Inquisitor (3 page)

She suspected it had been done to divert attention from the electrocution case. A grizzly murder, body dumped in a public place. Who wouldn’t follow that trail instead of a dull domestic accident?

She wouldn’t.

Taking another sip of not-tea, Angel rubbed her eyes. A headache had begun to form, no doubt from too many hours without sleep.

She turned her thoughts back to Harry Smith, a name so ordinary and common she had almost laughed when reading it. He’d been a resident on the planet for almost fifteen years, married, one daughter. Harry worked for Mercurial Logic Incorporated, the corporation that owned most of the planet. He was a neural net researcher on what looked like the cutting edge of developing Advanced Intelligence. No surprises there; at least a few million others on Persephone worked for Mercurial, too.

She queried when the wife would be available for questioning, and almost immediately received an automated reply. This evening. Good. Though not at her home, but at an expensive café, which was out of the ordinary.

Angel frowned and delved deeper into the wife’s file. Nothing unusual stood out. A solid career in the food-processing industry as an accountant. Jessica, maiden name of Williams, almost as common as her husband’s name. She was also an immigrant to Persephone, fifteen years ago. Huh.

She brought up both Harry’s and Jessica’s files, comparing their landing date. Interesting. They had arrived on the same day, though both headed to different districts in the city, then years later moved to the same district within weeks of each other. Then they no doubt met, and their similar stories drew them closer together.

Angel gave a sigh, then abruptly closed the files and stood. She glanced at the screens then rubbed the back of her neck, massaging away the tension that had formed gradually throughout the morning. She squirted a message to Viktor and grabbed her leather jacket from the back of her chair. Shoveling the remaining pastry into her mouth, she left her temporary office behind.

•

Viktor met her outside a building owned by Mercurial Logic Incorporated, one surprisingly squat and unadorned. It was located in the main industrial district, which wasn’t a usual posting for a neural net researcher, unless, of course, he oversaw production of one of their products. But research was a long way from actual production. The building had vacant lots to either side and butted onto a park. In fact, when she stepped back and looked at the location, the building was rather forlorn. There wasn’t another structure within a hundred meters.

The file they had on Harry Smith identified this as his workplace. A small logo above the glass entrance doors was the only sign the corporation owned the building, and she noted two Law Enforcement Proxies to either side of the entryway, along with four more spread around the foyer inside.

Noticing her noticing the LEPs, Viktor sniffed at the machines, screwed his mouth up, and looked around as if for somewhere to spit. Luckily he didn’t, or she would have had to arrest him.

“They’re getting smarter,” he said flatly.

She kept her eyes surveying the building. “They serve a useful purpose,” she pointed out.

“Yeah? Next time I need a game of chess, I’ll give one a call. Do you think it’ll bring over some beers?”

“Not likely. Do you play chess?”

Viktor gave her an exasperated look. “That wasn’t my point. They will never be human. Processing power is no substitute for real sentience. What are these ones? 0.6s?”

Angel shrugged and checked her weapon for the third time. “Probably a little higher. We can check their IDs when we get closer.” Recent rumors told of one of the corporations developing an intellect quotient of up to 0.83 of standard human sentience, but she thought that unlikely. All the corporations seemed to be stuck at the 0.79 mark.

With a snort, Viktor fished around the inside of his coat for a few moments before bringing out his own gun. It was half again as big as hers. He checked its readout then re-holstered it.

“There may come a time when you need to get to it quicker than that,” Angel said dryly.

“Not these days. Nothing happens to us. And besides, backup is pretty much instantaneous.” He grinned at her.

Yeah, right…
“Backup wasn’t fast enough to save Travis.” An image of her previous partner bubbled to the surface of her mind, eyes blank and staring, the back half of his head missing. Angel rubbed her arms and swallowed with difficulty.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Paperwork’s just been approved, though only covers his office.”

“It figures. The building is too low key. Must be a research center.”

Angel nodded her agreement before striding toward the glass doors.

“How did you like the pastry?” Viktor asked.

“It was surprisingly good, thank you.”

“Purple nuts… Must be something in the soil.”

“Flavonoids.”

“Tastes okay, though.”

