll take long? I have to be back to set up the team to take the DoD guy into custody…”
“Ooo. Lemme see. No, it’s barely past 10:30 in the morning, and with all the Marines on search duty, I doubt it’s going to take that long. Especially since, as you say, they’ve narrowed it to only a few bags. You should be back at the station by around one, maybe one-thirty.”
“Then let’s go. I wanna see this guy get taken down. It’s been way the hell too long.”
“You go ahead. I’ll meet you there if I can. I have to check in with Maia first.”
“Gone.”
As Gorski had predicted, inside about forty-five minutes, the Marines had found all of the pertinent pieces of evidence. And one of the biggest pieces was a .25 caliber airgun.
Ashton bagged and tagged as the items were found.
He was headed back to ICPD headquarters by half past noon.
As ordered, that afternoon Ashton went to the DoD Acquisition & Testing building with a large team of investigators from the department, to help him keep an eye out and ensure that their quarry was neither missed, nor snatched from under them…or worse, killed before they could take him into custody.
They were well in advance of Fairfield’s usual quitting time, and intel indicated that he was still in his office, so Ashton took the opportunity of placing his people in strategic locations to surveil the main entrance, which was also the one Fairfield always used, given all the others tended to be security airlock type portals. This would, he decided, ensure that not only was someone in position to see him, but no matter what he did, someone would also be in position to apprehend him.
More, he tagged the video security system on the building to let him know if Fairfield left through any of the other exits to the building, and ensured that he had team members positioned to cover those, as well, though they were secondary in attention, and he wanted those members largely focused on the main entrance.
Then they settled in and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
When fully an hour past Fairfield’s usual quitting time had come and gone and they had seen no sign of him nor gotten notification of his departure through other doorways, Ashton checked in with their intel, only to discover that Fairfield was not working overtime, and had indeed left his office at his usual time.
“Shit,” Ashton grumbled, not bothering to keep it to himself. “We missed him. Somehow, we missed him.”
“I swear, Nick, we didn’t,” Peter Rassmussen, one of his team, declared in VR. “Every damn one of us had our eyes peeled the whole time. He didn’t come out that door, I’d stake a year’s pay on it.”
“And I don’t think he came out one of the other doors, either,” Compton averred. “If he did, he disguised himself somehow, so even the pattern recognition didn’t catch him.”
“I gotta agree,” Roger Armbrand said. “Something else went down here that we don’t know about.”
“I just hope the damn bastards didn’t get to him before we did,” Ashton grumbled.
“We didn’t see anyone else on our target list go in, Nick,” Ames pointed out. “I think we’re good on that, unless they already had somebody embedded, like we do.”
“Okay, lemme check in. Damn.”
He pulled up his supervisor in the VR comm. “Colonel Peterson?”
“Maia Peterson. Nick, is that you? I was just getting ready to ping you.”
“Yes ma’am. I don’t have good news to report. We never saw him.”
“I shouldn’t expect you would. I just heard from Detective Gorski, who in turn was contacted by Imperial Guard Major Dunham. It seems that Fairfield figured out what happened from the news reports, got scared, and decided to turn state’s evidence. He snuck out by a different door – likely wearing something to help hide who he was, like a hat or hoodie, though I can’t say for sure, but I would in his shoes, so not even the DoD security might flag him – and went straight to the Palace and turned himself in. He’s already in protective custody.”
“Oh!”
“Exactly. And I assume you had eyes looking for potential assassins?”
“We did, ma’am, but only on the main door.”
“Which makes sense. It’s the only one visitors can enter; everything else requires one of those damn high-level clearances – one thing the damn assassins don’t have. We had active video eyes on the others anyway, with flags on all the, uh, ‘usual’ faces. And I saw where you put flags on him on those same doors. The guy’s scared bad, so he managed to fake everybody out! So pull your team and bring ‘em in. Once you’re here, get your shit together, then come to my office and we’ll work out what needs doing next. I’ll call Gorski and get a status update in the meantime.”
“Yes ma’am.” Ashton sent out the recall notice through VR and turned for ICPD headquarters.
On the way, Ashton filed his report through VR, checked for additional messages, then went straight to his desk. In the weeks since he had been at Imp City headquarters, some of the other detectives and inspectors had become moderately prone to dropping off handwritten notes, as well as the odd piece of ‘evidence’ for him to use for practice; it was known to most of them by now that he had aspirations – and significant talent – in investigation, which was one reason he was being given the task of working with Detective Gorski to round up the Empress’ perps.
There was nothing for him there, and it would have waited in any event, so he headed straight for Maia Peterson’s office.
Peterson had nothing in particular for him, nor were they able to determine a direction for him to go, as yet; it would all depend upon what the forensics people pulled out of what they had. So Ashton went back to his desk and pondered what he knew of the situation.
Just then, his nanites notified him of a call in VR. It was Detective Gorski.
“Hi there, Stefan. What do you need?”
“I’m over at the crime scene, Nick. I’m trying to see if I can squeeze anything else out of it that we might use to help clinch Bronze as the assassin. Unfortunately, I left my forensics kit on my desk. Is there any chance you can grab it and bring it over to me?”
