Empire State (24 page)

  "Charade?"

  The Captain met Rad's eye. Rad didn't like it.

  "Oh yes," said Carson. "Didn't you notice anything?"

  Rad thought. The whole trip had seemed like a lot of fuss for nothing. He clicked his fingers.

  "He was looking for something, wasn't he? And nothing to do with the unfortunate Sam Saturn here either."

  Carson nodded. "I don't know what it was, or whether he found it or not, but I suspect he also used the outing to judge your own position, Mr Bradley. Whether you were
in
or
out,
as it were."

  "Huh. I thought you were Kane's buddy. His... fixer? He didn't tell you anything?"

  "Nothing that he hadn't told you. And yes, perhaps I have acted in that capacity for him, but the truth of the matter is I have been worried by his behaviour in recent weeks. No, not his behaviour, perhaps... more his state of mind, shall we say."

  "What do you mean?"

  Carson began pacing around the bench, slowly, his eyes moving over the body as he did so. Rad's own eyes followed him as he walked, until the Captain walked behind Rad. Rad turned as Carson began a second circuit.

  "Ever since he made contact with Gardner Gray – the
real
Skyguard – in prison, he has been... well, odd about it. After his prison sessions interviewing the man for his newspaper, he would come and visit me. It started normally enough, a casual pop-in after dinner, a quiet chat about life and some shared thoughts and theories on the city's most infamous criminal. But then the visits starting coming later, at night, and becoming longer. Midnight. Two in the morning. He would sit in my study, and drink sherry, and talk about the Skyguard for hours. Sometimes I never spoke. He didn't notice. Sometimes he'd stop in the middle of his stream of consciousness, get up, and leave without so much as a goodbye."

  Rad took off his hat, and rubbed his scalp.

  "So... he became, what, obsessed with the Skyguard?"

  Carson stopped walking and nodded, fixing Rad with his eyes over the body.

  "Well, the late Mr Gray had a fantastic story. Kane felt I was the best person to discuss it with. I have a fantastic story of my own, similar in many ways to that of the Skyguard."

  Rad's eyebrow raised. "That so?"

  Carson smiled. "Yes, but that will come later."

  "Answers, remember?"

  "Indeed yes." The Captain nodded. "But one thing at a time, my dear boy."

  Rad waved his hat at the Captain, then slid it back onto his head. He pushed it back as far as it would go.

  "So poor Sam Saturn," Carson continued. "Kane's story was too convenient, based on little evidence."

  Rad considered the remains on the table before him.

  "He faked the footprints? What about the damage to the wall and the dumpster?"

  Carson held a finger up. "One thing at a time, detective. But after he told me about the body I had Byron watch the alley for some time. No police ever came, although some came close. Kane never called the murder in, of that I am certain."

  "So you collected her to perform an autopsy," said Rad. "You qualified for this kind of thing?"

  Carson nodded and smiled, but his eyes were cold and black. "Oh yes. Oh yes."

  "Cause of death?" Rad eyed the body. The pathologist's art was well beyond him. How you could tell anything from the remains was witchcraft as far as he was concerned.

  "Strangulation, actually." The Captain leaned over the body and pointed to the woman's neck with an extended little finger. He was careful to keep his now clean jacket away from the blood. "Crushed windpipe, bruising characteristic of fingers and thumbs." He looked at Rad. "Human fingers and thumbs, I should point out. If a robot had attempted strangulation, I would imagine the results would have been complete decapitation."

  "So our murderer is a human?"

  Carson nodded. "Yes. There is also abrasion and bruising around her mouth. Her attacker grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth so she couldn't call out."

  Rad looked up and down the body on the bench. The limbs were straight, but he could see bulges and bumps under the skin. Broken bones poked and pushed at the flesh, although none had actually broken through the surface, as far as he could tell. One foot sat square, toes pointing upward. The other flopped inwardly, horizontal to the bench top, on the snapped ankle.

  "What about the rest of her injuries? Is a man strong enough to break bones like that? She was a small woman... but why go to the effort if she was killed by asphyxiation?" Rad looked back at Carson. "To fit her behind the dumpster? Could this have been caused by forcing her body into the gap between the dumpster and the wall?"

