Metal Fatigue (7 page)

"Really?" Norris was a mainstay of the Reassimilationist movement, not renowned for retreating from difficult situations. "It's a little late to change his mind, I would've thought."

"Maybe." Wiggs glanced at DeKurzak. "It's never too late in politics."

"If you say so." Roads took a sip of bitter coffee and pulled a face. "Agh. So she fits. The killer is sticking to his demographic. When did it happen?"

"One-thirty this morning. Yhoman's de facto came home not long after and discovered the body. Her neck was broken, like the others; a swift, smooth, and very clean job." Roads heard a note of awe in the man's voice; one professional admiring the work of another, he supposed. Although he had worked with Wiggs long enough to call him a friend, he still found his fellow officer's fascination with homicide unnerving.

Chappel pointedly cleared her throat. "Phil, I was telling Antoni about the lead you're pursuing, the latest break-in. It's not one of ours, is it?"

"That's right," Roads said, turning to face her. "One of my contacts tipped me off that a cowboy outfit had been done over shortly after two this morning. We're going over the scene at the moment, looking for anything new. If we find anything, we'll let you know."

"How do you rate your chances?" asked DeKurzak.

Roads thought of the man he had chased from Old North Street, and decided not to mention it. This wasn't the time to air hunches. "Not good, I'll admit, judging from previous experience. But we're doing our best."

"Do you believe that will be sufficient? It has been over a month, after all, and still these matters have not been dealt with."

Roads felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

DeKurzak held up both hands placatingly. "I'm not questioning your capability, Officer Roads — or yours, Officer Wiggs. These are difficult cases that standard operating procedure has thus far failed to bring to light, and no-one is necessarily to blame. I am merely expressing the concerns of those above me that your methods might be at fault." DeKurzak looked from Wiggs to Roads to emphasise the point. "Perhaps SOP is no longer equal to the task."

"That's easy for you to say," Roads snapped. "Got any suggestions?"

"Phil." Chappel cast him a cautionary glance. "Let's look at what we have before we go any further."

"About the Mole?" Roads took a deep breath, tried to dispel the exhaustion that was making him so irritable. DeKurzak was talking sense, as much as Roads didn't want to hear it. "Almost nothing. He doesn't leave genetic fingerprints or identifying marks of any kind. He follows no fixed m.o., except that he works at night. He only sets off alarms when he wants to. And the one description we have is anomalous."

"He looks like you, in other words," said DeKurzak.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Chappel turned to the other officer. "What about you, Roger?"

"The killer operates at night, also." The burly redhead shifted in his seat. "We do have a sample of genetic material, but it doesn't match any in city records. We have no physical description, nor any other clues to his identity. Only his motive seems certain: to frighten the Council into backing down from the Reassimilation."

"Yes." DeKurzak steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips. "I've read the reports, and they're not terribly encouraging." He shrugged. "One uncatchable criminal I could believe, perhaps, but two ...?"

Chappel intervened before Roads could take offence. "We are treating each series of crimes separately partly out of practicality, partly because of the timing. Although the murderer and the assassin
could
be one and the same person, he'd have to be fast on his feet as well as practically invisible. Last night demonstrates that quite well. It therefore doesn't seem likely that one person working alone is behind both series of crimes."

"But it isn't impossible," said the liaison officer. "That's the point I want to stress. We're not in a position to rule out anything."

Roads shook his head. "We've been through this a dozen times before. You didn't interrupt our work to discuss profiles. Why don't you get to the point?"

DeKurzak nodded. "Fair enough. My superiors are determined to present as united and positive a face as possible for the Reassimilation. General Stedman will be in Kennedy in three days, and they want the cases closed by then. To put it bluntly, that doesn't look likely — does it?"

"I'm still confident," said Roads. "We are pursuing a number of possibilities — "

"Operation Blindeye being one of them?"

"Yes."

"And you, Roger?"

"We'll see what forensics find at the Yhoman site before we make any plans."

