EMPIRE: Imperial Police

by Stephanie Osborn

  “What are you trying to do?” he asked Ashton.

  “Find the murder weapon,” Ashton said.

  “But it’s dark!”

  “I know. That’s why I wanted the exterior lights on.”

  “But surely the murderer carried it away with him,” Garza pointed out.

  “I don’t think so, I – there!” Ashton pulled a small but powerful flashlight from his jacket pocket and shone it into the shrubbery, some twenty or twenty-five feet from the edge of the balcony. A long, intermittent scrape mark in the sod led to something glinting under the shrubs, and he climbed over the railing, eased himself as low as he could, then let go, falling to the ground and landing on his feet. He pulled out a small imager and took in situ imagery, then walked over to the shrub where the glint had appeared, donning gloves as he went. He bent, reached under the manicured bushes…

  …And drew back a small revolver.

  A quick sniff of the weapon revealed the scent of fresh gunpowder; Ashton carefully placed it in an evidence bag. Chances were, it had been emptied of bullets in the attack, but he wasn’t taking chances in the near-dark.

  “It’s been fired recently, by the smell,” he told Garza as that worthy leaned over the rail to accept the bag Ashton passed up. “It’s an old-style revolver, so the casings are still in it. And now that I’m down here, I can tell you for certain, there’s no easy way to get up there from here, unaided.” He looked around. “And no sign of anything to aid a climber in getting up there, either.”

  “Now what, sir?”

  “Go back and get the room taken care of as I instructed, and I’ll go around to the door,” Ashton said. “Have someone waiting to let me in, please. And if you can set someone up to get the staffers lined up for questioning, it would be good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “…What? No, sir,” one staffer told Ashton as he questioned the workers in turn, in a small room down the hall from the sitting room. “That’s not what happened at all. I heard the gunshots, two bursts of three, from inside the sitting room. I ran in – I’d just been in there not long before, so I wasn’t far away – and Ms. Palomo was just lying there, staring at the ceiling, with blood all over her and the floor, and the horrid stink of gunpowder in the room. And Mr. Palomo came running in from the balcony and said, ‘Did you see him?’ I said, ‘See who?’ and he pointed at the French doors and said, ‘The shooter. He was on the balcony.’ Well, I didn’t see anyone – at least, besides him and Ms. Palomo – and I told him so. Then he told me to call the police and report that the governor was dead and to send help. And I rushed out, because I was going to have to send someone, what with the VR down and all.”

  “Wait,” Ashton said. “So Ms. Palomo’s body had the eyes open when you saw it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And they’re not open now, Ashton realized, recalling the scene as he had first seen it upon entering the room. So someone closed them. And Bernardo Palomo was neither cowering, nor fleeing, according to this staffer. Who, unlike Bernardo Palomo, shows every indication of telling the truth. I think perhaps Mr. Palomo’s story needs looking into a little deeper. Surprise, surprise.

  Just then, a message came in for him through the Imperial Police VR channel. He dropped into a voice channel.

  “Ashton here.”

  “Ashton, this is General Walder. I have Imperial instructions. I quote, ‘…You are to hold Mr. Palomo on an Imperial Warrant as the investigation proceeds. In addition to the murder investigation, you will investigate the financial records of both Mr. and Ms. Palomo. The Throne is particularly interested in payments to individuals in the press.’ For what it’s worth, I do have our forensic accounting people already on the latter.”

  “Oh; that’s good. And yes, I already have Mr. Palomo, uh, under guard. He thinks it’s for his protection, but what he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt.”

  “You suspect him?”

  “Aside from the fact that he and his wife participated in treason? Yes. His story doesn’t align with the crime scene or the story told by the staff members at the governor’s mansion. I’m still looking into it. I fully expect to place him under arrest for the murder of his wife before all this is over, though.”

  “Keep going, Ashton. This sounds good. Fill me in with the details as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Walder out.”

  “Ashton out.”

