Parrino sifted through copies of the scans he had made from the crime scene the night before. To hell with orders. To hell with international jurisdiction. Most of all, however, to hell with handing over all copies of evidence he had painstakingly recorded while calf-deep in industrial runoff and human remains. Something about the case stunk, and even if he couldn’t technically be involved, his curiosity needed to be satisfied. He justified that maybe he’d offer up whatever he learned to Division 4. On the other hand, maybe he’d prove to those upstarts that he was the better detective by cracking the case himself in his spare time.
Parrino punched up a request for an SI assistant, sat back in his chair, and waited. Within seconds, a holo-projector moved to his workstation, hovering about two meters in the air. It hummed to life, and a female form materialized next to him.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” the woman said.
“Hello, Audrey.” Syn. Audrey Turner, like all Turner synthetic personalities, was rather ordinary-looking and dressed about twenty-five years behind current fashion. He supposed the station budget did not allow for visual upgrades, particularly since Turner’s sole purpose was archival research.
“Have you tried that Bolognese sauce recipe I gave you yet?”
Parrino nodded and reached for his cup of now room-temperature coffee. “I did. That was the closest one so far, but it still didn’t taste quite like Uncle Occi’s.”
“I imagine it’s more about the freshness or vintage of the tomatoes at this point,” she offered. “So, what can I do for you this morning?”
Parrino pulled up the crime scene holos from the previous night. “Murder scene. Elderly male victim. Dead approximately two to three days before these scans were made. Body was partially submerged in industrial runoff at a construction site.” He selected the last image and keyed in on the exit wound in the victim’s back. “What kind of weapon makes an exit wound like this?”
“I’m not familiar with the details of this case. What’s the reference number?”
“No reference number. This is something of a personal project.”
“I don’t think we should be investigating an unsanctioned case—”
“Then let’s not tell anyone about it, eh?” Parrino smiled slyly. “Let’s just consider it practice to keep our forensic skills up.”
Audrey appeared to think about it for a moment, then smiled back. “You’re going to get yourself fired, and me demoted to ‘public librarian’ one day.”
He knew that was her way of reluctantly agreeing with him. He was instantly grateful that, while they could have put governors on the departmental SI, which would have made it impossible for them to break police procedure, someone had long ago realized the benefits of allowing them full free will, even if it also meant they would face repercussions when they went too far. “It’s just research. We’re not breaking any protocols,” Parrino tried to assure her.
Audrey stared at the image. Several dots appeared as she scanned the fine details of the wound. Wireframes traced the approximate size and shape, and intersecting lines appeared and disappeared as she ran multiple scenarios with weapons she had selected from the databank.
“Definitely a flechette weapon,” she said at last. The image zoomed in closer on the wound, and another series of dots showed tissue dispersal and damage details. “Very nasty,” she said with just a hint of emotion.
Guns were severely limited on Earth, at least through legal channels. Of course, it was possible to buy anything on the black market, given enough time and money. Energy weapons were the cheapest and easiest to obtain, and their speed and accuracy made most other weapons obsolete – and, as a result, rare and expensive. “Why would someone use a flechette gun?” Parrino muttered.
“In practice, they’re quieter, more compact, have minimal energy and heat signature, and a longer range than other projectile weapons. With smart darts, they’re more accurate than energy weapons at a distance. They’re essentially a fire-and-forget weapon. Just get a lock on your target and pull the trigger. You don’t even have to stop walking to verify the kill, as the impact is certain. Hell, with an ocular interface, you could conceivably lock the gun’s sights without even turning your head toward your target. Very inconspicuous.”
“What’s the range on something like that?”
Audrey froze for a moment as if contemplating the answer. “It’s limited by line of sight and how steady you can hold the gun to lock on to your target, but given a tripod and a powerful enough sensor? We’re talking kilometers.”
Several models and their associated ammo were displayed in the air around Parrino. All but one flickered out of existence. “Rolen SW4: Limited production, made on Luyten, banned on Earth. Makes sense.” Audrey nodded. “That particular model can be broken down into components and packed in separate containers, which would make it undetectable when transported interstellar.”
“Interstellar?”
“Logically, based on the distinctiveness of the weapon and its legal status, nobody on Earth would sell a weapon as unique as that for fear it would be traced back to them. That’s a guided dart with a dispersed impact pattern, and since there was no trace of it at the crime scene, I’m guessing a self-destruct mechanism to destroy the evidence several dozen yards away after it exits the victim.”
Parrino exhaled sharply. “Who the hell uses hardware like that? Not the military.”
“The need to conceal the weapon’s origin and nature would imply a professional assassin—either freelance or a government employee.”
“No, I meant specifically. A weapon like that is also a specialist’s calling card. Who has used that make and model?”
A series of a dozen faces appeared before him, along with associated gibberish that scrolled so fast he could barely make it out. Eventually, all of the faces winked out except for one. “Viktr Olzos, aka ‘Soranos’,” Audrey said calmly. “Born on Europa. Former Special Ops for Sol Directorate, discharged in ‘57. Currently, freelance assassin for hire with known ties to the Cerberus on Notosia, multiple Thruinese crime syndicates, and at least one mercenary group on Capella. Last known location was the Canticum gate station one week ago.”
Parrino smirked in disbelief. “He hasn’t just been hanging out at a gate station all week.”
“Logically, he secured passage someplace clandestinely and got off without being spotted. So we have our likely trigger man. Now we need to know who ordered John Doe here killed and why.”
Parrino’s comms station chirped with an incoming message. He hit receive, and a dossier appeared in front of him in holo form. “No longer a John Doe,” seems Ms. Serah Wyles is more resourceful than we are. Dr. Abil Halferne of Malcyon, a noted and honored scientist in at least twenty disciplines, no known ties to anything remotely shady … or profitable.”
