Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (8 page)

As it turned out though, they didn’t know much at all.

In had been a week since the death of Dom Curwood, and the whispers and innuendo amongst the staff were finally starting to die down. Stage one was complete. Stage two was imminent. Jennings fed off the employees concerns, knowing their faith in Fox was diminishing every day. Stage two would erode their faith in the CEO even more, and create the ideal groundwork for the final stages of their plan and, subsequently, Jennings’ takeover of the division.

He had watched Fox carefully in recent weeks, noting the change in the man’s demeanor and spirit.
He feels the end coming
, Jennings thought. What encouraged him more was that Fox had neither any idea what was occurring under his nose, nor from where the attack was coming. Even if he did, he couldn’t possibly suspect Jennings, one of his most loyal supporters.

Jennings ate cold chicken and dressed salad alone in the small dining room at the back of his office while he went over the division’s poor revenue numbers. He had already sent a list of ideas for improvement to Chekov several days ago. It was really quite simple. Fox had asked him to look at options, to which Jennings had come back with none. The old man had never even challenged him.

As he finished off the last slice of chicken, two beeps sounded from the screen on his desk. Jennings tapped a hard spot on the skin behind his right ear. The chip performed its magic and carried the sound from the computer terminal to his ear. “Jennings.”

“Mr. Jennings. How are things in New York?”

Jennings shifted uneasily in his seat.
Chekov.
“Fine, sir.”

“I won’t take too much of your time, Mr. Jennings. It appears stage one has been a success. Fox appeared unnerved at the board meeting. Does he have any idea of what is occurring around him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good. How are revenues this week?”

“Even worse, sir. If it keeps going, we’ll need a mass event to balance things out.”

“A mass event… it might be time for that. Is there any chance he might be working on a plan to rectify the numbers without your knowledge? They might be descending, but in theory he might still turn things around.”

“I’ve got our head of security monitoring his activities. Fox is not doing much at all. No extra meetings. His working hours at the office haven’t been extended. It’s almost like he’s just letting things play out.”

“We must be very careful. I wrote him off once before, and will never do it again. He’s experienced and cunning. He will make it appear as though he’s behaving one way when he’s planning to act in another.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How did the other employees receive the news of Curwood’s death?”

“With shock. People are worried.”

“It will likely affect their results in the short term, but that’s an unavoidable risk. Do you have your second target selected?”

“I do, sir.”

“What about the others—those close to him? Do they suspect anything?”

“Adler, Bright, Pirez, and Billings are all loyal to him; I’m watching them closely. The others will all follow me.”

“Are they loyal to him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The others will get the message after the next one. Make sure they don’t interrupt our plans. We can’t have anybody sympathizing with Fox or trying to energize him into fighting back. We have to subtly show he’s finished, but not incite a hard line response from sympathizers. The company still needs to function normally.”

“I understand, sir.”

“What about this new virus?”

Jennings sat forward. “It’s a terrible form of gastroenteritis. I’ve had a secret team down at the Doublewide research facility working on it. In fact, I wonder if it’s too potent—”

“I don’t want to hear that kind of talk, Mr. Jennings. At the rate your population numbers are climbing, you’ll need more than a virus. New York hasn’t had a good dose of stomach bug since the outbreak in ’38. When will it be ready?”

“Next month.”

“Too late. Bring it forward. We need it sooner—third week of July at the latest. The doctors, hospitals, and pharmaceutical people need people to use the medicines and vaccines on. They need patients, but it can’t take too long. Is this our design, or are we leasing it from elsewhere?”

“No, it’s ours. We have a new wonder kid in the lab creating incredible new illnesses. If this one works well, we’ll have the rest of the US and the world borrowing from us.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thinking we need here. What about a vaccination?”

“We’ll have one ready before the release date, but it won’t be made available to the public for some time yet. We’re working on a patent brief now.”

“Good. Good. And you’re confident this will push the numbers back up?”

“It will break all records.” Chekov was silent. “In your estimation, sir, how long before Fox is out?”

“As soon as you deliver this next project. Are you ready for this?”