  By the time Ashton had finished interviewing the on-shift staff and returned to the crime scene, Garza and his people had it laid out.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” he said, noting the bright dye markers that had reacted with the gunpowder on the floor, and the lasers aligning the various gunshot angles. “A nice little right-angle layout. With nothing coming even close to the balcony doors.”

  “No, sir,” Garza said. “Why did you think – oh.”

  “Right,” Ashton said with a grim smile. “Looks to me like Ms. Palomo was shot from a distance of about ten feet.”

  “That’s what it looks like, yes, Detective.”

  This time, Ashton let the mode of address pass; Walder always emphasized his status as the ranking investigator anyway. He was more interested in the implications of the layout in front of him – more so, given that neither Garza nor any of his team had actually heard any of the interviews with Palomo or the staff.

  “And there are four lines of powder residue that were ejected from the gun – one big one for the victim…that argues for all three shots fired from the same place…and smaller ones for each of the bullets in the wall, forming a right angle to the victim’s line. Oh, were you able to pry any of the bullets out of the wall?”

  “Yes, sir,” Patricia spoke up then. “I got all three, after I did in situ imagery and measured the diameters of the holes. At initial analysis, the caliber appears to match the weapon you found in the yard.”

  “Excellent. And none of those firing lines point toward the balcony.”

  “No, sir,” Garza verified. “Now, the shooter could have run into the room to about this point here,” he indicated the intersection of the gunpowder lines, “and unloaded, then run out. But I’m still trying to figure out how he got onto the balcony to begin with. Like you said, it’s one thing to get down there, but another entirely to get up. Never mind the stupidity of running so far into the room, where he might have been caught if, say, someone was around the corner from the balcony. Still, the crowd outside is agitated, half are drunk, and somebody has to be on the low end of the intelligence curve, after all.”

  “What did the security imagery show?” Ashton asked.

  “No one around the house within the fenced perimeter who shouldn’t be there, sir.”

  “Only external video?”

  “Afraid so, sir.”

  “Mm. Thought so. How about checking the personnel for residue?”

  “No residue on any of the staff, sir.”

  “Has anyone checked Mr. Palomo yet?”

  “Not yet, sir. We…weren’t sure if you wanted him checked too, or not, given he might have residue from where he was shot at.”

  Garza is good at laying out the crime scene, Ashton thought, stifling a sigh, but he has no imagination or insight into it.

  “Yes, I want his hands, cuffs, sleeves, and shirt front checked, please. And do be very thorough.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the appropriate team members came back.

  “Sir! Mr. Palomo’s hands are clean, but his left shirt cuff and part of the sleeve show definite signs of powder residue.”

  “And he’s left-handed,” Ashton said, remembering the instinctive gesture Palomo had made at the recorder when he had interviewed the man. “All right. Keep him in custody while I pull up General Walder and report in. The Throne is interested in this one, so we may need specific instructions.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “General Walder? This is Nick Ashton.”

  “Ah. Do you have something for me, Ashton?”

/>   “I do, sir. It was Mr. Palomo, without doubt.”

  “Lay it out for me.”

  “All right, sir. Angles showed the shooter was at a distance of only about ten feet from the sector governor when she was shot. This is inconsistent with Mr. Palomo’s story of a shooter at the balcony doors. He would have had to walk well into the room – say, fifteen to twenty feet – to be within that distance of the location where we found the body, and that would give either of the Palomos a chance to call security. Further, there is no ready access to the balcony from the ground, or any other direction except the room in which the crime was committed. The weapon was, however, found about twenty or twenty-five feet away from the end of the balcony, underneath a landscape shrub, on the side of the shrub next to the house.”

  “Where it could have easily been thrown from the balcony,” Walder speculated.

