Sins of the Father (10 page)

In response to the question, Vinley leaned forward across the desk and fixed her with a morose and glowering stare.

"According to Psi-Judge Lang," he said, "the murder was committed by a child."

There was a sound from the outer office; the metal shriek of a door lock being forced wide against its will. Acting with a smoothness built on years of experience, his hand went to the top drawer of his desk. The drawer was open and the gun was in his hand without him even needing to think of it. He stood, and advanced quietly to his office door, feeling the protesting groan of his joints at the sudden movement. The face which greeted him in the mirror each morning was so young and new, he sometimes almost forget just how old he really was.

He listened at the door and heard nothing. For a moment, he considered whether to call for help. He could stay in the safety of his office, take cover behind his desk, and wait to see if the intruder in the outer room decided to risk coming in there after him. But the idea sat poorly with him. Granted, he was an old man, but he had always dealt with such matters directly. Besides, if he left it to others to solve his problems, the rumour might start to get around that he was going soft. In his world, it was a short run from rumours like that to a sentence of death.

He pulled the door open swiftly. Too late, it occurred to him he had made himself the perfect target. He was silhouetted in the doorway, the lights of his office burning brightly behind him. He should have turned them off before he opened the door. Age, it seemed, had robbed his instincts of some of their sharpness. Silently cursing, he stepped quickly into the outer office. Ahead, the room was dark. Acutely aware of the vulnerability of his position, he resolved to spit in the Devil's eye and seize control of the initiative.

"Who's there?" he called out.

He strode forward, fearless, into the darkness. It felt like the old days, when he had done his own killing instead of farming the job out to hired guns.

"Who's there?" he called out again.

The room was silent, but he knew he was not alone. He was being watched. He felt it in the hairs at the back of his neck.

"I know you're there." He waited, eyes keenly scanning the darkness, waiting for his unseen adversary to give himself away. "I can hear you. I can hear you breathing."

The last part was a lie, but it was a trick that had served him well in the past. Briefly, he wondered who the intruder might be. Not an assassin, that much was clear. If this had been a hit, they would have come in with guns blazing, instead of skulking around in the dark. Most likely a burglar then. Some cheap street punk had picked the wrong office to break into. Now, he would make him pay for the mistake with his life.

"The Judges are on the way," he lied again, trying to draw the intruder out. "I called them."

He moved forward, past a small table with a lamp on it. Unconsciously, his eyes strayed to the lamp. Perhaps he should turn it on...

There was movement in the darkness. A blurred shape rose behind a desk and hurtled towards him. He tried to bring the pistol to bear. It was too late. He felt his fingers splinter as the gun was knocked from his hand. He tried to scream, but there were two huge hands around his throat. He felt his body lifted into the air, his feet flailing uselessly beneath him.

Pressure. He could not breathe. The hands around his throat squeezed tighter. He clawed desperately at the intruder's arms, trying to break his grip. The hands at his throat were too strong. The world seemed to fade and blacken around the edges. His body began to shake with uncontrollable tremors. Horror-struck, he realised he was dying.

No! It was impossible! He couldn't die! Not like this! He was important. A man of power and influence. A man of will. He couldn't go out this way! He was...

Abruptly, through the darkening haze of his vision, he saw the face of his killer. A young boy, no more than seven or eight years of age, his face set in determined and vengeful lines. The face looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place it. He saw the boy's mouth move, but he could not hear the words above the thunder squall rush of blood inside his head. The boy's eyes burned with bitter rage. They seemed to bore into his very soul.

He was dying. The world was growing dim and dark.

The last thing he saw was the boy smiling...

"Anderson!"

Pressure... The darkening haze... Hands tight around his throat...

"Anderson!"

The boy was smiling... His eyes burned with bitter rage... They bored into his soul...

"Anderson!"

She was kneeling beside the body... The dead man's forehead cool against her palm... She could hear someone choking... Choking... She could hear herself choking...

"Anderson!"

