Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (4 page)

That voice nagged at him though, the one that had driven him onward last time in the face of such opposition. Now it had returned, hankering for answers.

Gutterson had one more option. He paid a small retainer to an assistant at the morgue in case he ever needed information. He hadn’t used him yet, but now was the perfect time to test his investment.

He scrolled through the contacts list on his screen and found the number, hidden under the name of a friend from junior high. He connected his internal audio device to the screen, and swiped the icon to dial.

“Ronald? It’s John Gutterson, over at the Midtown precinct.”

“Detective Gutterson. Wondered when I might hear from you.”

He didn’t bother informing Ronald he was no longer a detective. “Listen, Ronald, I need to know if you’ve got a body down there; a male by the name of Dominic Curwood. Came in a day or two ago. Suicide, Lower Manhattan.”

“Gimme a minute.” Gutterson rested an unsteady hand on the old desk. His pulse thumped. His throat was dry. After a minute, a noise sounded from the end of the line. “You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“We have the body. Autopsy is complete. There were some…” Gutterson imagined him scrunching his nose and narrowing his eyes, “Inconsistencies with an overdose.”

“Like what?”

“A cerebral contusion.”

“Bruising on the brain? Isn’t that severe?”

“Yes. Police officer claims to have found the man lying on the floor, so it
might
have occurred during a fall, if it were—as you say—severe enough.”

“Anything else?”

“Internal swelling of the throat.”

“What would cause that?”

“Any number of things.”

“Forcing something down someone’s throat?”

“Possibly. And he had a broken nose.”

An image formed in Gutterson’s mind. “They squeezed his nose closed.” Ronald was silent. “Okay, Ronald. That’s great, thank you. Anything else there you might be able to tell me?”

“Ah, nothing to do with the victim’s condition. Just a few personal details.”

“Anything about his employer?” Time slowed down. It was a long shot, but he’d rue himself for not asking.

“Yeah. Janefield Investments in Lower Manhattan.”

And there it was. The name struck him in the gut like the revelation of a family secret. All those lost hours reading the name, over and over, looking for the connection. He hadn’t picked up the files at home for three months, and on those lonely nights he pulled out the folders and thumbed through the documents and read until his head ached.

“Detective?”

“Sorry, Ronald. That’s all I needed. Let me know if you come across anything else. Thank you.”

Gutterson hung up, shifting in his seat as his heart palpitated and the ache of old wounds stirred.
Janefield Investments.
He would never forget the name, even if he never again removed the folder he had stashed away in the bottom drawer of his desk in the study. But it would always be coupled with pain—pain around his suspension, his failure to prove the suicide had been otherwise, and the loss of his wife.

Could it happen again? Some deep instinct told him this latest suicide wasn’t isolated, that it had a relevance to his investigation. He needed to speak to the Captain.

Gutterson jumped up, knocking his chair backwards. Momentarily, he didn’t know which way to go.

“I have to speak with Captain Martinez,” he said to the empty room, and scuttled away, feeling more energized than he had in eighteen months
.

Tabitha Marks came awake to a shadow standing over her.
He’s back,
she thought. She had expected it. Scott had come back for revenge after she kicked him out last week. Her immediate reaction was to strike out—instinct born from more than twenty-years of martial arts training. But then a green light flashed and she recognized the stiff form of her robot helper, Stella, a gift from her father when she had left home. Tabitha relaxed, and lay back, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Good morning, Tabitha,” Stella said, stepping back from the bedside. “It’s time for you to start your day.”

Tabitha tossed the covers back and thanked Stella as the ‘Bot walked from the room. Tabitha stretched, yawned, and glanced around at the empty bed where only yesterday her boyfriend of three years had slept.