  “Exactly. Yes, sir. With a scrape mark in the dirt pointing at the balcony. And the initial field analysis indicates that the bullets fired were of the same caliber as the weapon. Further, there were no casings found at the scene, and the weapon found was an old-fashioned revolver, smelling strongly of gunpowder. We then looked for powder residue on the floor from the various shots. There were four lines of powder drop along the floor – one for each bullet hole in the walls, plus a much heavier one back from the body. This would be consistent with multiple shots from the same location. None of it extended toward the balcony doors, but the wall shots were at approximately ninety degrees from the body – roughly, given that they were somewhat spread out – making the story of a shooter from the balcony much less likely.”

  “All good so far.”

  “Would you like for me to set up the crime scene in VR, so you can see it in three dimensions, sir?”

  “No need. I can see it in my mind’s eye, as you describe it. Keep going, Ashton.”

  “Yes, sir. In addition, while there was no powder residue detected on Mr. Palomo’s hands, he had plenty of time to wash his hands – according to the staffer who reported the murder to us, he had time to close her eyes–”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Oh. According to the staffer who ran in right after the shooting, then ran to contact us, Ms. Palomo’s eyes were open and staring at the ceiling, and Mr. Palomo ran in from the balcony, claiming a shooter had just come in from there, shot her, and ran out. More, he apparently was not agitated and fearful, according to the staff member, but rather incensed. Yet when we arrived, Ms. Palomo’s eyes were closed, and Mr. Palomo was hiding behind the sofa, claiming to have been shot at and to have fled and hid in fear of his life.”

  “Oh, now there’s an inconsistent story.”

  “Isn’t it, though, sir?”

  “Keep going, Ashton, this one sounds good.”

  “All right. So he had plenty of time to wash his hands; there is a washroom – what is sometimes, and singularly apropos for our purposes, called a ‘powder room’ – just off the sitting room, in fact. So that would readily explain the lack of residue on his hands. But our rapid arrival did not allow him time to change clothing, and so there were powder traces on his shirt, particularly on the left cuff. And per my observations, Mr. Palomo is left-handed.

  “Finally, none of the staff saw anyone else, and the really very extensive and efficient security camera setup around – but not within – the sector governor’s mansion shows no evidence whatsoever of any intruder approaching the mansion. From any direction. All individuals in the security recordings were on-duty security people, and their hands and clothing all tested negative for powder residue. As did the household staff.”

  “Oh, very interesting. It sounds fairly open and shut to me, Ashton.”

  “Me too, sir. Have you had any feedback on the financial transactions?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. They aren’t anywhere near finished yet, but that looks rather damning, too. Lots and lots of little payments to friends in the media. Oh, and we also have the payments to the team hired to create and uplink Palomo’s ‘coronation’ video. And possibly the contract for same.”

  “Ooo.”

  “Yes. I think I have plenty to report to the Throne, here.”

  “I believe so, sir. If you have the chance to talk to the Emperor yourself, please tell him that ‘Detective Gorski’s protégé says hello to the Major.’”

  “I doubt that, son.”

  “Well, it was a thought.”

  “Arrest Mr. Palomo and bring him in, please. I’ll see about passing the information upstairs and determining what needs done.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  Palomo did not like the idea of being arrested, but Ashton had a big enough team that his personal protests and attempts to get out of it were of no avail. All the police officers scorned the bribes he offered, and the staffers at the Governor’s Mansion had long since had enough of the couple, ignoring his attempts to order them to his aid. Palomo was thoroughly searched for hidden weapons, handcuffed, loaded into an electric cart, and trundled off to the shuttle. The team loaded up and headed back to Catalonia IPD headquarters.

  Upon arriving at headquarters, Palomo was promptly led off to confinement – which, given the Imperial death warrant, wouldn’t last long – but General Walder was waiting for Ashton.

  “Go get your things, Detective. It’s time to send you back.”

  Unexpected Welcomes

  It took a bit longer for Ashton to arrive back on Sintar than it had for him to get from Sintar to Catalonia, by about a week. When he arrived at the Imperial City spaceport, there was a welcome-home group waiting for him in the main concourse. This included Detectives Gorski, Rassmussen, and Armbrand, and investigators Jones, Weyand, Compton, and Ames.

