Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (7 page)

Tabby waited at the sushi bar for Charlie to arrive. He had promised her a lunch for the last month, but neither of them had been able to escape their workload. Today, he’d thrown aside all the excuses an insisted they do it.

She loved working for Charlie. She had known from the first interview that he was different, that their working relationship would be special. Charlie made her feel extraordinary, as though
she
made
his
life better. He valued her opinion, seeking it on various matters, and showed belief in her that belied her experience. He was funny, intelligent, and charismatic, never sleazy or unprofessional like the whispers about other men around the office. He felt more like a friend, than a work colleague.

A month after the interview, he told her that the job had been hers to lose, that he had just needed to feel a connection to her in the initial meeting. With a smirk, Tabby had asked if he felt that connection as they rode to one of the post Academy awards parties up in the Hollywood hills after porting into the LAX Teleport station. Charlie had received the tickets through a client and had asked Tabby, his wife busy with other commitments. He reasoned she was a valued employee, and thus had a right to attend. Charlie had broken into a big grin, telling her he just needed to know she wasn’t boring and could smile some of the time. They had both laughed.

At the party, Charlie had been chivalrous, opening doors, feeding her the tastiest food she’d ever eaten, and introducing her to people she had seen on television, or in the movies,
and
as his colleague, never his assistant. She felt privileged, as though she mattered, something Scott would never be able to do.

“Sorry I’m late,” Charlie said, sliding in beside her at the counter. “What do you feel like?” He tapped the glass surface and a menu appeared.

Tabby swiped through and touched her fingertip against several items. “Some tuna. Maybe a little salmon. I love my fish. What about you?”

“Fried chicken. Sushi is too healthy. I need to balance it.” Charlie laughed. It always made Tabby smile.

“We should do this more. We always say we’ll do it, but never do.”

He smiled, and his face relaxed. “You’re right. We should. So tell me, what’s happening in the life of Tabitha Marks? We don’t get much time to talk in the office.”

“No.” She considered the question, remembering all the times she’d wanted to tell Charlie about the things in her life. “Well, I have my Taekwondo grading this weekend.”

“What belt?”

“You don’t remember? I’ve only been training for it the last two years.”

“Second Dan black?” Tabby nodded. “I haven’t seen a demo from you yet.”

“Come to the grading. I’ll get my butt kicked, but I’ll give some back.”

“Is it fierce? The grading?”

“When I went for my black and red, I saw a black grading get her nose busted open.” Charlie whistled. “Don’t worry. I’m too fast to let that happen.”

“I bet. The other fighters must be good.”

“They’re robots. Full sized.”

“Jesus. Is that better or worse?”

“They’re better fighters. They fight without emotion or fatigue. They don’t make mistakes.”

“That would be something.”

Tabby tried to keep a straight face. “You’ll never tell me to do something again.” She couldn’t help herself and laughed.

“How long have you been at it now?”

“Twelve years. I was slow to begin with.”

“Why did you get into it?”

“My father, mostly. I was beaten pretty badly in a schoolyard fight by a couple of girls. He’d talked about me learning a martial art since I was little. A bloody nose and cuts in my mouth from the kids stuffing bark inside got me there.”

“Ouch.”

“It was worth it.”

Charlie grinned. “I admire your spirit. How’s it going with your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Her face split into a grimace. “Ah, we sort of broke up.”

“Really? You never mentioned that.”

“I was trying to forget about it.”

A waiter arrived at the table with a tray of drinks. Charlie placed water in front of Tabby and took his own Pepsi. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I think you were too good for him anyway.”

“Is that right?” Warmth flushed her cheeks. It always happened whenever Charlie said nice things about her.

“You’re a catch, Tabby.” He sipped from the soda. “You have lots going for you, but unfortunately you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“I do—”

“No, you don’t. A little honesty here, okay?” She tried to smile. “Most of the single men in the office can’t take their eyes off you.” Tabby grimaced. Charlie put up a hand. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, but it’s true. I’m sure now you’ve broken up with what’s-his-name they’ll be lining up to ask you out.”

Tabby laughed. “That’s ridic—”

“Tom will be one of them.”

Bright red. Everything warmed. She tightened her expression. “Tom?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Tom calls and visits a little too often, don’t you think? And he never phones me directly. It’s always through you.”

Of course she had noticed, though she had never considered it any more that overt friendliness. “I don’t know.”

