She poked her head into the Chief’s office and knocked on the door. When he looked up, she gave him a brief summary of what she knew about Chris’ movements.
“Okay. Follow through on your prisoners and evidence and check back in with me before you leave for the day,” he said, looking pensive.
She left another message, highest priority now, on Chris’ comu, then began to proceed down the list of questions she’d been compiling last night when she fell asleep. She had to be able to glean at least a few answers from the interviews and forensics studies.
The identity of the pro who’d attacked them on the High Speed was still a mystery. That level of anonymity was very difficult to achieve and sustain, which usually meant that it belonged to someone who was fully committed to it. It suggested that the man was an expensive professional, and someone unlikely to give anything away about his employer, either, assuming that he even knew anything.
Livvy stared at the man for a full five minutes, memorizing his face and trying to detect evidence of enhancements and even surgery. He appeared to be about 21 years old, with the sort of soft and undistinguished face that made description problematic. Although his images were now in the system, Forensics claimed they didn’t match anything previously recorded, even at the bone scan level.
He lifted a lip scornfully. “Give it a try, you bitch. All you and your partner have done is teach me to go for the head shot first. Think of that when I get out of here and disappear.”
That sounded very personal, and Livvy wondered if he had ties to one of the more radical, well-financed groups that favored free access to Longevity. “Subtle. But you’ll find, on longer acquaintance, that I’m not all that suggestible. And you’re now in a system which doesn’t support resets or enhancements for prisoners, or even enough time in the sun to sustain healthy levels of vitamin D,” Livvy said, then decided not to waste any more time. “Look, I’m going to walk out of this room now. Call me if you decide to get practical.” Unlike Robert Maas, another tool, this man was smart and knew his options. Eventually, he might choose one that yielded some useful information to their investigation.
Louie’s contribution, the finger now carefully preserved by the lab techs in Forensics, had been studied but neither prints nor DNA analysis had fit it to an owner. The BOLO to medical facilities had netted accounts of a dangling pinkie, two seriously slashed thumbs (separate incidents) and a complicated report of a left ring finger traumatically amputated secondary to a domestic incident.
She dodged a comu prompt from Brian Clifford by responding in message mode and explaining to him, as charmingly as she could manage given her concerns, that she was busy with interviews but would get back to him as soon as she could. If he had anything new on Josephson, which she doubted, he would have to leave a message.
Robert Maas, her third lead and the least promising, had rejected his first lawyer on the basis of incompatibility. It was almost impossible to find a lawyer who was natural other than another Naturals Only fanatic, which his parents were refusing to finance, so Maas had no one other than family to advise him to cooperate with Enforcement. Hoping that they’d gotten through to him on some level, Livvy tried him on the one question that mattered.
“Who told you where to find us?”
“Abomination. I followed the stench. You preserve the purveyors of iniquity. You wallow in unnatural sin.”
“How did you know where we’d be?”
“A Righteous One gave me the message and I knew what I had to do. Evil must be destroyed.”
Livvy waited a few minutes while she apparently did some deep thinking.
“Truly,” she said finally, assuming a meekness she could only imagine, “you have shown me a dedication I would not otherwise believe possible. If you told me where to find the Righteous One, perhaps such a one could lead me to a better life.”
“Conversing with a Righteous One is not for such as you.”
“Then you won’t help me?” she asked appealingly.
“You are already damned. You must be expelled.”
Perhaps he was remembering her comment in the medivan, or he was skeptical about her performance, or just immune to her appeal. Whatever it was, he was rejecting any possibility of cooperation, at least with her.
A call to Maas’ mother proved more rewarding. She willingly gave Livvy the address for The Natural Angels of the Lord, the new cult that Robert had embraced so enthusiastically following his breakup with his girlfriend. But when, on a long shot, Livvy called them, they refused to give her any information concerning any of their members. She knew from experience with other encounters with freedom of religion issues that it would be impossible to find out more without a warrant, which would not be issued, even for an LLE investigation. Getting useful evidence from a religious cult was like trying to drag it out of purgatory. Besides, as with everything else they’d tried, it was unlikely either to yield anything useful in court, or to provide a lead they could follow quickly enough to get to Bedford in a timely manner.
Livvy looked down at Louie. “All right. Now I’m really worried. Where is he, Louie?” she whispered. Louie’s ears flicked forward and he met her eyes.
Chris lay perfectly still. He was surprised, but not shocked, to find himself still alive. Think it through. Yesterday, Bedford had wanted them dead, but yesterday, concurrently with the attempt on their lives, he’d had Chris’ apartment broken into. Bedford had expected to acquire Chris’ notes. Chris was still alive because Bedford wanted to know what Chris knew, and more importantly how he knew it. Good boy, Louie, you may have saved my life.
He was lying on something soft – not a floor – and it was covered with cloth, warm and a little musty. There was total silence. There was light strong enough to be apparent through his closed lids. His ribs hurt, even more than he remembered from yesterday, and he was as sore otherwise as he had ever been in his life. Some rhino must have found him while he was out and stomped for a while, hard.
He remembered leaving Mickey Bedford’s, and going over the conversation with Mickey in his mind, feeling fairly confident that he’d been convincing enough. He’d also been worrying about what he should do next. He’d seen nothing suspicious while making his way to the car before feeling three Stinger darts in the back in quick succession, but then he hadn’t really been paying attention. Given the situation, that was inexcusable.
He hoped Livvy had been more cautious and was being sensible. Meg and the Chief would be helping her out with appropriate advice. The Chief’s hardcore policy of using minimal personnel on every case – detectives working alone or in partnerships – was another reason he was still alive. No one could betray him, if they couldn’t get inside on the case, and Bedford might be more reluctant to kill him, if he was one of only two people who knew the weaknesses in his plan. He’d want to ferret out and destroy whatever had given Chris his lead. If he got his hands on Chris’ notes, he’d know.
If you’d been darted before, as he had, you knew the sensation. In the split second after being hit and before turning to look for his assailant, he’d already known that it had to be someone in Enforcement. Not only were Stingers illegal and rare outside of the job – they were hard to get and the criminal element preferred the more lethal varieties of weapons – but the use of three darts suggested someone who understood reversal implants. Unfortunately, he’d either blacked out before spotting who had wielded the Stinger, or had a memory loss from the anesthetic. He had essentially figured out who in his unit was in Bedford’s pay, but as with Bedford himself, he could prove nothing. He was still way behind Bedford, and it looked now like he would never catch up.