Jennings wondered. Was he? Yes.
Oh yes.
He felt the pull of power. He wanted this. He had worked hard for it and waited patiently, squirming for freedom under Fox’s stupidity, watching Fox and his incompetent cohorts slowly destroy the company. “Yes, sir, I’m ready.”

“Very good. Everybody is waiting for someone to make a move. And that move is us—more specifically,
you
. If you want the role, Mr. Jennings, you must make the play. Otherwise somebody else will do it for you.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t fail me on this, Mr. Jennings. You won’t get another opportunity. I can’t endorse a man who isn’t able to quickly clean up a mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make it happen, and I promise you’ll have full control of your division to do with as you please.”

Jennings understood exactly what he had to do.

Gutterson stood in the doorway of the processing area watching as several offenders waited to be administered. The city had not replaced all beat cops with ‘Bots, but they had begun trialing them at stations, where an increasing number of confrontations between officers and offenders had resulted in several terrible injuries and too much bad publicity. Until two days ago, Gutterson wouldn’t have been permitted to stand watching the processing room, but with his badge returned, he now had greater access to the station.

Two offenders stood in a line leading to a counter, where a ‘Bot sat processing. It would fingerprint them, take a DNA sample, and cross-reference the data against existing information in the system. From there, they’d be pushed to a holding area and dealt with by human officers.

Aside from Gutterson standing in the doorway, there was only one police officer in the room, watching from behind the serving ‘Bot. He was there to ensure all protocols were followed, and to step in if things became unruly. Several more ‘Bot’s stood at intervals along the wall, a set of electrified pinchers extending from their hands, ready to apply discipline if required.

Gutterson was poised to leave when one of the men at the rear shoved the man standing in front. The second man threw a punch. In a moment, both were grappling. Two of the wall ‘Bot’s shot forward, each isolating a man. A sharp buzzing noise sounded like an old bug zapper, and both men fell to the floor. The ‘Bot’s converged and the fracas was over in seconds. As a kid, Gutterson’s old man had brought him into the station. Things had changed so much since then. He wondered how long before artificial intelligence replaced all the police officers.

He found Camilleri alone in the conference room. She was reading through one of the old documents Gutterson had brought in from his home files. “What do you think?” Gutterson asked, pulling a seat out from the conference table. Camilleri twisted her face with uncertainty. It was bizarre that the same person he’d told to fuck off a week ago was now helping him on a case.

“We need to get all the latest information on the victim. Who was the attending officer?”

“Vasquez, I think. Smyth is chasing it down for us.”

“Have we got the autopsy report yet?”

“On its way.”

“I think we need to talk to some of his colleagues. See what they say about him, whether he was likely to have committed suicide or not. Find out if he was in any kind of trouble.”

“Makes sense.”

“We’ll need approvals for that though.” Gutterson nodded. “You do know what they are, don’t you?” A joke. It stunned Gutterson for a moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but she beat him to it, a quirky smile. “Just remember we can’t do anything without approvals.”

“I know.” He leaned forward and took a document off the table. “I’ll asking Harding to put in for them. Where is he? And Smyth?”

“Lunch.”

“Still?” Camilleri gave him a look. “Are they coming back?”

“They’ll be back, but they’ve got other cases. Cap might have assigned us to help, but we have plenty of other work just as important.”

“I know.” He
had
known this, but wished he might inspire them to give his case more time. He would keep trying. “Why didn’t you go with them? They were pretty keen for you to come along.”

She scoffed. “Sure they were. But I wanted to get through some of this stuff. The quicker we solve it, the quicker I can get back to my own cases.”

And the quicker I’ll be sent back to admin,
Gutterson thought. He nestled into the chair and checked his tablet for messages. The autopsy report had arrived. He sent it across to Camilleri, who swiped it open and began to read.

He watched her concentrating on the images and details with an intense curiosity. She might just be helpful to him. Twelve months of loathing her made Gutterson’s feelings of gratitude seem strange though.

Her dark eyes narrowed. “The forensic pathologist says it’s a straight forward suicide. Pills. Overdose.” She looked up. “You said—”

“It’s bullshit.” She looked at him. Gutterson stared her down. “That’s it?” He shrugged. “Come on. You have to give me more than that.”