Charlie laughed. “You’re so naive.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you going red?” She waved him away. “Okay, okay. I’ll let it go. You do a wonderful job at work. You’ve got so much ability it’s scary.”

“Speaking of my ability, I wanted to talk to you about my future.” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Don’t get me wrong, I love working for you, but I don’t know if I want to do that for the rest of my life.”

Charlie looked around, then back at her. His eyebrows curled; his mouth a thin, tight line. “Look, Tabby, it might be a good idea if you take some time off at the moment.”

Her forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

The waiter returned with their trays of sushi. Charlie removed plates and pushed one towards Tabby.

Something was wrong; Charlie’s tune had changed. “What is it, Charlie?”

His mouth tightened up again. “I can’t say too much, but there’s stuff happening. I just… I think it would be better if you were away from the office for a time. Until it blows over.”

Tabby stared at him. Charlie shifted in his seat. There was more; she read it in his effort to avoid eye contact. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No.” He took a bite of sushi. “What makes you say that?”

She glanced around to make sure nobody was within earshot. “I was told not to say, but of course I tell you everything.” Charlie frowned and leaned forward. “I found Mr. Jennings and another lady in your office this morning when I arrived.”

Charlie placed his sushi roll back on the plate. The color had drained from his face. “Jennings? What did he say?” Tabby explained how she had walked in on them. “Who was the woman?”

“No idea. I’ve never seen her before. But Jennings told me it was a routine security check and that all employees were part of it. He threatened me with telling anybody.”

“Threatened you? How?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly threaten me, but it was implied.” Charlie sat back in his seat, rubbed his temples. Tabby gave him a moment and ate her first roll. When she had finished, she asked, “Was he lying?”

“I don’t know. The Company is big on security, but I’d never heard of these ‘random checks’. Doesn’t mean they’re not happening though.”

“I had to bite my tongue from telling him what I thought.”

“Don’t mess around with Jennings. He can be a little intense.”

“I’ll pretend it never happened.”

“Good. I’ll try and find out what’s going on. And like I said, I need you to think about taking some time off… for your own sake.”

Gutterson strolled down the second level corridor of the police station towards the conference room, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The heat of a July afternoon was one thing, but his perspiration wasn’t a result of the ambient temperature. He still couldn’t believe that in less than twenty-four hours, Martinez had reinstated his badge
and
handed him a small team of detectives with which to investigate the case. The Captain had more than delivered on his promise; it scared Gutterson, because someone was showing faith in him again, the first in a very long time. He didn’t want to screw it up—for Martinez’ sake, as much as his own, and for finding the truth. As much as he’d been desperate and determined since the previous week, the case scared him.

Ahead, he spied Martinez standing outside the conference room with—he assumed—one of the detectives he’d been assigned. They spoke softer as Gutterson approached. A familiar tickle of concern touched the back of his neck. By the time he reached them, they’d stopped, and Martinez glanced away.

“Cap,” Gutterson said, pushing aside the feeling of uneasiness.

“John, this is Franklin Harding. Transferred in after you left the division. Been working vice for the last six months.” They shook hands. Harding was almost as tall as Gutterson, but fuller around the chest and belly, with thick sandy blonde hair that had to be all implant. “Franklin just completed a tricky case and has been kind enough to make some room amongst his other cases.”

“Great,” Gutterson said. “I really appreciate all the help we can get.”

They entered the conference room, where two more detectives waited—one of which was Camilleri, the obnoxious woman he had encountered at the coffee machine the previous week. He greeted them cordially, and wiped his forehead again as he adjusted the temperature control on the wall of the small conference room.

Martinez left them. Gutterson smiled, organizing the words in his mind that he would use to explain the case that had lingered over his life like a bad shadow for more than three years. They stared back, waiting.
Get a grip.
He pushed the nausea down.

“It’s been a few years since I had to address people like this, so forgive me if I don’t come across as smoothly as others.” He withdrew a floating chair and sat, drawing himself equal to them. He sensed a slight displeasure at sitting before him, probably because until yesterday he had been a lowly police clerk.

“Anyway, welcome,” Gutterson began, forcing a smile. He glanced at Camilleri, who wore a scowl that would scare away the devil. “We’re going to be investigating the suicide of a man in Lower Manhattan.”

Camilleri opened her mouth first. “Suicide?”