Guilt swept over her and she sat up, momentarily wondering whether ending the relationship had been the correct thing to do. It wasn’t as though it was the only thing she had to deal with. Her father’s ongoing cancer battle was a constant presence. But she had hung on long enough and promised herself a new beginning. Today was the first day in a new chapter of her life. She had broken the shackles of a relationship that had bogged her down for too long. She should be excited and enthusiastic, free from worry about Scott’s next drama. How many times had she accepted his lame apology for arriving home in a drunken or drug-induced state? How often had she woken to the stink of liquor and the bathroom floor covered in vomit? Scott’s admission of his problems and promises to clean up for the hundredth time did nothing to appease her anymore. Both she and her father had supported him: money, counseling groups, and above all, time. But his commitment always waned after only a few weeks. She’d sacrificed Taekwondo training and a critical competition to attend more counseling sessions, but he’d become aggressive and shut down, offering outright refusal. Now, she was free of that. Her caring nature had been usurped by resentment. Scott was not the partner she needed to move forward with her life. Underlying that, she worried that she would never marry and settle down. That’s what had held her back for so long. But she would no longer settle for second best, and if she ended up alone, so be it.

Tabby felt better, justifying her decision. She climbed off the bed, undressed, and slipped into the shower. As warm water sprayed down onto her, the timer embedded into the tiling started counting down from three minutes.

She decided that today
was
the start of her new life. Starting tonight, she would get her Taekwondo training back on track, and find out how to progress her career at work. Perhaps she’d pursue the job advertisement her boss, Charlie, had told her about the week before. Tabby had dismissed it at the time, but maybe she should reconsider, make it part of the overall change. She loved working for Charlie, but her career had stalled. Tabitha had deferred an economics degree in favor of getting her hands dirty in the real world, a decision her father had supported. She had flown through several low-paying administration roles, handling reception desks, then accounts payable—all junior level finance positions used to gather a better understanding of what her father called roots finance. She had enjoyed the interaction, even if the processes were mundane. Her father had pointed out the job at Janefield Investments—the next logical step in her career advancement. She had interviewed with a low expectation, but the man who interviewed her—Mr. Fox—who she now knew was the CEO, had seemed impressed, and the role was offered to her the following morning. Not the highest salary she expected to earn in her career, but decent nonetheless.

The water stopped. Tabby felt the rush of cold air, wishing the water would run for longer just one time. She knew the rations were critical for consumption levels, and shouldn’t complain. Many had it much worse, with no water for bathing at all. The company she worked for owned the complex and had negotiated a special deal for greater water rations than the average citizen.

She pressed a button on the wall and a rush of warm air cascaded over her. In thirty seconds, her hair and skin were dry. She dressed then returned to the bathroom with Stella, the ‘Bot, who began applying her make-up. When Stella had finished, Tabby checked the job out of habit, and lingered on her reflection a moment, an action she always tried to avoid. People spoke of her looks, but the attention unsettled her. Perhaps it was the lack of it from the boys through high school that had left her convinced she was nothing special.

She was of average height—closer to six feet than five, with a moderate build that showed she always had enough to eat. Large, blue eyes spaced wide across her face, and pointed features were things of which she would never grow fond. It was the proportions that drew attention; everything was balanced, just the right size to make her face come together with an alluring prettiness, even if Tabitha couldn’t recognize it. She loved her hair though, spilling down over her right collarbone in thick, yellow waves. For the first time though, Tabitha noticed age catching up to her features. The first traces of lines appeared between her eyebrows and on her forehead. Her cheeks had lost some of the firmness they once had, and the slightest sagginess appeared beneath her eyes.

She left the bathroom, passed through her bedroom and into the hallway, where a frameless, 2-D photograph of her mother hung on the wall. Tabby had fading memories of the woman: her mother pushing her on the swings at the park as a toddler. Buying ice-creams on a summer night at the Coney Island fair. They were pleasant recollections, leaving mixed feelings of warmth and sadness, but there were too few of them. Part of her drive to do more with her life was honoring her mother’s memory, and knowing if she were alive, she’d be proud of Tabitha’s achievements.