“Have you had lunch?”

Viktor shook his head. “Too busy following up the medical team’s report. Not in the mood for flavonoids anyway.”

They entered the foyer, a remarkably empty space. A few potted native plants lined the room, subtly guiding any visitors to the desk ahead of them, behind which sat a singularly attractive woman. Bob-cut platinum hair and a tight green dress accentuated her pixie-like face.

Angel felt the heads of the LEPs follow their path toward the desk, and could sense Viktor’s anticipation at meeting the receptionist as he drew ahead of her.

Without a word, he stepped in front of Angel, drawing back his coat to show the woman his none-too-subtle weapon.

“Oh my!” the pixie exclaimed, half standing. She glanced at the LEPs, and seeing no response, she settled back into her chair and gave them both a hesitant smile.

So, not quite as brainless as she’s pretending to be.

“Citizen,” Viktor said too loudly, “I am Deputy Field Inquisitor Lukin. And my fellow Inquisitor is Dr. Xia, of the House of Liwei.”

Angel tensed at his mention of her House.

“Oh!” exclaimed the woman for the second time. She was quite good at her act, really.

Viktor turned to Angel. “Though it’s a bit of a mouthful. Which do you prefer, Privileged or doctor?”

“Neither is fine.” Her partner never usually referred to her other official titles unless he wanted to impress or intimidate someone.

“Ah. Well, then.” He turned back to the pixie woman. “We have your corporation’s permission to examine the office of Harry Smith.”

Angel squirted copies of the paperwork to the corporation’s network and, anticipating the next demand, sent the pixie one as well.

The woman looked sideways at her around Viktor, addressing her as the senior of the two. It was likely she had never seen a Privileged in the flesh before. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask to see the paperwork and your credentials,” she said in a steady voice.

No, far from stupid, this one was. “Of course,” Angel replied, drawing her ID from her inside jacket pocket. She stepped forward and held it out to the woman, while Viktor did the same.

With immaculately manicured green-lacquered nails, the woman took both and ran them under a desktop scanner.

“All seems to be in order,” she said, eyes losing focus for a moment as she consulted her implants. “Ah, and I’ve received confirmation from the corporation, along with your copy of the paperwork.” She tilted her head in Angel’s direction. “If I may ask, what are you a doctor of?”

“Fairy tales,” replied Angel in a deadpan voice. “You know,
Rapunzel
, that sort of thing.” She waited for the usual surprised reaction, but instead of a puzzled frown, the pixie woman’s eyes lit up with sharp interest.

“Ah, that’s… fascinating. I’d imagine you wouldn’t have much time for study, being an Inquisitor.”

Angel smiled thinly. “It was a long time ago. When I dreamed of a better life.” When she and Mikal were still together, him busy with his software engineering company.

“Oh… well.” The pixie woman looked down at her desk, embarrassed, a slight flush on her cheeks. “You now have access to the office. It’s on one of the lower levels, I’m afraid: negative 6B.” The pixie gestured to her left. “The elevators are over there.”

“Thank you,” Viktor said gruffly, no doubt upset he hadn’t been able to work himself into the conversation.

Angel strode to the elevators, Viktor trailing behind. She could feel the pixie’s eyes on her back.

As soon as she touched the elevator pad, the doors cycled open. Minutes later they were stepping into the office of Harry Smith. The desk was empty, except for a brushed metal photo frame still flipping through images of a happy Mr. Smith next to a petite blonde woman Angel assumed was Mrs. Smith. Empty bookcases. Empty shelves. Empty of almost everything. Even the carpet had marks on it from being recently vacuumed.

Viktor cursed and roamed around the room, touching surfaces and looking into spaces. “Same as the other murders,” he muttered. “As soon as they hear we’re coming, they clean everything out. Hiding under the Corporate Privacy Act. Classified research, and all that.”

Angel cleared her throat. “I doubt they wait to hear we’re coming. As soon as they found out he was dead, they probably had a team strip the place.”

“How are we supposed to do our job if they hide all the evidence?”

“You do understand what ‘Inquisitor’ means, right? But maybe we aren’t. Maybe the cost of losing researchers is accounted for as a projected liability.”

