Vigilantes (28 page)

Oh, her dad helped. But her mother had lied to him too. Repeatedly. And he couldn’t do anything about it either.

Both of them had unresolved feelings for Talia’s mother. Feelings just lingered, like a bad smell. Only she couldn’t open a window and make them go away.

She got up, and got herself some water. Then she leaned on the sink for a few minutes.

Unresolved.

Forever
.

She’d lost so much. Her mother. Kaleb. Her safe haven—on Valhalla Basin and here, in Armstrong.

Her identity.

Tell me why it’s so important to add the ‘Shindo’ to your name.

I keep the name because it’s
mine
now. No one else has that name. Just me.

And
, she thought,
I am alone
.

That was the core of it all. She had to deal with all of these unresolved emotions on her own. She wasn’t who she had thought she was. Her mother hadn’t been who anyone thought she was. And Kaleb—well, Talia never did figure out who he was.

Plus…those Peyti lawyers. They weren’t what anyone thought they were either.

And clones. Everyone thought they knew clones now, and they didn’t.

Especially not Mr. Stupid Llewynn.

Talia went back to the table, and picked up her fork.

Weird how putting things into perspective actually made her feel better.

Weirder still how some idiot like Mr. Stupid Llewynn could help her put things into perspective.

Maybe he would have been a good therapist—for a non-clone.

He’d been good for Popova, after all.

Talia ate slowly, savoring each bite. The food finally had flavor again, and she knew the difference was her. She felt a little more like herself for a change.

Her new self.

Talia, Miles Flint’s daughter. The straight-A student at Aristotle Academy. The girl who didn’t make friends easily and occasionally pissed people off. The girl who was so smart that people in the Security Office wanted her help.

The girl who had somehow managed to build a life for herself after her other one imploded.

She set her fork down.

She was tired.

But it wasn’t the exhaustion of depression. It was the exhaustion that came after a long run, after some hard work, after too many late nights.

She pushed the carton aside, and rested her forehead on her arms.

Just a little sleep and she’d be better.

Maybe Detective Nyquist was right.

Maybe they were starting to make progress.

Maybe she was.

And it was about time.

THIRTY-SIX

THE YOUNG GUY next door was wrong about one thing: “Old Man Sevryn” wasn’t old. But he was a son of a bitch.

Nyquist had to put his badge against the door before Sevryn would open the door.

“We’re closed,” Sevryn said. “And I’m out of everything.”

Nyquist pushed his way in. The deli was small. It had four tables near the window up front, a display cabinet that was now empty, and a rotating holographic display that still showed slices of various sausages and lunch meats.

The place smelled faintly of coffee, rye bread, and cheese.

“I know you’re closed,” Nyquist said, thinking Sevryn’s statements were a little odd.

“Well, I’m not giving leftovers to the department,” Sevryn said, shaking his head as he closed the door. He didn’t move, though, remaining near the entrance. “My business is down since the Peyti Crisis. I can’t afford to give away stuff.”

Nyquist let out a small breath. Someone in the police department was extorting food from Sevryn? Nyquist would look into that.

But first, he wanted to talk about Zhu.

“I’m not here about food,” Nyquist said, although as he spoke, his stomach made a liar out of him. It growled.

Sevryn rolled his eyes.

Nyquist ignored the reaction.

“I’m here,” Nyquist said, “because a man was murdered not too far from here.”

“That lawyer?” Sevryn said.

That was interesting. The young guy next door hadn’t known what Zhu was—or hadn’t said he knew. But this man, he knew.

“Figured something would happen to him,” Sevryn was saying.

Nyquist frowned. “Why?”

“Nobody liked him,” Sevryn said. “He was representing them clones, you know?”

“Enlighten me,” Nyquist said.

“The Peyti lawyers. The ones that nearly killed us. How stupid is that?” Sevryn asked.

“Well,” Nyquist said, deciding to play along. Not that it was hard to do so, “no one at the station was happy about it.”

“No kidding,” Sevryn said. “I heard you guys bitch about it ever since he dropped those documents on everybody. Then he has the nerve to show up here.”

“I hear there was an incident,” Nyquist said.

“I wouldn’t call it no incident. Considering how angry everybody was, he got off pretty lucky.” Sevryn glanced at the counter, as if remembering.

Nyquist knew that Sevryn was talking about the soup incident and not the murder. If Sevryn had been hostile, Nyquist would have challenged him over his choice of words.

Instead, Nyquist asked, “How was he lucky?”

“Oh, man,” Sevryn said. “Everyone, they wanted to hurt him something awful. I talked them out of it.”

I’ll bet you did
, Nyquist thought but didn’t say. “How did you do that?”

“Honest?” Sevryn asked. “I didn’t want my place known for violence. I said so.”

“Yet something happened,” Nyquist said.

“Not nothing, really,” Sevryn said. “A couple of cops bumped him. Nothing major. Spilled a drink on him, a little hot soup, and then he looks at me for sympathy.”

He sounded indignant.

“And you didn’t give it to him,” Nyquist said.

“Would you? That idiot clone lawyer.”

“I was at the precinct when he came in,” Nyquist said truthfully. “I wasn’t happy with him at all.”

“Me neither, and I didn’t want him stinking up the joint. I hear he went next door. Like getting his business was a real coup.”

“You don’t think it was?” Nyquist asked.

“I serve you guys,” Sevryn said. “I’m not helping someone who’s trying to hurt the Armstrong PD.”