"I see. I will reassure my superiors that everything that can be done is being done. In the meantime, I have been given the authority to become actively involved in both investigations. Please bear in mind that, in less than a week, Kennedy may no longer be an independent state. If the Reassimilation goes ahead as planned, it's likely that either or both cases will be handed to the Reunited States Military Corps prior to then for further investigation."

"What?" Wiggs' face flushed with anger. "You can't — "

"They can," said Chappel, grim-faced. "The RSD charter allows the MSA to take any of our cases at any time if ordered to do so by the Mayor. The MSA can do whatever it likes with them from there. And after Reassimilation, who knows what will happen to local law enforcement?"

"We need results fast, to prove that we can competently handle our own affairs." DeKurzak did his best to look sympathetic; Roads wondered how sincere the effort was. "If combining our resources will help, then I think it makes sense to try. To that end, an officer specialising in law enforcement from General Stedman's staff, Captain Martin O'Dell, will be arriving in Kennedy later this morning to provide his own viewpoint. As an outsider he may be able to see something that we're missing."

"Great. That's just great," said Roads, draining the last of the coffee. "We need another army about as much as we need blindfolds and our hands tied."

Chappel stared him down. "They're only trying to help."

"Famous last words." As much as the city needed to open its doors, he rued the fact that it had been a military nation like the Reunited States that had made the first move. From what little information he had gathered about the RUSA, it seemed to be run entirely by its Military Corps. He had never heard mention of a President, or a similar non-military title. No wonder the MSA and General Stedman seemed to be getting along so well. Tarred from the same brush.

Roads glanced at Wiggs, who looked as pained as he felt. "I'm sorry to be blunt," he said, "but is that all you wanted to see us about?"

"I think so, for now," said Chappel.

DeKurzak agreed. "I understand your reluctance, gentlemen, but I'm sure we can work it out. If you have any questions later, don't hesitate to contact me. Margaret has my number."

"Good." Roads stood. "Then, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Wiggs also rose, slicking his hair out of his eyes.

"I want reports by eighteen-hundred." Chappel rose to let them out. "And, Phil, we need to finalise Blindeye before then."

"I'll call you." As she closed the door behind them, Roads caught a glimpse of DeKurzak, still seated in his chair opposite Chappel. The liaison officer nodded farewell, apparently unfazed by the cool reception his announcement had received.

"What a load of shit," Wiggs said when the door was firmly shut. "This whole thing stinks."

"We need to get together soon, to swap notes."

"Agreed. I'd mail them to you, but you know what I'm like."

Roads nodded. Wiggs' lack of computer skills was renowned. An attempt to mail Roads the notes on the assassin could easily misfire, and result in sensitive RSD files landing in the lap of a bulletin board. Safer, and more productive, to talk in person.

At the elevator well, Wiggs leaned up against a wall and closed his eyes. "To be honest, Phil, this case is driving me crazy. I'll be glad to see the end of it, if it comes to that."

"At least you've got a geneprint." Roads forced a smile. "All you have to do is test everybody and find the one that matches."

"Yeah, right. Except the city'll be full of outsiders. People like this O'Dell, or whoever he is, marching in to 'smooth the way'. Give them a month and we'll be overcrowded again."

Roads feigned horror. "Don't tell me you're anti-Reassimilation, Roger."

"No, it's not that. It's just..." Wiggs sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "I was a child during the food riots, Phil. My parents weren't well off, and we were almost kicked out of the city. I remember what it was like — a little too well, sometimes."

"It wasn't pleasant, that's for sure." The elevator doors pinged open and they filed inside. "But I don't think it'll be like that this time. Outside's not so bad any more."

"It couldn't be." Wiggs glanced at his reflection in the mirror, grimaced. "Can't help but worry, though."

As the cage plummeted toward the carpark, Roads' phone buzzed for attention.

"Phil, it's Margaret."

"Christ, we haven't even left the building yet."

"Good. DeKurzak's on his way down. He wants to visit the scene on Old North Street."

"Great," Roads groaned.

"Lucky you," whispered Wiggs, with a smirk.