Opening her eyes, Anderson drew back from the body with a start. She gasped hungrily for breath, feeling an intense rush of relief as the air reached her lungs. The contact was broken; lingering memories of death and murder fading away like mist before the rising sun. Still groggy in the aftermath of the psi-scan, she looked about her to regain her bearings. She was in the outer office, the body of James Nales lying on the floor before her. The Tek-Judge, Tolsen, was kneeling beside her, his hand raised to her shoulder in a gesture of concern.

"Are you Okay?" he asked her. "You were in the middle of the psi-scan when you suddenly started choking. For a minute there, I thought you were going to need CPR."

"Psychosomatic transference," she banished his concern with a shrug and a tired smile. "It happens sometimes with a psi-scan. You get so caught up in the victim's last moments, you experience the same physical sensations they did. It only happens when the psychic traces from the scan are particularly vivid." She felt gingerly at her own throat. "In this case, maybe a little bit too vivid."

"You're sure you're Okay then?" The Tek-Judge seemed uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.

"I'm fine," she said. "Though I appreciate the concern. Really."

As they both began to stand, Anderson abruptly noticed a new figure had entered the room. A Psi-Judge stood just inside the doorway, her arms crossed in front of her, a scattering of freckles on her cheeks and her mouth set in stoic, unwelcoming line. Anderson recognised her immediately.

"You must be Lang?" Anderson said.

The newcomer nodded, her expression guarded and wary.

"Well, there's good news and there's bad news," Anderson told her, smiling in an attempt to put the other woman at her ease. "The good news is I got exactly the same results from my psi-scan as you did from yours. According to the victim's memories, the killer was a child. The bad news is, we already had a giant perp and a victim who is forty-odd years older than he looks.

"Now, this entire case just got a hell of a lot more weird."

FIVE

INVISIBLE PEOPLE

The big sacks of synthi-caf granules weighed a hundred kilogrammes each, Daniel had told him, reading from the labels on the side. They were light enough that Leonard tended to carry them two at a time, lifting one in each hand as he hauled them from the storeroom on the bottom floor of the warehouse to the grinding machine up on level three. The freight elevator was broken so he had to carry them up the stairs, careful to make sure the sacks didn't catch on the rough edges of the metal banisters and spill open. It was easy work though, so Leonard didn't complain. He never complained, he just did what people told him, whether it was Daniel, Freddie Binns, or any of the people who worked in the warehouse with him. That way, it kept his life simple.

The people working the grinding machine ignored Leonard as he approached. It was always the same. They were mutants, just like he was, but they refused to even look at him. Leonard could never figure out whether it was because they were scared of him, or they thought he was too unimportant to be bothered with. He had been working in the warehouse for nearly a month now, ferrying sacks back and forth from the storeroom to the grinding machine, and never once had the people working it even acknowledged his existence. It was not so much that they didn't talk to him - the noise from the machine was so loud, he couldn't have heard what they were saying if they had tried - they did not nod, or wave, or even smile as he walked by. They kept to their work, acting as though he wasn't there.

As Leonard added the two new sacks to the pile beside the machine, two men began to drag another one of the sacks away. Straining at the effort, they lifted the sack up between them towards the machine's hopper and cut open the top of the bag to tip its contents into the grinder. The blades of the machine seemed to shriek for a moment, the intensity of the noise diminishing as the granules were reduced and smoothed out to a fine powder that was deposited into a waiting sack at the other end of the machine. Leonard had watched the whole process so many times, it no longer held his interest. Instead, he turned away from the machine and began to head back to the stairs.

It's kind of rude, the way they never talk to you
, Daniel said as he walked beside him. Because there were other people about, the boy had reverted to whispering things directly into Leonard's mind instead of saying them out loud.
You ever think you could teach them a lesson? You could play a trick on them, maybe pretend you were going to push one of them into the grinder. That would scare them. Imagine the look on their faces!

It wouldn't be right, Daniel
, Leonard told him, shaking his head slowly. Sometimes, it was like his friend didn't understand that the machines in the warehouse were dangerous.
Somebody could get hurt. And, then, I could lose my job
.