“And dead for over twenty years.” Of course, Audrey had already read the entire file.
“What the hell did we stumble into?” He continued scanning. “Just in the interest of personal curiosity, can you put traces on Olzos and everyone who worked at this Banpei Station? I’d be interested to know if we can expect any more long-dead scientists.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
“You’ve given me enough to think about for the time being. Thanks, Audrey.”
“Any time, David.” She smiled and winked out of existence.
An instant later, Sam Makluskey rezzed into the spot where Audrey had been standing. “Okay, I was wrong. There are motives for murder I haven’t seen yet. Still, it doesn’t make it right for you to be snooping in on this case.”
Parrino rolled his eyes, “Are you always eavesdropping?”
“Only to keep you out of trouble. Audrey’s right, you know. They can have your badge for poking around in cases you’ve been pulled from.”
“I’m just reading. The chief hates that Division 4 jurisdiction stuff even more than I do. He’ll let it slide.”
“Why do you insist on taking stupid chances with your career? This is almost as dangerous as letting Skurv put a gun in your face the other day,” Mak admonished.
“A man was murdered in our precinct — the precinct we’re sworn to serve and protect. Beyond that, you have to admit there is an abundance of weirdness. Isn’t your curiosity piqued just a little? Or would you rather be ticketing socialites for double-parking their aircars?”
“You’re sure that’s the only reason?”
Parrino scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Mak gestured in front of him, and Serah’s image appeared in profile from the shoulders up, approximately life-sized. Parrino recognized it as Mak’s memory recording from last night. He watched as Serah turned and walked away, only to be replaced by his own face watching her go. The expression on his face conveyed his thoughts so clearly he may as well have broadcast them through the aircar’s public address speakers.
Mak turned serious. “David…” he began.
“That Ducard guy had her name, Mak. How is that possible?”
Mak frowned. “It’s pretty simple, really.” He made another subtle gesture, and a series of files, images, and holo scans filled the air around Parrino. “You aren’t the only one doing off-the-books research.”
A holo recording enlarged itself and started playing in front of Parrino. It showed Serah Wyles sitting on a transit train, arguing with a man.
“What’s this?” Parrino asked.
“Green line, two days ago, just past the Bethnal Green station, car seven. The man’s name is Robert Galloway. He’s a cold sales specialist.”
“Yeah, they’re all over those transit lines trying to push something on passengers. I’m sure you’ll tell me why this is important.”
The image changed to Serah sitting on a couch in a café, possibly a coffee house somewhere. She was having a somewhat heated conversation with the same man seated on the sofa beside her. “That is the Nine Stones Café, about 200 yards west of our crime scene last night. I went by and spoke to the manager this morning; he was kind enough to give me a copy. This holo was taken yesterday around noon.” Mak’s tone was cold and professional; it almost chilled Parrino, who suddenly felt like he was being set up in an interrogation.
“You’re about to hit me with the big revelation,” he gestured for Mak to get on with it.
“The manager happened to have this footage handy because he had pulled it for Hawthorne and Whitmor yesterday. Robert Galloway’s body was the one they found in a maintenance room right here in Soho Tower two nights ago. Forensics determined his time of death was almost immediately after this exchange took place. I couldn’t pull the case file, so I called Hawthorne. The victim was shot in the back by an explosive projectile weapon. The exit wound was almost identical to our victim last night.”
Parrino nodded. “Let me guess why you couldn’t pull a case file.”
“Yep, a Bureau guy from Paris swooped in, claimed jurisdiction, and took all the case material. Except for one off-line press copy, tagged and signed for by a certain reporter the next morning.”
“You don’t mean—”
“Yep. Our Miss Wyles.” Mak nodded. “So, I did a little research. Crime is not her usual beat. In fact, she rarely does any local fare at all. She’s a foreign correspondent. She covers politics and international relations. So, what is she doing investigating two murders?”
“You think she knows more than she’s letting on.”
“No, I think she’s in this thing up to her neck, David,” Mak said, raising his voice. “She talks to one guy who is dead immediately after they leave camera range. Then she’s on top of a second murder scene with the same M.O. almost as fast as we were. Not to mention the Fed who took both cases already knew who she was. What does that tell you?”
Parrino looked crestfallen. “She’s not the killer. Hell, she barely contained her surprise when she saw his face. Maybe she knew both him and that billy, but she had no idea he was dead. This job was done with serious paramilitary hardware, designed to be as covert and discreet as possible, and smuggled into the city, presumably by this guy, Olzos, a known assassin for hire. You met that girl. Do you think she’s really working for an interstellar assassin?”
“Yeah, I met that girl. You immediately saw how oddly she was acting.”
“So, she’s in trouble, and that’s why she gave us the lead on Halferne. She’s trying to help us.”
“If she’s in trouble, why can’t she just say so? What kind of trouble could she be in?”
“I’ll bet Division 4 knows.”
“But does she trust them to help her?”
“Maybe I should drop by and ask her,” Parrino mused.
“No, that’s the one thing you shouldn’t do.” Mak’s tone suddenly became even more severe. It’s Division 4’s case now. Running down a few leads is one thing, but if you go tampering with their suspect, you could be charged with obstructing an investigation, no matter how innocent your intentions.”
“What if she’s the next target?” Parrino protested.
“What if she’s working with the killer? This is your career, not to mention mine, if I let you do this.”
Parrino flushed. “How can you just let this go, Mak? When you died, did the part of you that cared about protecting the living die too?”
“Don’t pull that crap with me, kid. I was as much a professional then as I am now. You’re the one letting your personal feelings interfere with your judgment.” He paused momentarily, and his eyes softened. “Just let it go, David,” his voice was pleading. Parrino thought for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, Mak, I’m sorry. You’re right. Consider it dropped.”
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