"It was my idea," continued Chappel. "I like the MSA about as much as you do, but we all have to live with it. And him. By letting him see the way we operate — and can cooperate — we decrease the chances of those above him taking the cases from us." Chappel paused, obviously waiting for a response. "Anyway, I said you'd give him a lift."

"Fine." Roads sighed. "It's not as if we've had much success on our own, I suppose."

"Exactly. When he's finished, lend him one of the cars so he can join homicide at the Yhoman place."

Wiggs' face fell.

"With pleasure."

"Good." Chappel's tone softened slightly. "Stay in touch."

"I will."

10:30 a.m.

Roads would have preferred to drive the whole way to Old North Street in silence, but DeKurzak clearly had other ideas.

"You're not from here, are you, Roads? Not originally, anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"Your accent, mainly. English? South African? I can't quite place it."

"My parents were Australian." Roads couldn't help but be impressed at the observation; few distinct accents remained in Kennedy, and only a handful of people of DeKurzak's age could distinguish one from another.

"Ah." DeKurzak nodded. "Expats?"

"No, on holiday when the War broke out. We were lucky to be staying near Kennedy at the time."

"Very lucky indeed. What happened to them?"

"Killed in food riots when I was a kid. I'd rather not talk about it."

DeKurzak smiled. "Of course. You don't have to."

Roads guided the car onto the south-bound arterial freeway. The road surface was rough after so many years without regular maintenance, but he preferred it to the Rosette routes when heading in that direction. As they drove, the ruins of Patriot Bridge dominated the forward skyline. Time was slowly pulling it down, piece by piece; Roads could see the odd gap-toothed hole where the road itself had fallen away, or been blown away by explosives. The old maglev track had been dismantled entirely.

He'd always thought the bridge had been hard done by, and privately hoped that the Reassimilation would result in its reconstruction — although he doubted it.

DeKurzak seemed to be reading his thoughts. Roads felt the liaison officer's keen eyes studying him.

"How exactly do you feel about the Reassimilation, Officer Roads?"

"Honestly?"

"Of course."

"Well, I can't see what all the fuss is about."

"What do you mean? This is the first contact we've had with anyone outside Kennedy — "

"No, what I mean is: it has to happen eventually, doesn't it? There's no point arguing about it, or putting it off any longer."

"That's the best way to think about it." DeKurzak nodded, waving one hand at the view before them. "Kennedy is like a tide-pool that has been isolated for so long it's forgotten about the sea. But the tide's going to come back in whether we want it to or not. The only question we have to ask ourselves is whether we let it in gracefully, or go down with a fight."

Roads looked at his passenger out of the corner of his eye. DeKurzak seemed to have missed the point entirely; Kennedy had to Reassimilate because it would die if it didn't, not because the RUSA wanted it to..

He cleared his throat, choosing tact rather than debate. "I would have thought the answer was obvious. If we send them away now, they'll only come back later, when they're even stronger."

"True. A lot of people feel otherwise, though."

"One in particular?"

"The killer? Yes, he — or she, of course — is an extreme case. But that wasn't really who I was talking about. I meant the Old Guard, the people who lived through both the War and the Dissolution. These people have seen terrifying things, and we can only sympathise with their reluctance to place themselves at risk again by reopening the city. But where do we draw the line? There are already enough of them in the Mayoralty to obstruct a move that the rest of us regard as being inevitable, even if it does make us all nervous."

Roads shrugged. "So? Politics and people have always been like that when it comes to change. King Canute wasn't the only one,"

"That's true." DeKurzak stared away from the river, at the distant glints of the city. "Would you count yourself among the Old Guard, Roads?"

Roads almost laughed. Either DeKurzak was extraordinarily clumsy at asking leading questions, or genuinely had no idea how his inquiries sometimes sounded. "I'm old enough," he said, "but, to be honest, I really don't give a shit. I just try to do my job. If you think I'm conspiring to wreck the Reassimilation, then you're barking up the wrong tree."

"I didn't say that." DeKurzak chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. "What about Wiggs?"