I guess
, Daniel sighed.
Still, it's not right the way they always ignore you - especially considering how much they need you. I'd like to see what they'd do if you weren't here to help them. I'd like to see them dragging their own bags up from the storeroom. Then, maybe they'd wish they hadn't been so rude
.

It doesn't matter, Daniel
, Leonard shook his head, more fiercely.
I need the job for the money. Living in the city isn't like being in the Cursed Earth. You can't just hunt for food, or scavenge for the things you want. You've got to buy them. You heard what Freddie said. That's what civilisation is all about
.

If you say so
, Daniel shrugged. Already, the little boy seemed bored with the conversation, his thoughts distracted by something he had spotted elsewhere in the warehouse. As they made their way towards the stairs, Daniel suddenly tugged on the tails of Leonard's coat to get his attention and pointed towards the approaching figure of Leonard's boss, Freddie Binns, as he marched across the warehouse towards them. Freddie did not look happy.

Uh-oh
, Daniel said, the words echoing in a sing-song tone inside Leonard's head.
Don't look now, but I think you're in trouble
.

Freddie Binns was a charge-boss, and it was his job to recruit mutant labourers to work in places like the warehouse. Leonard had first met Freddie six months back, soon after he had come over the West Wall into the city from the Cursed Earth. In common with most other things in his life, Leonard had not given any great thought to what he would do once he was inside the city. He had wanted to find his mother, of course. Other than that, he had not planned how he would find food, or a place to live, or even where he would go after he got over the wall. Unlike most mutants, Leonard had actually been born in Mega-City One, but it made little difference; he had been thrown out of the city when he was three years old, and he knew no more about the city's geography than he did the surface of the moon. Lost and unsure of his bearings, he had wandered the deserted streets of City Bottom for days, eating rats and scavenging from garbage dumps, until he came across a group of fellow mutants camped out in the ruins of an old church.

At first the other mutants had been wary of him, but eventually one of them had explained what they were doing there. Apparently, they had made it over the Wall a week earlier. The snakeheads they had paid to lead them into the city had abandoned them at the church and told them to wait. A man would be coming who would find them all jobs, the snakeheads had said. By the time Leonard found them the mutants were starving, and by offering to hunt and scavenge food for them he persuaded them to let him wait with them. After a couple more days, a van had driven up and Freddie Binns had been behind the wheel. He had told Leonard and the mutants that he had jobs for all them. "This is the Big Meg, friends," Freddie had smiled at them with a mouth full of shining white teeth. "This is the land of opportunity you all heard about. Just make sure you stick with me and you won't go wrong."

Now, Freddie was no longer smiling.

"Lenny?" Freddie said, a scowl on his face as he looked up at Leonard. "Where in hell have you been?"

"Uh... I been in the storeroom, Freddie," Leonard said, pointing a finger towards the stairway. He didn't like it when people called him "Lenny", but right then it didn't seem the best time to mention it. "You know, to fetch the sacks of synthi-caf, like you told me..."

"I don't mean where have you just been, Lenny," the scowl on Freddie's face deepened. "I meant, where were you earlier? An hour ago? I looked around the entire place and I couldn't find you!"

"Oh that..." Flummoxed, Leonard looked to Daniel for inspiration, but the boy had lost interest in what they were saying and had turned to watch the men working on the grinder. Meanwhile, in common with most people, Freddie did not seem to notice Daniel was even there. It was like the little boy was invisible to him. "I... uh... My head started to hurt and I thought some air might help... I went outside for a walk."

"You went out for a walk!" Freddie looked horrified, his voice rising high enough above the din of the grinder that the men there lifted their heads from the machine and glanced at them. "Are you crazy? You're a mutie, Lenny! What if somebody had seen you?"

"Oh, I was careful, Freddie." Leonard lifted his hand to his face. "I know what I look like. I know I can't let anybody see me. I stayed out of sight-"