  Carson stroked his moustache, nodding.

  "Perhaps," he whispered. "There my expertise begins to run dry. The injuries were inflicted after she was dead, that much is certain. After that..." He spread his hands in defeat. "It seems difficult to think that all of the breakages and contusions could have been caused by the murderer trying to hide the body, but then again, desperate men are capable of remarkable feats." He paused, and tapped his front teeth with the fingernail of his index finger. "There is another theory, of course."

  "I'm all ears, professor."

  "Well, while it may be difficult to imagine a human being having the strength to, well,
wreck
a body quite like this, if someone was to tell you that the crime wasn't committed by a human being at all, but..."

  Rad's heart sank and his stomach flipped. The two seemed to meet in the middle and Rad felt bile rising in his throat.

  "But a robot from an ironclad."

  "Indeed," said the Captain. He nodded and his shoulders seemed to sink.

  Rad was afraid to say it, but it seemed clear, to him at least. He had no idea
why
, but that was what he had to find out. This was his case, he was the private dick.

  "Or," he said quietly, his mouth uncomfortably dry all of a sudden, "someone wearing a suit that gave him the strength of a robot." Rad was afraid to look up at Carson, but forced himself to, and when he did – the Captain was nodding as feared.

  Two and two came together in Rad's mind, no matter how hard he tried to get around it to render the whole theory worthless. He felt a nauseous crawl from his stomach.

  "Kane. He's the Skyguard. He got the suit, somehow. He killed Sam Saturn, made it look like a robot did it." Rad could hardly believe he was saying it. His voice sounded odd, alien, and he felt like he was watching the scene from far away. He looked around, found one of the high stools behind him, and dropped his behind onto it. He took his hat off again, and held it with both hands, fingers working the brim.

  Captain Carson pursed his lips and looked Rad up and down. He turned back to the bench and looked down at Sam Saturn's body, then back at Rad. He watched as the detective rotated his fedora in his hands absently.

  "Except the murderer left us some rather stronger clues than some footprints and broken brick."

  Rad looked up, eyes narrow. "I... I don't understand. You saying Kane didn't kill her? Only... what? Messed with the crime scene afterwards?"

  The Captain smiled. Rad's eyes widened. The world was getting dark and confusing, but if he could follow the Captain's inference, at least his best friend – his only friend – wasn't a killer. He replaced his hat.

  "So who killed Sam Saturn?" He shook his head, unsure of whether Captain Carson could give him an answer or not. Then again, if he was so sure that Kane wasn't the one...

  Carson returned his attention to the dead girl's neck. He nudged the head, which toppled sideways to face Rad. One eye was closed, one half-open, and the lips were stuck to the teeth in a parody of humour. Rad grimaced and felt ill again. The Captain muttered an apology, but pointed again with his little finger.

  "The murderer didn't think to cover his tracks. For whatever reason." He shrugged. "Simple enough to get prints."

  Byron plodded from the bottom of the stairs where he had been waiting, to one of the side benches. He fussed over something, then brought some narrow sheets of paper over to his master. The Captain nodded, and Byron turned and laid them out on the other, unoccupied table. Carson motioned for Rad to join them. Rad slid from his stool and walked over.

  Arranging the sheets of paper on the ceramic surface, the old man stood back and smiled, clearly pleased with their handiwork. A set of fingerprints, in duplicate it seemed, were presented as evidence. Rad whistled. Whatever Carson had done, he had a better forensic technique than the Empire State police department. Prints off skin? Impressive.

  Rad pointed a finger at one set of prints. The swirls and loops were smudged and wide, but clearly recognisable, rendered in dusty pale blue and grey.

  "Can you match these?"

  "Indeed."

  Rad held his breath, then exhaled when Carson didn't say any more.

  "Well?"

  Carson looked at Rad, a tic moving across one cheek. The old man licked his lips, and his eyes moved up and down Rad's face, then flickered over to Byron, and back.

  "What? Captain, you'd better spill. What did you find?"