Harding leaned forward. “I hope there’s more to it than that.”

“Right. Well, I don’t think it’s a suicide. I think—”

“How long is this going to take?” Camilleri asked. “I’ve got a storage drive full of files I need to swipe through before I can leave today.”

Gutterson swallowed his first response. “Soon enough. Once we get through this.”

Smyth, a squat looking man with a mess of curly hair and a perpetually red complexion, said, “Hey guys, give him a chance to tell us what it's all about.”

Gutterson nodded towards him. “Look, I know none of you particularly want to be here, but for now, we’re in this, and I don’t think the Cap would appreciate anybody giving a half ass effort.” That silenced them for a moment. “I know you’re all very experienced. I was a detective once, too, before I was… suspended.”

“We all know about
that
,” Camilleri said.

“Do you?” Gutterson felt sudden anger rise. “Because I’d like to know what you heard. I bet it’s different to the truth.”

“Hey, go easy,” Harding said.

“No, I won’t. We’re going to have some problems here so let's get it all out now before we begin, that way we can concentrate our efforts on the case.”

Camilleri shrugged. She glanced around at the others. “I heard you cut corners, didn’t follow procedures. Tried to force information out of witnesses, and basically stuffed up the entire case.”

“I heard the same,” Harding said.

Smyth nodded. “That’s it?” Gutterson scanned their faces. He was on a roll now and couldn’t stop. “No bribes in there?”

“I heard you took them, too.”

Gutterson waited. “Anything else?” Nobody spoke. “Well, this is the truth. I give you my word, on my children, about that. I guess you need a little background about the case first, though. Like I said, I was investigating a suicide. I got a vague tip there was more to it.”

“I remember it,” Smyth said. “A guy killed himself over a girl.”

Gutterson nodded. “But I didn’t buy it was a suicide. There were inconsistences.”

Smyth said, “Like what?”

“Well, the victim had two gunshot wounds. Generally, in a suicide case, there’s only one shot—the sufferer isn’t physically able to shoot a second time.”

“Not impossible though.”

“No, but one of the shots was in the side of the neck. Suicides are usually in the mouth or side of the head. And the second shot was in the belly, through his shirt.”

“Okay, so you investigated.”

“I started looking into the place where he worked.”

Harding scratched at his cheek. “What’d you find?”

Gutterson pressed his lips together. “I couldn’t find anything wrong with what they were doing. I spent hours upon hours swiping records, digging through information about their operation. All their investments are clean. But… I started investigating their employment history. An above average number of their employees over the years have died—both from suicide and natural causes. But they didn’t die often and seemingly only in small groups.”

Camilleri said with her chin on the palm of her hand. “And?”

“Nothing really. I guess I went a little off the rails then. I didn’t want to let it go. I was convinced the company the man worked for had something to do with the murder. Like I said, there were inconsistencies. But the autopsy report painted a clear picture that it was suicide. I did some things outside the rules. I spent months trying to uncover more, interviewing people, accessing a limited number of public documents about the private company’s performance. But I kept finding locked doors and weak answers. It was as though I was fighting some invisible force. I approached people who worked for Janefield and chased down those who had left. But I wasn’t able to find any of them. Do you know how strange that is? That’s when I knew I was onto something.”

“You gave up though,” Camilleri said. She brushed a strand of long dark her behind her ear. For the first time, Gutterson saw seriousness in her expression. “If it was that important, why’d you let it go?”

“I’ve
never
let it go. But by then I had no choice. My wife passed away during that time. But by the end of it, I couldn’t think straight; couldn’t make sense of it all. The department shut the case down; apparently I’d pissed off a lot of people. Claimed I was bothering current employees and they were making noise. I made some real enemies in the department. They said I did things unbecoming a detective—like taking bribes. It was all false.” He grit his teeth, unearthing bitter memories buried deep in his bones. “It was all kept pretty quiet.”

“We knew something was going on,” Camilleri said. “But nobody would talk about it.”

“I didn’t even get the chance to move to another case. There was a small enquiry about my behavior. They said I breached a whole heap of rules and policies.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, head down. “You know what the government is like these days about
proper behavior.
They don’t want to look bad in the eyes of the public. I think they wanted to terminate my employment, but the captain fought for me and got an indefinite suspension. But if I didn’t have a job with the NYPD, I’d lose my badge permanently. Thankfully, the captain found an admin role that kept me around. I’m guessing it had something to do with my father.”