“Sure, Stefan, I can do that. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Did you leave it in the usual place?”
“Yeah, on the third shelf of the bookcase behind my desk.”
“Okay. I’ll go grab it and I’ll be there shortly.”
“Good man.”
Ashton had almost reached the apartment building in which Medved had been killed, the little rolled toolkit in his pocket, when he rounded the corner and found his way blocked.
“There he is,” one of Gorecki’s thugs – Ashton could never remember their names; they all looked alike and were pretty much interchangeable, as far as he could tell – said with a smug expression. “I told you he’d be around this way soon enough.”
“You were right, Jim,” the second agreed.
“Yeah,” the third remarked. “This oughta be easy. Stash said he had a girl for a bodyguard, so he can’t be too tough.”
Evidently Stash didn’t tell ‘em that the ‘girl bodyguard’ mopped up the sidewalk with him, Ashton thought, readying his body for what was coming, and ensuring his pistol was where it should be. It sure would be nice if the odds were a little more even, but hey.
A quick glance around indicated that there were no snipers or other such backup waiting for him, so he subtly flexed his muscles, prepared for whatever came.
Lackey #2 drew a knife and lunged at Ashton.
That’s what comes, he thought.
He sidestepped the thrust and grabbed the goon’s arm in both hands, bending it backward at the elbow until he heard several grisly snapping sounds. The man screamed as the elbow tendons failed and the oleocranon cracked.
A quick flip flung the man into one of his companions, and they both went down.
The third man snarled in annoyance, and reached for a pistol.
Ashton
drew faster.
A bloom of red blossomed on the man’s left chest as he gasped and grimaced in pain, then he staggered and collapsed.
Two and a half down, Ashton thought, then spun as the last of Gorecki’s henchmen crawled out from under his remaining live companion, who was sitting on the sidewalk, cradling his maimed arm, and crying like a child. Ashton brought his pistol to bear.
“You want to live?” Ashton snapped, and the shocked and chagrined stooge nodded, pale. “Good. Jones, you there?”
“You saw me?” another man said as he appeared from the nearby alley.
“Yup, about two minutes after I left the building,” Ashton averred. “Take these two into custody and restrain ‘em, and see if that one is still alive. I’ve already called for transport.”
“Glad to,” Jones said, leering at the frightened henchman, now essentially alone and staring down two very capable… investigators of some sort, he assumed, though none of Gorecki’s people thought Ashton worked for ICPD any longer.
“…Sorry I’m late, Stefan,” Ashton said, as he approached the older man and handed him the toolkit. “I got accosted on the way over here.”
“What?” Gorski looked him up and down. “You look okay…”
“Yup. You should see the other guys.”
“Guys? Plural?”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Damn.”
“Timmy was performing escort duty, so I got him to help me restrain ‘em. Then we had to wait for transport from Headquarters.”
“Aha. Why didn’t he help you?”
“No need.” Ashton shrugged. “I had it.”
“What did you do to ‘em?”
“Shot one. Took out one’s elbow. The third guy surrendered.”
“Nice job.”
“Eh. It made me late. Sorry.”
Ashton spent the rest of the afternoon helping Gorski go over the crime scene in excruciating detail. They found nothing that the Imperial Guard’s forensic team hadn’t already found.
Halfway through, Peterson contacted them with word on Ashton’s assailants – one died at the scene; one was in emergency surgery, and one had had his bail posted…
…By Stash Gorecki.
“I’m getting tired of that guy,” Ashton declared.
Surveillance Time – Team Armbrand
“All right, Nick,” Peterson said in her office the next morning, as Gorski took a seat beside Ashton, “the DNA evidence has come in, along with a request from Major Dunham. Right, Stefan?”
“Right, Maia,” Stefan Gorski confirmed. “We have firm ID on one of three perps, and probable IDs on the other two, including the actual killer, based on the DNA. So now it’s time to round ‘em up for the Imperial Guard.”
“Not for the ICPD?” Ashton wondered.
“Nope,” Gorski said, with a solemn head shake. “The Empress is seriously pissed, by all accounts. The victim wasn’t just a staffer but a personal friend, never mind the fact that the assassination was a direct attack against her plans and policies. This one is being handled by the Throne, not the lesser courts.”
“Oh shit,” Ashton said, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s serious as all hell. I sure wouldn’t wanna be these guys.”
“No, most likely not,” Peterson agreed. “Now, I’ve already had reports from your team that you were really on the ball and laid things out strategically, Nick; you’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and show some real promise at this. So we’re giving you the same team, and we need you to go get the following perps, as quickly as you can, without letting them know you’re after them; we don’t need one notifying the others so they flee.”
“Yes, ma’am; I understand.”
“I’m activating a channel in VR for you,” Gorski said. “You can find the perps’ files there.”
“I see it,” Ashton confirmed, after a moment to check. “Ohhh. Joey Bronze. They pegged him.”
“Well, it isn’t a hundred percent identification, but close enough to round him up and see what we get. Which you predicted. And by the way, I added the info you provided me into his official files in the department.”
