Vigilantes (25 page)

Finally, she said, “It’s wrong for the police to murder anyone.”

“I agree,” Nyquist said.

“I don’t feel right cooperating with you,” she said.

“I know,” he said. He wanted to add that she should anyway—it was the only way to figure out who exactly killed Torkild Zhu.

“If you find those cops,” she said, “what’ll happen to them?”

“They’ll be arrested,” he said.

“So?” she asked. “Then what?”

“They’ll be treated like any other murderer,” he said.

She looked away at that moment, and he wondered if he lost her. Then she glanced at the ground where Zhu had been.

“Shouldn’t they be treated worse?” she asked quietly.

“If you believe that,” Nyquist said, “then you believe that the Peyti clones should be treated worse than other murderers as well.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Intellectually or emotionally?” he asked.

She grinned. The look surprised him. Then she shook her head.

“Touché, Detective.”

He nodded once. “Let me have your footage. I’d also like to interview everyone who saw or responded to the attack. Can you do that?”

She crossed her arms tightly, almost as if she were hugging herself. “You can interview me,” she said, “and I’ll give you the footage. As for the others, they have to decide for themselves.”

“Fair enough,” Nyquist said. “Fair enough.”

THIRTY-ONE

NERVES JUMPED IN Goudkins’ stomach as she headed back to the room everyone called the central conference room, but which she privately referred to as her office. She and Ostaka had been working in this place ever since Popova banned them from reception before the Peyti Crisis.

Since then, they had taken over the entire room.

It was comfortable, with windows on all four sides. The windows opened onto the corridors, but that didn’t matter. It made Goudkins feel like she was in the center of everything.

Apparently, the room had initially been designed for Popova, but she hadn’t been able to see the elevators from here, so she moved into what Goudkins would have called the hallway. Popova had to control everything when it came to who was on the floor and where they were going.

In the offices where Goudkins usually worked, some kind of android handled reception.

Popova was too important for reception—she was DeRicci’s right hand (and more)—but she needed to know everything happening on the floor, maybe even in Armstrong, and she felt that this room was simply too isolated.

It was a little isolated, which was why Goudkins relaxed a little here. She could get work done without being bothered.

Although after the meeting with DeRicci, Goudkins knew that her days in this particular office were numbered. She couldn’t do the kind of research that DeRicci wanted from here. It would be traced back to the Moon.

Goudkins would have to do the research from her ship, which was dicey all by itself. She had sworn she wouldn’t let Ostaka know what she was doing. They didn’t share a ship; they had arrived at different times from different places, but because they were partners on this case, they had access to each other’s ships.

And, in theory, both partners kept track of each other.

Ostaka was hunched over a screen, a steaming cup of coffee beside him. He was the only person in the building who looked like he hadn’t missed a meal or a night’s sleep. He said that was because he’d been through a lot of tight situations before, and he was used to them.

Goudkins believed he looked—and stayed—calm because he had nothing to care about here. He hadn’t lost anyone on the Moon during Anniversary Day, like she had, and he counted the Peyti Crisis as a win, even though there had been a lot of collateral damage.

He really hadn’t been that involved on the day of the crisis either, so he hadn’t seen everything in real time.

She wondered if it would have affected him; she had no idea. Even after weeks of working with him, she didn’t know what he did or didn’t feel passionate about. He had no real family anywhere, although she had no idea if he had had a family once, and he was tight-lipped about his friends.

He was one of those people who had become all about the job and, in her opinion, it showed.

“Did you find out what happened to the Peyti clones off-Moon?” she asked as she slid a screen toward her. She would probably do some preliminary set up here, then claim she needed to investigate with their secure systems…if she told him what she was doing at all.

He looked up at her, a frown on his face. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s important,” Goudkins said.

He shrugged. “The presence of those clones off Moon got reported up the food chain. I’m sure that someone took care of it. We don’t need to double-check everyone’s work.”

Her breath caught. “I think we do. Other people could die if there’s going to be a second attack with those clones, and people off the Moon don’t seem to understand how serious this all is.”

You don’t seem to understand how serious this all is
, she almost added, but didn’t. It was hard to keep quiet about his attitude. She didn’t want to alienate him further.

“It’s not our job,” he said, looking down. “We’re investigating here.”

“The chief asked us—

“And we don’t work for her,” Ostaka snapped. “You might do well to remember that.”

Goudkins cheeks warmed.

“I thought we decided to work together so we wouldn’t duplicate investigations,” she said after a moment.

He shrugged again. Whatever was on the screen seemed a lot more important to him than this conversation.

“Lawrence,” she said. “We agreed—”

“You’re too emotionally involved.” He didn’t even look up as he said that. “I’ve already reported that to headquarters. You really are paying attention to the wrong things.”

She crossed her arms. “You want to tell me what you’re doing? What you’ve discovered? Because as far as I can tell, you haven’t made a single breakthrough in any of these cases.”

“I’m reviewing entry logs for the port,” he said. “I’m tracking the Frémont clones.”

“Back to where?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. She had tracked them on the way here. The ships had come from a variety of places, and the Frémont clones had met here. What he was investigating had already led Goudkins nowhere.