In the kitchen—a plain, circular room with a bench in the middle, leading to a sitting area—Tabby found Stella waiting for her command.

“Coffee, Tabitha?” the ‘Bot asked in a soft, pleasant voice. As soon as Scott left, Tabby had changed Stella’s voice from that of a brash young male to a well-spoken British woman. There were more than fifty styles to choose from in the model.

“Yes, please, Stell. You’re a life saver.”

As the ‘Bot collected and prepared the coffee, a flashing screen on the digital wall organizer caught Tabby’s attention. She tapped out a sequence of icons and discovered several alerts; rations of electricity, numerous food items, and drinking water were getting low. Tabby had set the monitor to warn her with ample notice, but the electricity and food were almost critical. In recent weeks, Scott had gone on a virtual reality video game binge, using most of the electricity, and she suspected he had filled up on food before leaving. She cursed, realizing she’d likely run out of several items.

Tabby tapped an icon on the screen and a tall wall panel nearby slid back, revealing her pantry. A lonely stack of tinned food, flour, potatoes, rice, and a huddle of condiments stared back at her. She would have to place an order immediately or risk having nothing for the ‘Bot to cook with.

Tabby drank her latte while the ‘Bot prepared porridge. She ate, thinking of how to approach the conversation with Charlie about career progression. The idea of learning new things, facing new challenges, and stretching her knowledge excited her. Her only concern was that moving into a more challenging role might mean leaving Charlie. She decided to worry about that later.

She packed her work satchel and took a small USB device from the bench she had found whilst cleaning the last of Scott’s things from her desk. Only last week she’d discussed the old technology with Charlie and he had asked her to bring it in. She set Stella for a day of cleaning, and left the apartment with renewed enthusiasm, hoping Tom Bright would visit Charlie’s office. He often spent time in Charlie’s office and always took time to chat with Tabitha. She supposed it was a small crush and had contributed to her break up with Scott. Even if it was nothing, she didn’t think it fair to be feeling such things about another.

A long, silver building that resembled a giant shell, the station for the magnetic levitation train sat half a block from her apartment. The train hovered over the magnetic tracks as Tabby fought her way along the platform and spied an empty seat in one of the end carriages. Reaching it, she locked herself in then watched the buildings rush past in a blur as the train streaked by at almost five hundred miles per hour. The passage took fifty-seven seconds to cover the almost eight miles to the station outside the office.

Janefield Investments was a modest, thirty-two story building, modeled after early twentieth century architecture, inconspicuous amongst the other towering buildings in New York City's financial district. As she passed through the sliding doors to the reception area, she considered the day ahead and remembered Charlie’s promise to take her out to lunch. He’d made the offer on occasion, but Tabby had always been too worried about Scott finding out to accept.

Tabby left the elevator on level twenty-eight, and took a short hallway to her desk, passing a number of personal assistants swiping away at their workstations. There was no sign of Charlie yet. She usually arrived before him to prepare his office for the day—refill his ‘Bot robot, ensure all his devices were charged.

But as she slipped through the glass doors of Charlie’s office, she found two people already there. She knew Mr. Jennings, Charlie’s boss, but the second person, a woman, she did not.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Tabby said. “I didn’t realize anybody was in here.”

Jennings waved it off.

Tabby returned to her desk and began her morning routine. They left soon after, but the woman—dressed in a charcoal suit—shot her a cold stare that touched the back of Tabby’s neck. Shortly after, Mr. Jennings slunk in close to Tabby, directing his gaze at some irrelevant item on the computer screen.

“We’re running some random security checks on employees. Nothing to be worried about, but we’d prefer if you
didn’t
tell Charlie of our presence this morning. He’ll find out in good time.”

At first Tabby was too dumbstruck to move. She nodded once while repressing the urge to retort about the unethical behavior, deciding it might get her into trouble.

Jennings flashed a smile that told her of the consequences if she did not follow his suggestion, and left.