Viktor looked at her in shock. “Do you think?”

“Probably. I wouldn’t be surprised.” She drew a plastic bag from a pocket and secured the frame. Probably the only piece of evidence they would find, if you could call it that.

“Ahem.”

They both turned at the sound. Angel reached for her hand-cannon.

In the doorway stood a fit-looking young man in a tailored suit. Neat and tidy from head to foot, not a hair out of place. He held out his hands in a placating gesture.

“Ah… I assume you’re the Inquisitors.”

The man’s voice was smooth and cultured. Angel pigeonholed him as a public relations type or a high-priced criminal lawyer.

“That’s correct,” Viktor said. “And you are?”

The man stepped into the room, and Angel caught a whiff of expensive cologne. There was an assured confidence about him, bordering on arrogance. She knew his type. They thought they were untouchable.

“Xavier. Vice president in charge of security. I’ve been assigned to make sure you have everything you need.”

“What we need,” grated Viktor through clenched teeth, “are the contents of this office. There might be clues to the death of Mr. Harry Smith.”

Mr. Xavier pointedly ignored Viktor and turned to regard Angel. “I believe you are in charge? His death was an accident.”

Angel didn’t reply, allowing Viktor to take the lead. It would be good for him to learn a little diplomacy, and Xavier was clearly growing agitated at having to speak with an underling. Good, let him sweat a little.

“She is, and I’m her partner,” Viktor said. “We would like the contents of this office.”

Raising his eyebrows at Angel, Xavier then nodded at Viktor. “I regret we can’t allow that. Mr. Smith’s work was highly classified, and it’s standard protocol in situations like this to remove all associated research to a secure location.”

“You have a standard protocol in case someone dies?” Viktor asked.

Xavier gave him a grim smile. “I’m afraid we do. We like to be prepared for all contingencies.”

They had seen similar bare offices and excuses from corporate flunkies at all of the previous murders. Their lack of concern for the truth looked to be getting to Viktor. Angel made a mental note to have a word with him later.

Angel took a step toward Xavier. “Lots of regrets and afraids,” she said softly. “You don’t seem like a man who regrets much or is afraid of anything.”

While she spoke, Viktor inched closer to Xavier and, as per their standard protocol, ran an imperceptible scan.

“Just an employee lucky enough to have been rewarded for hard work and loyalty with a position of some note. Nothing special. With a corporation of this size, there are plenty of us.”

Results from the scan scrolled down Angel’s vision. A modified body armor suit—Mercurial Logic Incorporated Mark IV Class II—two miniaturized missile guns, also manufactured by Mercurial Incorporated but not released to the public yet; and implants that would have bankrupted even a vice president of security. Which meant that he probably knew he had been scanned. Viktor had thoughtfully attached to the bottom of the scan confirmation that was Xavier’s official title. And Angel had no doubt that, officially, it was, and would hold up to any scrutiny.

She gave Xavier her best “fuck you” smile. “Well, thank you for your assistance.” She ran her eyes over the room in a final cursory once-over. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

“Of course.” Xavier stepped to the side, leaving a clear path to the door. “Anything you need, really.”

“There is one thing,” added Angel. “Why leave the photo frame?”

“Excuse me?”

She waved the evidence bag holding the frame at him. “Why take everything else and leave this? I mean, he had to have plenty of other stuff that wasn’t related to any research he was conducting, and it’s all been cleared out.”

Xavier gave her a puzzled look, and his smile slipped a little. A faint flush crept up his neck. “I hadn’t realized anything was left. The scrub-bot should have removed everything. If you would hand it over, I will make sure it reaches the correct place.” He held out a hand expectantly.

Angel shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. A personal photo frame isn’t classified, as far as I am aware. Viktor, could you confirm this?”

“I believe so,” replied her partner, warming to their small victory. “Under section seventeen, article two hundred and sixty-one of the Corporate Privacy Act, personal effects—including but not limited to visual display devices containing images of offspring or civil partners—do not fall under the definition of classified work data or materials.”

Xavier paused as he consulted his implants, then withdrew his hand. “It seems you’re correct. I expect we will revise our protocols.”