Gutterson scratched his skull. Did he trust her yet? No. She was only a day away from treating him like shit that had lasted for almost two years. People didn’t just change, and they didn’t get instant respect.

She sat forward. “I’m in this with you. If there’s something here, we’ll find it. But no secrets, okay?”

Gutterson checked the hallway beyond the doorway for activity. He stood, walked over and shut the door then returned to the table and sat again. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this now—I’m not going to tell the others yet.
Don’t you either.
” Camilleri gave a curt nod. “I know someone at the morgue.” His voice became a whisper. “They told me there were signs that it wasn’t a straightforward suicide.”

Camilleri’s eyes had softened; her mouth hung open slightly. “Like what?”

“A head injury, suffered at the time of death.”

Camilleri thought. “Maybe they fell after they passed out.”

“It’s too specific. And too much trauma for that.”

“Okay, that’s something, granted. What else?”

“Some minor internal swelling of the throat.”

“They were choked? What about bruising around the neck?”

“No bruising.”

Camilleri swiped back through the electronic copy of the autopsy report. “Doesn’t say a single thing about any of that in here.” Gutterson looked at her. Camilleri’s eyes widened. “That’s a pretty big accusation. You able to stand by it in court?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. Though it gives us something to work on, knowing what’s going on.”

“A cover up?”

“Maybe.”

Camilleri raised her eyebrows. “Who would do something like that?”

“Someone who doesn’t want anybody to know the truth.”

She pulled a quirky face. “Maybe it has nothing to do with the company. Maybe he was in some kind of trouble. Financial debt or something.”

“We’ll pull his financial records.” Gutterson leaned forward and cocked his head sideways, thinking. “What about getting closer to someone who works for the Company?”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Although, I tried that last time, and there were no takers.”

“There’s usually always someone willing to speak out against immoral behavior, if that’s what’s going on. It’s just a matter of finding the person with moral sensibility amongst a group.”

“Assuming that still exists.”

“It always does. Even the most brutal regimes had decent people—for all the horrors of the Nazi party and the Japanese in World War II a hundred years ago, there were good people amongst the bad.”

“First and foremost, we gather evidence about Dominic Curwood’s death and see where it leads us. Can you run a probability model through the system yet?”

“We don’t have enough information.”

“Once we speak to some colleagues, gather some more background details about his family, we should be okay.”

“We never use the models. We like to make our own decisions.”

Gutterson leaned back. “I’m just after the computer’s opinion. It won’t hurt. Might tell us something we don’t know.”

“Fine. You’re running the show.” She pulled a scattering of documents towards herself. “I’m an early starter. Like to get in and get moving before everyone else. What time do you usually work until?”

“Depends on my kids. Usually their grandmother picks them up from after-school care, but she can’t make it tonight. I need to leave around five. I usually get in around seven-thirty.”

“No problem with me starting earlier than that?”

Gutterson shook his head. “None at all.” He watched her scanning the paperwork again, but he wanted to keep the dialogue going a bit longer, as though he was winning her over with each little discussion. “Listen, I’m glad you guys are helping on this case.”

She didn’t look up. “Just doing the job.”

He chuckled. “There she is. Thought we’d lost her for a moment.”

Camilleri looked up. “Who?” But she understood the moment the word was out. She made a face. “I know what they call me behind my back.”

“What’s that?”

“The
B
word.”

“Not fair?”

Camilleri’s face pinched. “I wouldn’t say—”

Gutterson nodded. “I would. You’ve been a bitch to me for a long time. It doesn’t have to be that way.”

She slumped back. “I don’t know. I got grilled pretty hard early on, and that was my response. I gave it back to the guys and now they expect it.”

“And what about me? I was never an asshole to you.”

“Maybe I assumed you were just like them. Or because you didn’t have a badge.” She waved her hand. “I didn’t know the circumstances then.” She tilted her head, acknowledging he might be right. “I guess I’ve got my own problems too, and sometimes I take them out on others.”

Gutterson waited for her to elaborate, but she returned to the document and silence fell over them.

The door opened and Gutterson glanced up, expecting the captain to come in and tell him to pack up his things, but the others shuffled in, talking loudly and joking with each other. Still, he couldn’t help feeling it all might end at any moment.