  The Captain smiled tightly and looked back at the table. He indicated the other set of fingerprint images. To Rad they looked like an exact duplicate of the first, only smudged in slightly different places.

  "These prints I took from my own home. The hangar, actually, the hull of the
Nimrod
."

  Rad sighed. "I don't understand."

  "I was very careful where I took them from. You have very big hands, detective. As soon as I saw the size of the marks on poor Miss Saturn's neck, it occurred to me that you have more of a connection to this case than you think. Or are telling us."

  Captain Carson's voice had dropped to a low murmur. Rad didn't like it.

  There was a click. The laboratory was large, the floor tiled and the walls brick, amplifying the smallest sounds. The squeak of Rad's soles on the smooth floor. The rustle of the Captain's suit as he stroked his moustache, narrow eyes fixed on Rad.

  The click of the gun in Byron's hand a second before the blunt barrel stuck square into the back of Rad's bare neck.

  "These are your fingerprints, Mr Bradley. Those from the
Nimrod
match those on Miss Saturn's neck."

  Rad gulped and felt hot. He wanted to say something, but his head was filled with nothing but white noise.

  "I think some answers are called for, don't you, detective?"

 

 
 

 
 

THE CHAIR IN CARSON'S STUDY was comfortable, and for that Rad Bradley was grateful. The sherry was strong and sweet, and while he gasped at the odd flavour, he'd never needed a drink more in his life. He drained the small crystal glass in a gulp, and held it up. Byron tilted the ornate decanter and dispensed another measure. This Rad also drank, quickly. He closed his eyes and focussed on the ball of warmth as it travelled down his oesophagus and into his stomach, and then, after a few seconds, spread across his chest. He ran his tongue around his teeth, savouring the remaining flavour where he found it.

  "I apologise for my little trick," said the Captain, sitting opposite. His glass was still half full. He smiled happily over it as he watched Rad regain his composure. "But I had to be sure it was you. We must take nothing for granted."

  Rad shook his head, and coughed. Byron leaned forward with the bottle, but Rad waved a hand over his empty glass.

  "Well, you'll forgive me if I don't just sit here and practice some breathing for a while. I think my brain is suffering from oxygen starvation. You had to know it was me? What, have I got a double walking around?"

  "Yes," said Carson. He sipped his sherry.

  Rad stuck his empty glass out at Byron, never taking his eyes off the Captain. Byron refilled the glass and Rad drained it in one gulp.

  "Huh," said Rad, licking the sweet residue from his lips. "I could have sworn you just said 'yes'."

  Carson laughed. "I did, my friend. You have a double. Your double killed Sam Saturn."

  Rad rubbed his eyes. "I think I'm going to take you up on that offer of answers, Captain. Then I'm going home and I'm going to bed, and when I wake up, I'm going to laugh over this dream with my morning coffee before I do my taxes."

  The Captain carefully set his empty glass down on the table next to his armchair, and steepled his old fingers in front of his face before taking a deep breath.

  "This is no dream, detective. Please, allow me to explain.

  "I used to work for the Empire State in a... scientific capacity. My own contribution to the war effort, shall we say. I have certain skills which were useful to the City Commissioners. You know of the Battery, of course?"

  Rad nodded. "Sure. Downtown at the naval yards. Powers the whole place."

  "It does indeed. But it is more than a mere power station. The Empire State draws energy from something very unusual indeed."

  "Uh-huh."

  "It is called the Fissure. It's a tear, quite literally, in the fabric of the world. We don't know what it is, exactly, but it is a tremendous energy source. Limitless, I would think. The city is literally plugged into it. It's what keeps everything going."

  Rad wondered if he'd had too many sherries, or perhaps too few. He regarded his empty glass.

  "So, it gives us light and power?"

  "More than that," said Carson. He raised his arms up, apparently indicating the room. Rad's eyes flicked around the ceiling.

  "It powers the
Empire State
. The city is all we know, because there is nowhere else. And there is nowhere else because we exist inside a bubble, as it were. A
protrusion
of a larger universe, on the other side of the Fissure."