“I figure we look at how they paid for their transport.”

“I already did that,” she said. “So did the Port of Armstrong. We’ve come up with nothing. You’re duplicating a five-month old investigation.”

He raised his head, looking at her over the screen. “Reviewing old work for missed information is a legitimate investigation tactic. In fact, it should be done on cases like this where the initial investigators were too tired, too stressed, and too emotional to do a good job.”

She let out a small breath. “You’re serious.”

He nodded.

“The Moon’s been attacked twice, and all you can think to do is repeat investigations that are closed. You’re not following new leads and you’re not doing anything of value.”

“That’s your opinion,” he said, “and as I noted when I reported to headquarters, you’re too emotionally involved to have any clear-eyed view of any investigation.”

She remained quiet for a long moment, not trusting herself to speak. If she said anything, she would sound as emotionally off the beam as he accused her of being.

When she could trust her voice, she said, “No wonder you’re always available for the next job. You have no ability to see beyond your own ego. You’re one of those little men who are so insecure about their own abilities that the only way you can succeed is by tearing down others.”

His eyebrows went up. Had no one spoken to him like this before?

“Well,” she said, “a person like you might do well in standard investigations. But this one isn’t standard. It involves millions of lost lives, and a lot of work to prevent another attack. You pride yourself on being the only one who sees everything clearly, but you see nothing. You only want the next promotion.”

His mouth twisted into a condescending smile. “You have no control over my career. We’re colleagues. You’re not my boss.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not, so I’m not going to worry about the way you waste your time. I’ll just request another partner. Excuse me.”

She left the room and made herself breathe deeply. And then she smiled.

A real smile.

She had recorded their entire conversation, which would help in her request to replace him. Even if he had been reporting bad things on her, it didn’t matter. His contempt would get him taken off this job.

But all of that mattered even less than the gift he had just given her. His ego had just enabled her to work on her ship with the secure connection, and not explain why she needed to.

He would think she was doing it just to tattle on him—and, truth be told, she was. But she would stay there and investigate all the things that DeRicci had asked for, because, unlike Ostaka, Goudkins believed in cooperation.

She and DeRicci wanted the same thing.

They wanted to solve these attacks on the Moon.

They wanted to prevent another attack on the Moon.

And they wanted to keep the Alliance stable.

Ostaka might say he wanted those things, but it would only be lip service. He really wanted to keep moving up in the bureaucracy—and he didn’t care who he stepped on to do it.

He might have stepped on her these last few weeks, but he had picked the wrong target.

She would get him out of this investigation, and she would figure out what was going on here, if that were the last thing she ever did.

THIRTY-TWO

SENG DIDN’T KNOW what to think of the rumpled detective standing before her. Bartholomew Nyquist’s clothing needed tailoring, and his face seemed mismatched.

Halfway through their conversation, Seng realized that Nyquist’s face was horribly scarred, and he hadn’t used any enhancements to fix it. Which meant that the grey threading his hair was probably natural as well.

He looked tired and sadder than anyone had a right to. But he seemed sincere.

She had watched him from the moment he arrived. After she had shouted at him through the building’s security system, he had paced the area where Zhu had died, picking up little things, and putting them in evidence bags. She made sure that the guard had recorded all of his actions, although she knew everything was on the security feed as well.

When Salehi got here, he would have to deal with the guard and the security firm he had hired. The guard had said that the crime scene lasers were no longer necessary, that they interfered with his work, and that they needed to be taken down.

If Nyquist was to be believed, then the guard had made a huge error, one that could have an impact on Zhu’s murder case. If there ever was a murder case.

She wasn’t sure she believed Nyquist on that.

She wasn’t sure she believed him on anything.

Still, he had come here—alone—and he seemed sincere. She particularly liked his answer to the question about justice for the Peyti clones. He had delineated between an intellectual response and an emotional one.

She was having the same sort of response to Zhu’s death.

She had a hunch that Nyquist knew it.

“I’ll send you the footage,” she said, her heart hammering against her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was reacting that way because she was afraid of Nyquist, afraid of what he would do with the information, or afraid of what might happen to her if Salehi found out she was cooperating with the local police. “Do you have a secure link?”

This is it,
he sent her.
Send the footage on this link
.

She had about a half a second in which to back out. She ignored that half second and sent the footage—all of the footage—from the entire day.

Her mouth had gone dry.

Thank you
, Nyquist sent.

She nodded.

“Now,” he said aloud. “Can I ask you some questions?”

She glanced at the guard. She didn’t want him to hear anything.

“We probably should go inside,” Nyquist said.

“No,” she said firmly. She knew Salehi wouldn’t approve of that. Zhu wouldn’t have either. Neither of them would want the police to know how very new this law firm was. Nor would they want the police to know how inexperienced the lawyers were—at least with Armstrong law.

“It looks like you want to talk in private,” Nyquist said. “I just thought…”

“Here’s fine,” she said, arms still crossed.

“All right,” he said quietly. He glanced at the guard too, as if the guard’s presence bothered him as well. “Let’s start at the beginning.”