The City
As his com crackled to life, Detective Ericsson sighed in exasperation. "What?"
"Detective?" The voice on the other end was female, a little shy, way too young for a dispatcher. Kimura. "Detective, I know you're off duty, but the captain requested you specifically."
Uh-oh. That was never good. Captain Russel was not one to bandy favors, or anything of that nature, so if he had a request for one of his more reliable detectives it must be personal. But, off duty was off duty. "Sorry, dispatch, not even just off the clock, I'm on leave. and if you all don't stop bothering me during it I might just decide to make it permanent." He had threatened to quit before, and just as then it was utterly empty. But no one else knew that. Then Kimura's voice came back, quiet and pleading.
"Vitar, please. The captain wanted to ask you himself but can't, he's too upset."
"Upset? Why?" Russel was a hard man, to put it mildly. You had to be to last as an officer, obviously, but his coldness surprised even his more experienced colleagues at times. To hear he was too upset to order someone around finally got Vitar to consider the request.
"I don't know. A call came in on his personal line, and he couldn't even finish taking it. He gave the phone to me to take the address. It was a little boy's voice."
"What's the call?"
"Triple."
"Where?"
"11299 Umebayashi. Right in your district." He recognized the address. That was the Prism, the premier hotel in that prefecture of City. A room there for a night would cost Vitar about two weeks pay.
"What's the room number."
"No number. You're going all the way to the top."
The detective lived on what was considered the border of acceptable lodgings and utter destitution. There hardly was a middle ground in City anymore, but he had found it, somehow. The three story building that included his home was ramshackle, water-proofing sliding from the roof almost daily. But the apartments were clean and cheap, and the guard at the entrance was armed. It was a place for people that valued security over other comforts, and that was chief of the detective's concerns. But now he was heading back out. He grudgingly set down his dinner and drink, and laced his boots back up. From the coat rack near the door took his trench and strapped on the shoulder holster that hung next to it. Most of the rest on the force carried their side-arm on their hip, but Ericsson too often worked in situations where even the little bit of anonymity provided by having his weapon concealed under a coat was vital. Perhaps it was also that it kept from the captain that maybe his piece wasn't quite regulation. He pulled it half from the holster, say it was fully loaded and charged, and strapped it on with a satisfied grunt. He threw on the coat and was out the door.
The guard nodded at him as he left, then turned his wary eyes back to his duty. As Vitar stepped out form the shelter of the building the cold downpour redoubled. Wishing he had remembered a hat, the detective turned up his collar and started to shoulder his way through the wet, shivering crowds. His route to the nearest train took him through a rather dangerous section of Prefect 3, but he was hardly ever hassled. Too many favors done and owed; anyone that accosted him was usually rebuked by the denizens of that cement pit. Instead just the usual cries from those too poor to get out of the rain, or those twitching, without the means to get their next fix of Pr2.
"Spare some coin, mister?"
"Please, I need, I need I need I need..."
"Just a Pound? Or even fivepence? Please sir, for my daughter..."
He ignored them all. There was a time he would have given the last pence on him to them, but it had passed years ago when he saw first hand were the money went. For every sterling spent on food or water, five wound up in the hands of the Pr men. Tonight, though, one man was especially near the end of his withdrawals, when the drug itself makes you get up and fight for more. When the detective passed him without acknowledging his need, the man leaped for him. There was a flash; the man was brought down with a single pulse. The assailant was now curled up in a drain, clutching the burn on his left side, shrieking in agony. Ericsson sighed inwardly, but didn't think much of it. That was the third time he had shot that man; he would learn eventually.
When he arrived at the hotel penthouse, a group of uniforms and a junior detective were already waiting. Medics were wheeling out three gurneys with bundles covered in white flexisteel. Camera crews were already circling like vultures. The younger plainclothes, Detective Nguyen, walked over to him and began without preamble. "Triple homicide. Parents and Daughter, looks like with old fashioned metal blades. Little boy survived, hide himself in an oven. The father-" He drew a line across his neck with his index finger. "*kkkkck* head completely off."
"It's called 'decapitation', David."
"Whatever. Obvious forced entry, plenty of blood that wasn't the victims. Looks like they put up a hell of a fight. And security, wow, did these guys have it all. But no blast scoring anywhere."
"Wait, what?"
"That's what I said. Doesn't make sense. The parents fought back, big time. And they had weapons available throughout the suite, many of them obviously handled. But no scoring anywhere."
Vitar thought. "I wonder why. Any idea of motive?"
Someone spoke up behind him, a very, very young female voice. "Money seems obvious. The hotel records show that they paid with anonymous credchips, limit 16 Ruble." One of the uniforms whistled, while Nguyen looked confused. "Ruble?"
Vitar turned to the speaker. Kimura nodded grimly to him then continued. "Sorry detective, new denomination. Ruble equals 5000 dollars."