“Oh? Thank you, Stefan. That…is important to me.”
“I know. You’ve followed this bastard a long time.”
“Yeah. I’ll be glad to finally get my hands on him.”
“Won’t we all?” Peterson agreed. “He was apparently the assassin.”
“Why am I not surprised? Who are these other two, then? The lookouts? That couple they saw in the video?”
“Susan Kaplan, a.k.a. Suzie Q, a.k.a. Samantha Tripp, a.k.a. Sammy Tripp, a known prostitute and sometime shoplifter,” Gorski noted, “and Derek Beckham, no known aliases, but he generally tends to lurk on the wrong side of the law; he’s had several priors for aiding and abetting of one sort or another. Beckham is a long-time associate of Bronze, and Kaplan is an associate of Beckham. I don’t know about any couple, but per what I was told about the street video, yes, those two were the lookouts.”
“Aha. So they marked the target, and gave VR feedback on her movements to Bronze.”
“You got it, kid,” Gorski said with a grin. “You’re gonna make a damn good detective one of these days. Probably sooner rather than later, if we can keep you out of trouble with the Imperial jerks.”
“Hell, Stefan, he already does,” Peterson said, matching Gorski’s grin.
“Thank you, sir, ma’am,” a serious Ashton said. “And thanks for letting me help out on your case.”
“Way I see it,” Gorski said, as Peterson nodded, “not only are you giving me and Dunham some serious assistance, you’re getting a good bit of training and experience into the bargain, toward your next promotion. Never mind helping to train the others. Because this is a big-ass case, with serious ramifications. And for somebody with your potential, that’s all to the good.”
“Better here than over there, under Kershaw and the like,” Peterson said, grim. “Here, he’ll survive and get trained, and trained right…if, as you say, we can keep him out of their hands. Now, Nick, go round up your team, do whatever you need to do to find these guys, and call Stefan, here, when you do.”
“Yes ma’am!” Ashton said, then headed back to his desk.
In the end, Ashton and his team decided they didn’t have enough information to head straight out and take the assassin and his lookouts into custody immediately – at least, not without risking losing one or more of them to flight. Ashton – and the investigations department as a whole – had a certain amount of info on Joey Bronze from previous interactions, but not enough to be able to determine where he might be at any given time. And other than the nature of “work” engaged in by Susan Kaplan and Derek Beckham, precious little else on those two.
“So I think it’s time to go undercover and have a look,” he decided, and his team agreed. “Because we need to figure out where they are at any given time of day so we can arrest them in rapid sequence, with as little fuss as possible. We don’t wanna take long, so we’ll split up into teams, one for each perp. I’ll take Weaver, Ames, and Compton and scope out Bronze; I got some ideas on him anyhow, after that last case he slid out of, where the guy that attacked Carter got popped. Rog, you take Weyand and Smith and check out Kaplan, and Pete, you’ve got Jones and Osborn to look at Beckham.”
“That works,” Armbrand agreed, and Rassmussen nodded.
“Then let’s get in disguise and go,” Ashton decreed.
The three teams worked with Adrian Mott again – they were getting good at undercover disguises, especially Ashton, but given the Throne’s interest, Ashton felt it best to call in Mott, just to make sure they couldn’t be recognized. Meanwhile Ames pulled the files on each perp and pushed them to the respective teams – Bronze to the “Ashton team,” Kaplan for the “Armbrand team,” and Beckham for the “Rassmussen team.”
It was still fairly early in the morning; chances were, their surv
eillance targets were still at home.
So they headed out.
Armbrand’s team headed into the Imperial Park South district. Susan Kaplan lived in a low-rent area quite some few blocks south of Imperial Park proper. She was a prostitute, and kept a reasonably large apartment for the purpose, since she both lived there and saw her “clients” there. But her clientele tended not to be that rich, because she wasn’t from the higher strata of society, and it showed in her speech and habits. So she lived in an area where she could afford that larger apartment… which meant deep in Park South. Given that the Imperial Police Headquarters on Sintar was in the same general area, it was surprising to no one on the Team that she sometimes worked for them. At this point, it would not have surprised Ashton to find that some of the IPD personnel were among her clientele.
A quick and skillful infiltration of the building’s maintenance staff enabled them to locate her specific apartment – it wasn’t hard, given her “profession” – and determine that she was not awake and about as yet. Some subtle questioning of the maintenance workers – combined with a few palms crossed with several credits in coin – determined that this was normal; since she tended to be up late with the johns, she slept late to help compensate.
So Armbrand, Weyand, and Smith settled in to wait.
“Here she comes,” Smith reported in voice VR, as Kaplan exited the main doors of the apartment building. “Heads up, Rog, she’s headed your way.”
“Okay. Yeah, there she is. Rich, she’s not going in your direction; reset to down the street from me.”
“On my way, Rog,” Weyand’s voice noted.
“Handing off to you, Rog,” Smith said, as Kaplan disappeared from his view, down the street.
“Good. Reset past Rich.”
“Headed out and around,” Smith said, turning and heading one block down. “She headed for the arcade level?”
EMPIRE: Imperial Police Page 17