“Tough break,” Smyth said. “Your wife and all. I’m sorry.”

“What about your old man?” Camilleri asked. “Talk was you got an easy ride into the department because of him.”

Gutterson shrugged. “Maybe. I did the time though, at least through college and in the academy. I majored in criminal justice, and finished the police academy top of the class. They fast-tracked me straight into detective work. I’d cut my teeth on every homicide computer-modeling program in the country.” He considered what Camilleri had said. “Perhaps they helped me along because of my father. But I’d solved a string of cases before the Janefield file arrived.”

“All right,” Smyth said. “I think we’ve got what we needed.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at the others. Nobody spoke. “So what’s the story with this new suicide? Don’t tell me it’s the same company again?”

“
Yes.
It is indeed.” Surprise washed over all their faces. Gutterson hung on that. He didn’t want to play his entire hand yet. “I’m waiting on some information, but I believe it will tell us a similar story.”

“He’s never let this go,” Smyth said to Camilleri.

“Before I lost my badge, I copied the files and took them home to my apartment and picked through them, trying to find the missing link. I’ve looked at them every day for the last eighteen months.” He poked his finger at the table and punched it down with each word. “There is something wrong with this company.”

Camilleri sat up. “Okay, but you said there were other suicides in the past. What if this new death was just a plain old suicide? What if a guy who works there just got sick of life and topped himself?”

“What about the autopsy report?” Smyth said.

Gutterson shook his head knowingly. “Yeah, that’ll say suicide too. But I know different.”

Harding leaned forward on the table, hands folded. “How?”

“I’ll share that with you soon… once I have the evidence.” The other three exchanged glances.

Harding’s face twisted into an apologetic look. “Look, John, if you’re not going to be open and honest with us, it ain’t gonna work. We understand your situation. You’ve been angling to get your badge back forever, but is this a last minute attempt, or is there something here we can work with?

Camilleri added: “Or are you just wasting our time on a case you didn’t solve years ago? Maybe you weren’t able to let go of it.”

“I’m not wasting your time.”

“I mean, shit,” Harding continued, “You know what the courts are like nowadays. Hard evidence is all that matters.”

Camilleri’s eyes narrowed. “You know more than you’re telling us.”

A humorless chuckle escaped Gutterson. He leaned back in the chair, catching himself as the floating mechanism locked in on his resting weight. “I don’t know much more. But, as you know, my old man was a cop with the NYPD many years ago. We played strategy games at home on the gaming console and he taught me what the AI’s couldn’t—how to look behind the smoke and mirrors and underneath the rocks to find what others had missed. Whether I had it naturally, or he helped me develop it by playing all those games, I’ve got an instinct for it.” He waved a hand towards the tablets sitting on the table in front of them. “I don’t know what to tell you other than I
feel
it. It was telling me the same thing back then.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Yeah, I failed last time, but I’ve got another shot. And you guys are all in this team, at least for now, whether you like it or not and when I ask you to do something, I need you to do it, okay?” Camilleri ground her jaw. “And if you’ve got a problem with that, talk to the captain. He put you in this.”

“But somehow, you’ve convinced the Cap there’s something to it,” Camilleri said, scrutinizing him.

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way, he still believes in me. I don’t know why.” Gutterson looked around at them all. “This thing has been hanging over my life like a black cloud for three years. I couldn’t solve the case last time. But this one… now that I’ve got another shot at it, I won’t let it go without a result. We’ll find out the truth if it kills me.”

“Okay,” Harding said. “Where is it at now? You’ve got three detectives at your disposal.”

Gutterson cleared his throat. “We’re investigating a suicide, first and foremost. We’ll gather the evidence and if it turns out to be murder…”

“You sure you wanna open this up again?” Smyth asked. “I mean, if it caused you so much trouble last time, why bother?”

“Why did you become a cop?” Gutterson asked.

Smyth shrugged. “Make the world a better place.”

“Exactly. I believe there’s something going on here that makes the world a
bad
place.”

“So,” Camilleri said, tucking shiny strands of chocolate hair behind her head. With a different tone, she no longer seemed so horrible. “What’s the next step?”

Gutterson let the question hang, looking over their faces. “I estimate we have about a week at best to crack this thing.” He reached out and drew one of the tablets toward himself. “Let’s go over it all again; go through everything we know.”