"Or five million sterling. And let me guess, the chips are nowhere to be found." The uniforms all looked to him and shook their head. "Can't blame them for not packing light." Vitar picked up one of the un-handled pulse guns. "These will cut through a chopp from a mile away. Too bad. Alright all, you know what to do. Nguyen, keep an eye on them. Officer?" Vitar crooked a finger at the girl and they walked into one of the adjoining rooms of the suite. "What are you doing here, Kimura? You're not even a field officer." She, honestly, looked just as confused as he was, though excited as opposed to his anger.
"I don't know, detective. Captain Russel asked me to come and assist you, personally." Vitar thought about that. He'd known Russel even before he was on the force, and he never did something without reason.
"Ok, then assist. Ideas. Why didn't the victims use their weapons?"
"Obviously, they were prevented from doing so." The girl was staring intently out the window, but Ericsson ignored it.
"All three of them at once? Because the daughter was certainly old enough to use one of those. Doesn't seem likely."
"I didn't mean physically. I meant jamming."
Vitar snorted. "If the attackers could afford a jammer then even 80 million wouldn't seem like much." Kimura nodded behind him. Now he saw that she hadn't been staring out the window, but at it. Or rather, something stuck to the outside with some gel-like substance. Almost in shock, Vitar took out his cutter and switched it on. The glass, made to deflect even the most concerted attacks, resisted at first but eventually gave to the powerful laser. He cut a hole to the right of the thing and then reached out to pull it from the adhesive. EPD-1138. OW Intelligence jammer, he thought to himself. He looked from the device in his hand to the the girl. "Who were these people?" was all he could manage to say. As if in response Nguyen knocked and then entered the room, staring at the screen on his SRT.
"ID just came back on DNA. Victims are Charles and Amanda Smith, aged 50, and Christina, age 16. The boy is John, age 11. He's fine, by the way, just in shock. The medics are checking him out."
"Do we have anything on occupation, records, anything like that?"
"Nope." His hand reader pinged. "Yup. Let's see...Parents were both clean. Daughter, minor shoplifting offense. Item valued at less than 500 Sterling, then. They were...what?"
"What what?"
"They're OWA."
Kimura interrupted. "OWA?"
"Federal Agents. Here, their assignment's coming up....hmm. Nothing. Charles was an Auditor for the CCA. Amanda too."
"Capital Collections? I might kill my agent too if I had the chance, but this seems extreme. Nguyen, go and check on the boy. Kimura, you can go."
The girl gave a squeak of indignation. "But what about the-" Vitar clamped his hand over her mouth. Nguyen looked puzzled, so Vitar repeated the command. The younger man simply shrugged and walked off. Vitar took his hand from the girl's mouth and she glared at him furiously. "What was that for, detective?" But Vitar shushed her, indicating best he could for her to keep silent and follow him. But then something out the window caught his eye. It was the spotlight atop police HQ, flashing oddly. In a pattern. A very long one, but it was repeating over and over as he watched for a full minute. Flash code. "Detective, what-" He waved her to silence, and she watched in concern as his eyes went wide. Then he jerked his head towards the elevator. Once they were in the lobby, he felt safe enough to ask her. Never knew when someone might be listening, and Vitar was far too aware of all the different methods just about anyone could employ.
"Do you have a car here?"
"Sir? Yes, it's just my personal one, but-"
"Good." He pointed to a far storefront, some three blocks distant. Then he held up three fingers and clumsily spelled "minutes" in the air. Kimura, though not understanding why, caught on to the need for silence, nodded, and dashed off. Vitar checked his pockets to make certain both his side arm and the jammer were safe, then made for the medevac skimmer where Nguyen was talking with a young boy. "How is he?"
The younger man turned at his voice. "Oh, docs say he'll be fine."
"Good, say could you head back up and check those pulse rifles for me again? Especially where they exactly were?"
"But we already have-"
"David?" Nguyen actually drew back from his superior. For a moment he thought Vitar might attack him. He nodded warily then ran back upstairs. The detective now gave his full attention to the boy, a scrawny, pale child of 11, the record said, though he looked much younger. "Hi, John. My name is Vitar."
"Are you a policeman?"
"Yes, I am."
"Are you going to catch the people that did this?"
"I will do everything in my power, John. That's my duty."
"What if you don't find them?"
"I'm going to do my best to not let that happen, ok? But now, we have to go somewhere else." Even as much in shock as the boy was, this perplexed him.
"Why?"
"Do you know Captain Russel, John?"
"You mean Uncle Evan?"
Uncle Evan? "Yes, that's him. Do you trust him?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you trust that he doesn't want you to get hurt."
"I...I guess so."