Nyquist nodded. He understood the attitude, and even empathized with it. He hadn’t liked Zhu either. But Seng had been right; the man hadn’t had to die for doing his job.

Nyquist nodded toward the rotating holographic display. “I assume you have good security here.”

“Yeah, so?” Sevryn crossed his arms. Apparently he thought that Nyquist wanted to get some free food out of him.

Considering that Nyquist had skipped lunch, he wouldn’t have minded. But that wasn’t what he was asking. “Do you have security footage of the soup incident?”

“Sure,” Sevryn said. “I keep everything. When I opened this place, this was a bad neighborhood. I learned it wasn’t one incident that made a criminal, it was several. So I would make sure I had footage on those thieves, you know, the ones who would pocket something and you wouldn’t notice the first or second time, but when you went back, you’d find it? I caught a lot of people for you guys. That’s how I ended up with so many cops who come here every day. They’d stop in, they’d buy something after arresting someone, they’d come back.”

He peered at Nyquist, and Nyquist finally understood.

“If you weren’t closed, I’d buy a sandwich. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“I can make you something while you look at the footage, see if it’s something you want.”

“I’d like that,” Nyquist said.

“I don’t got a lot of choice at the end of the day. Pastrami on rye okay? Maybe with some real Earth Cheddar?”

Nyquist’s mouth watered just at the mention of it all. “I’d love some. How much?”

“I don’t usually charge cops,” Sevryn said.

“I’m investigating a crime here,” Nyquist said. “I have to pay or the investigation’s compromised. So charge your regular rate.”

Sevryn sighed. “I gotta reopen my register.”

“Sorry,” Nyquist said. “We can skip the sandwich if it’s too much trouble.”

Sevryn studied him. At that moment, Nyquist realized the entire payment conversation had been a test—and he’d done something Sevryn hadn’t expected.

“It’s not too much trouble,” Sevryn said. “I’ll set up the footage on that table over there, holographic. You need sound too?”

“Please,” Nyquist said. “I’ll get some coffee too, if it’s not too much trouble. I can serve myself.”

The coffee pot sat on a small burner not too far from the counter. There was still some dark liquid inside.

“That ain’t so good,” Sevryn said.

Nyquist smiled. “I drink precinct coffee.
Everything’s
good in comparison.”

Sevryn nodded, as if he’d heard that before. “I’ll set up the footage and get your sandwich. You gonna need anything else?”

“Not to eat,” Nyquist said. “But I’d like to see any other time the lawyer was here. Particularly this morning.”

“He wasn’t here this morning,” Sevryn said. “I kicked him out. I didn’t need his type here.”

“Still,” Nyquist said. “I’d like to see this morning.”

“There ain’t nothing,” Sevryn said a little too quickly.

Nyquist pretended not to notice. “I’m sure there isn’t. I’m collecting all the footage from every business between here and the law offices to see what shows up.”

“Most businesses are closed right now,” Sevryn said. “That’s what’s been eating into my profits, no pun intended.”

“I know,” Nyquist said. “I’ll probably need a warrant for most of the others.”

He kept his voice level, but he wanted Sevryn to know that he would do whatever it took to get the necessary information. Especially since Sevryn was suddenly quite nervous.

The man knew something, maybe even overheard something being discussed. And he was worried.

Because he overheard friends? Or because he was afraid of retaliation by police?

Nyquist decided to play a bit stupid, not ask Sevryn at all, and let the footage tell him what he needed to know.

“I appreciate all your help,” he said, and took the table nearest the window. He looked out on the street, while he waited for Sevryn to set up the security footage.

Nyquist tried not to have any expectations. But he already did.

He had a hunch he knew exactly what he would find.

THIRTY-SEVEN

GOUDKINS HAD SOME standard procedures that she followed whenever she started an investigation. They were simple, but they were usually something that the other investigators overlooked.

She did a scan of public documents to find any mention of the person she was investigating.

She set up the screen to her right to look for information on Jhena Andre, the first name that DeRicci had given her. DeRicci expected Goudkins to look surreptitiously to discover Andre’s history—and Goudkins would, eventually. But public records searches were common for a variety of reasons, and never got noticed or flagged within the system.

So Goudkins always did those first.

She did the same on the screen to her left for the other name that DeRicci had given her: Mavis Zorn.

And then she stood up. She paced this level of the ship, double-checking the security.

Her interaction with Ostaka had bothered her enough that she worried he might try to sneak in. And while she had been tricky with the security codes, she knew just as well that he could be tricky with codes.

She ran a hand through her hair, then went into the ship’s galley and removed a bottle of water from the small fridge. She put the cool bottle against her forehead. It felt like the day was almost over and she had just begun.

The stress had made her uncomfortable. She felt like she was doing something illicit, and she wasn’t.

Ostaka was.

Her eyes opened.

She hadn’t thought it through. They had been ordered
not
to investigate the Frémont clones, something that had bothered both her and Ostaka when it happened.

She had promptly forgotten that order when the Peyti Crisis happened—not that she had violated the order. She hadn’t. But her attention had moved to the Peyti clones and everything that they had done.

The fact that Ostaka was piggy-backing on the port’s and the Security Office’s investigations of the Frémont clones was just a sneaky way for him to get around the order to not investigate the clones.

She felt both a bit of admiration for what he was doing—violating the order—and a bit of worry. She had sent that information directly to Huỳnh, who might shut him down completely.