  It also included Maia Peterson and Lee Carter.

  As soon as the group spotted him, Cally Ames let out a delighted squeal and ran straight for him. Ashton suddenly found he had an armful of very shapely girl, and he dropped the bags he had been carrying without another thought as soon as she planted a big wet one on him. When she finally let him come up for air, he looked her in the eyes and simultaneously they murmured, “We have to talk.”

  “Later,” a grinning Peterson said, as the others walked up then. “We have some business that needs taking care of, and we need to get you out of here to do it. Let’s go.”

  Once they got Ashton back to the Imperial City Police headquarters, only a few blocks outside Imperial Park, Peterson pointed at his old desk.

  “There. We kept it for you. Park your stuff there, and let’s get a few things worked out.”

  Ashton dropped his luggage beside the desk, then turned to Peterson in puzzlement.

  “Okay, Chief. What’s up?”

  “According to what we’ve been told by General Walder, the mandate for the police to swear allegiance to the Throne came down after he sent you back,” Peterson said. “So you probably haven’t done so. Am I right?”

  “Uh, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” Ashton said, startled, “but you know me. I don’t have a problem with that at all.” He shrugged. “I kind of had my own private oath going anyway, I guess you could say.”

  “Stand straight and salute, then, son,” Lee Carter told him, and Ashton obeyed. “Maia, go for it.”

  “What’s your full name again, Nick?” she asked.

  “Dominick Xavier Ashton, ma’am.”

  “Good. Repeat after me,” Peterson said. “‘I, Dominick Xavier Ashton, do solemnly swear that I will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Throne of the people of Sintar.’”

  “I, Dominick Xavier Ashton, do solemnly swear that I will, to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Throne of the people of Sintar.”

  “Welcome to the police force of Emperor Trajan, Detective,” Peterson declared.

  “Wait – what…?” Ashton almost stammered.

  “Yes, you heard her right,” Gorski grinned. “We heard about the work you did on the governor’s assassination
. It was good work.”

  “It was mostly interpreting the forensic team’s work,” Ashton protested.

  “Yes, and said forensic team, per Kurt Walder, has about the same imagination as a sea slug,” Carter noted with a chuckle. “He said he was spread thin, especially with some of the shit the sector governor had set up to pull, and you stepped up and functioned as a full detective with no issues whatsoever. Solving a governor’s assassination is a big deal, Nick.”

  “Well…I’ve had some good teachers over the years,” Ashton noted, modest. “Most of whom are in this room.”

  “Besides, the promotion – which the ICPD chief approved, by the way – was necessary to discuss what Lee wants to talk about with you,” Peterson added. “Come on, let’s us three go into my office.”

  “…Whoa, whoa, wait a minute!” Ashton said, surprised. “I thought you were retired!”

  “I was,” Carter said. “I’m not now. I came out of retirement for this. The Emperor needed someone to rebuild the force locally, someone trustworthy. The few survivors of the dissolution of the IPD Headquarters on Sintar are iffy, at best – including the personnel held in the Throne’s custody through the short little civil war that we didn’t even know we had until it broke out and ended within a single day.”

  “So…you’re asking me to come back to the IPD,” Ashton confirmed.

  “I am. Under me as Chief. And I need detectives. Right now I have exactly three, and one of those is the detective who’s been in custody of the Throne during the big brouhaha that killed an Empress and the Imperial Council, one more is ‘old-school’ who was on vacation during the mess, and a third is someone I coaxed in from Odessa Sector headquarters, and he’s a provisional detective – he hasn’t quite made the promotion yet. Frankly, right now the only one I trust for sure is the guy from Odessa Sector. I need someone I can pull in that I trust. And that’s you, Nick.”

  “But I don’t want to work under a chief of investigations who’s as bad as it used to be, Lee. Uh, Chief.”