"Good. He's my boss. He asked me to take you somewhere safe for the night, ok?" The young boy nodded up at him, and when he offered John his hand it was taken without hesitation. "This might be scary, but I'm not going to hurt you. But you need to be quiet. Alright?" He nodded again. Vitar glanced around, but he knew this area was free of surveillance. The kind of people that frequented this hotel certainly didn't want their actions recorded, and all the camera crews were focused on David. He then threw a blanket from the skimmer over John's head and threw him over his shoulder like a old-fashioned sack of tubers, and quickly made for the store front. At exactly three minutes both he and Kimura arrived. He opened the back door and gently lay the tuber-sack down on the seat, then climbed into the front passenger chair. "Remember, John, keep quiet." he hissed back.
5 years later
A cork popped, people cheered, and newly minted Detective Jennifer Kimura's father poured her a glass of champagne. There was a resounding cheer from the assorted family members and friends, and Jennifer smiled broadly for her Uncle Matsuo, always ready with a camera of some sort. She took a sip of her drink and nearly choked in surprise. Real champagne! How did Father afford real champagne? "Oh, Dad, it's delicious. Where did you find real sparkling wine?" She didn't know why she said it. She and her father both knew it was the real French. Maybe she just wanted to know if he knew that she did? She wasn't sure. But if he did he played along marvelously.
"Just have to be diligent to find something you want, Ōjo. But I guess I don't have to tell you that, Detective." At the last word, her father started another hearty cheer, but Jennifer sighed. Twenty-Four, just made detective, and still her father called her by something she felt she had outgrown by the time she was five. It irritated her enough that someone noticed and soon the socializing was over. Everyone crowded around her father's long wooden dining room table, all 22 of them, and her grandmother started to bring out dish after dish from the kitchen. But her mother saw that someone had left on the holo-screen. She turned to the head of the table. "Howard, you left the screen on." She said with admonishment.
"Screen, off. Screen, off!" Her father bellowed, but the damn thing never worked properly and Jennifer knew it. Sensing a round of "Who can be more passive-aggressive to everyone at the table and especially each other?" brewing between her parents, she took this opportunity to flee, if just for a couple seconds.
"I'll get it." She said brightly and maybe just a touch too loudly. She scooted back her chair and walked into the family room. She was reaching for the manual power control when she realized what she was seeing. Her hand slowly rose up to cover her mouth as the other cradled the opposing elbow. Reporter Rachel Rachman, a pretty redhead woman who was the most trusted in the city, was showing old footage of the cleanup of a crime scene, which she recognized immediately. Her first time in the field. The anchor spoke.
"And today, after five years, the investigation for the killers of Charles, Amanda and Christina Smith was officially closed. Though not initially of note, the killings spawned a massive manhunt when young John Smith, who though initially reported alive and well in police custody, vanished from the back on a medical unit while still at the crime scene. The officers in charge of the investigation, now detective-lieutenant David Nguyen and Captain Vitar Ericsson, at first were both suspected of some involvement but were eventually cleared by Internal Affairs. The boy has been missing and presumed dead since then." The camera cut away from the woman who was blinking far too much, and suddenly there he was, the now Captain Ericsson of Prefect 3, section F.
"Yes, I have my suspicions of who it was, but I'm not going to share it on live broadcast, you idiots."
A field reporter was asking: "But what about the boy?" At that you could see the pain and long-buried loss surface in Vitar's eyes, and Jennifer marveled at his performance.
"As for young John...I still have hope, but after 48 hours the chances are slim. Especially in this city."
The same reporter, asking as though he didn't know: "The chances of what?"
Captain Ericsson fixed the camera with a stare and was long in answering. It was long enough that endless weariness and despair could creep through his face. "The chances of a...successful recovery." The scene changed again, and now a whirlwind of media crews were harrying an older man that Jennifer barely recognized, he had aged so much since her transfer.
A young, shrill correspondent was waving frantically to get his attention: "Superintendent Russel! Why did you order an end to the investigation of the Smith murder/kidnapping? Does the police department know something about it the public doesn't."
Russel responded with poorly concealed hostility. "No. And I don't appreciate the leading questions. The truth is that since the institution of Federal Protocol I have far less say in what investigations are followed up on."
"So you are saying the Government ordered you to cease?"
"I'm saying that it's been four years since we had a break in the case and the Feds pointed out that there were active cases where victims family's weren't getting closure because I had to keep the Smith case alive. And all for you damned media goons." The whirlwind suddenly stopped, and Jennifer gasped. Maybe all cops, her included, thought the broadcasters had far too much influence over what got investigated and for how long, but they were never supposed to acknowledge that fact. It was unspoken law. If anyone less than the commissioner had even hinted at that, they'd have been out the door that very minute. Now she felt her mother's hand on her arm.
"Jennifer, come back to dinner. You shouldn't be worrying yourself about this while you're on leave." The younger woman nodded glumly, then let her mother steer her back to the table. As they sat they both realized that the holoscreen was still on. But at that moment the door servant announced himself and entered the room.
"Excuse me, Master Kimura, my apologies. Mistress Jennifer? You have a visitor. He says he is an old friend." She rose, ignoring her father's protest. She had a fairly good idea who it would be, and when she opened the door, there he was. Not the famous detective, or the Prefect captain the Triad had marked for death 6 separate times now, but just Vitar, her dearest friend, whom she hadn't seen in over a year.
They through their arms around each other a little awkwardly. Awkward due to time apart, plus no matter how tall Jennifer was she was still much shorter. That had been one of many reasons why they had called him "The Viking" when they had been at the same prefect. Though only just now reaching thirty, and as healthy and strong as one could be, the beatings he'd taken both professionally and personally made him look far older once you met his eyes. He spoke first. "So I heard through some friends that some truly terrible officer just made detective over here in cushy Prefect 1. But still, I thought it couldn't be you, since even here they need someone who can actually shoot."
Jennifer laughed. "I will take you anywhere, at anytime, old man." After the requisite teasing remarks, the pair sat on the marble steps and quickly caught up with mutual friends the other might have lost touch with. No one had died, which was always good.
"I saw you on the Network just a while ago." Jennifer said this quietly. One of the reasons they had become so close was that shared secret, which still only they and Russel knew. Well, and the boy, she guessed. Eventually Vitar had become the only person she could tell secrets of any kind to. Now his mood turned glum, just as thoughts of it always did hers.
"Oh. Yes." He did not continue.
"Do you ever wonder what happened?" She left it silent, the actual question. Do you ever wonder what happened to John after we left him there?
"Every day. And sometimes, I wonder if this still won't come back to haunt us."
"After five years? I doubt it by now, don't you?" He pinned her with a stare that made her think maybe all that despair earlier hadn't merely been excellent acting.
"Five years? We kept some very dangerous men from fulfilling there plan, Jen. I've seen people wait ten just to get back at someone for denting their car." Inwardly Jennifer hoped that was made up. He was still staring at her disconcertingly. Instead of turning away she put her hand to his cheek and kissed him. He didn't push her away, but didn't reciprocate, either. But still, it was an improvement. Finally, she broke the kiss. He took her hand from his face. "Jennifer, please don't do this anymore."
She had tried, she really had. A year after that first case, Jennifer had finally worked up the courage to ask him to dinner, because it was clear he was never going to ask her or anyone else. They had gone out a few times, and she thought it was going well. After they slept together things had gone really well. After about six months she had started to broach two things. One, if maybe they should move in together. He had seemed alright with that, maybe even a trifle enthusiastic. The second was that she took a long time to make up her mind on anything, but once she did she never changed it, and she had spent the whole time they'd been together trying to figure out if she loved him. When she told him that she had figured out that she did, and always would, he had said he loved her as well. Three weeks later he broke it off, citing stress, things moving to fast, blah, blah, blah. All the cliches short of it's not you it's me. So they halted their moving plans, and did their best to move on. Maybe it had worked for Vitar but..."I still love you, you know." She thought it her duty to remind him of this every once it awhile.
"Please, Jen, don't say that. We've been through this. A lot"
"I know. I'm not trying to put any pressure on you or anything, it's just...in case, you know, you ever change your mind. You'll know where I stand. Or, I guess, change your heart."
"How I feel isn't the problem, Jenny." All of a sudden, Jennifer's heart was pounding. That was something he had only called her when they were alone, and not since being alone with her had mattered. She wondered if he even realized he'd called her that. Maybe not. "********, I don't even know why I came. I don't care that you made detective, it's far too long overdue for me to have any faith in your captain, anyway. Maybe you should have stayed with us in three.
I think it just gave me an excuse to see you."
"What?"
"Jenny-" There it was again. "I've seen, over the past months, what a terrible mistake I've made. Now I've made a lot of mistakes; some have cost lives of friends, strangers, family, at this point it doesn't really matter. The point is when I see I've messed up, I must have really messed up. I shouldn't have sent you away."
"Sent me away?"
"Broken it off. Called in some favors to get you transferred somewhere safer and close to your family."
"You what!"
"I just couldn't stand to see you anymore because the fact is there are too many people out there gunning for me to offer anyone any kind of a future. I doubt I have much of one left. I've already out-lived the next most successful Prefect 3 captain by two years." He had turned away and had been speaking to the concrete, probably so she wouldn't slap him when he told her about the transfer, even if his reasons had been good ones. But now he turned to face her, and it was not the cop that faced her, not even her friend, but her lover. "Jenny, I changed my mind. I came to apologize, but more than anything to say that I still love you." Jennifer flew off the steps and into his arms, and this time he was kissing her before she could even get started.
End Prologue
