The Iron Swamp (29 page)

"Mr. Nidess?" The voice came from behind me as the masses began to disperse, and I turned to see a woman shorter than myself. The difference was less than a thumbs width, allowing our eyes to make contact in a way that I could usually only manage with children. Instantly, I felt a level of kinship with the woman, aided by the fact that her thick waist and ample bosom would not allow her access through Kenrey's window. "My name is Julia Wenling, and I didn't want to say this in front of everyone, but I saw someone come in the night after the interviews who shouldn't have been there." She looked around as the rest of the staff fled out the archway. "Laurie Colson came in, and as far as I know she didn't speak to anyone."

Colson. The name of the disfigured girl whose DNA was in the room. The one who looked about as tough as Nadine Whiley and the other one I'd put in the cells. "I thought she left ages ago?"

Julia nodded, her round face reddening. "That's why it struck me as odd. Laurie hasn't been back since she quit months ago." The girl dropped her eyes to her feet as the pressure of eye contact became too much for her. "I didn't say anything because I don't like speaking in front of large groups. I wasn't trying to hide anything."

I nodded. "At what time was this?"

"At least U.0. I was nearly finishing, and I work late on Mondays."

It was when I would have gone in if I were the killer; just late enough to reduce the risk of running into people, but not so late as it would arouse too much suspicion upon being noticed. "Did she see you?" I asked.

"Yes. I waved hello and she waved back, though we were at opposite ends of a corridor, so neither of us spoke. We weren't really close when she used to work here."

"Who was she close to?"

"No one really; she liked to keep to herself–"

"What about Hobb?"

Julia thought for a moment. "Maybe. She talked to him more than she talked to most people. I didn't really know either of them though. Not that I'm not sorry he's dead. He seemed like a nice guy."

For the second time since Fache's dismissal I felt the urge to sink to his level. It would not be difficult now to charge Colson with the crime and walk away. I had no proof, but coming back to her place of work so long after she quit on the same night the accomplice kills himself was high coincidence. Hayson wouldn't need proof, like everyone else by now he was looking to lay blame and move on before those still standing were buried with the fallen, and that might be enough to protect me. The girl would have her trial, be convicted, and then disappear just long enough after for the media attention to die down. But Colson wasn't on my suspect list. She wasn't inside the compound on the day of the murder, and I still knew no way for her to get in, even if she could get out.

I wondered if all men were tempted to destroy someone for their own benefit or whether it was a reflection of a deficit in my morality. At least Fache tried to frame a dead man, not a little disfigured girl that looked too feeble to lift Kenrey if her life depended on it – perhaps with the help of Kathryn though.

I thanked Julia and made my way home. As I reached my floor I could hear Lola barking, a gruff electronic sound on loop, too angry for such a small dog. Foolishly, I did not heed the warning, instead hastening my entry as my thoughts turned to concern for my friend.

The door swung open to reveal a woman over twice my size standing in the corridor. "Simon, how are you?"

I recognized the muscular beauty better than I would my own mother. Her eyes were flat but at the same time large as if someone had squashed an ellipse. Light lips and a thin nose added an almost contradictory elegance to a figure that was so full of strength. Ling Eschea was a boa flower; a vision of light and life with a stem fit to crush a mabian exoskeleton.

Her tone suggested she was not there to kill me.

"You scared my dog," I said, scooping Lola away from her perceived attacker.

Eschea looked hurt, her huge eyes enlarging to behemoth proportions. "She's just being protective. She doesn't know what good friends we are."

"Friends might be considered pushing it since you broke into my apartment."

She shrugged. "I'd have helped myself to a beer, but you don't have any."

"I don't drink anymore."

All the friendliness vanished from her face. "You've changed a lot haven't you? Dinner with Clazran; searching for the killers of this dead Guardian."

If she knew half the things I knew about Kenrey she would probably kill me for not coming straight to them with the info. "What do you want, Ling?"

"I came here to help you."

"And I came here to get some shut eye. What do I need to hear?"

"I'm not sure you deserve to know."

I unloaded Lola and my coat on the sofa. "Fine, don't tell me, just leave."

"You won't survive if you don't hear what I have to say."

I flipped off one shoe and then the other. "I already know what you're here to tell me. A journalist has come to you asking questions about our little heist."

She nodded. "Greasy fellow named Pressen, looked like every hair on his head had been deep fried. He wants to write a story that will find you walking up the scaffold on Blay Square."

People loved to see their heroes fall. My 15 minutes of fame could not hope for a more tragic ending. "You as well," I said.

She threw back her head, ejecting masculine laughter at the ceiling. "If Clazran ever finds me! He's been looking for a while now, and I'm pretty good at surviving him. You did one heist and spent the next five cycles letting his boot press you into the mud."

"I'll take my chances." I knew why she was here. She was trying to frighten me into joining her little suicide brigade.

"That's because you don't know about Fay Bensol."

Bensol was the third. The one who kept the evidence we stole. That was the deal; the only way the goblin would agree to help. "What about her?"

Eschea blinked her huge eyes. "She left us, and not on good terms. We think she has Sariah's books, and she might sell them to Pressen."

"Kill her then," I said. "She's more danger to you than me."

Eschea shook her head. "We can't find her. And even if we could, we have nothing to fear from the books. It's you that will die on their account." She moved past me towards the door. "I've warned you. Do with the information what you will."

My lips parted to stop her, but I forced them shut again. I knew what the goblin sent her here to get. They wanted to make use of my position to fight Clazran. She was here to frighten me into using them to get rid of Pressen, and I would have to endure some unspecified horror down the line. Most likely, they told Pressen about the stolen evidence in the first place to force my hand.

I let her reach the door without a word. She turned. "You know where to find us if you need our help." Then she was gone.

If Eschea wasn't lying about Bensol, then I was in trouble. The moment Pressen got hold of Sariah's account books it was over for me, but I had to wonder why it hadn't happened already. Perhaps Bensol was worried about her own safety, or the price for the books was too high. Whatever the reason, I needed to act fast, but my best hope still lay in solving the case. If I could use the outcome to get myself into the SP, I could destroy Pressen, Bensol, Eschea, and even her goblin boss.

I patted Lola on the head before sitting at my network screen. She barked that it was time to go for a walk, but I didn't have the time. I plied myself off the seat and added a packet of Buddy Chum to Lola's bowl, gave her some fresh water from the sink, and sat down as Lola buried her face into the cubes of jellied meat.

As I expected, Mrs. Flias was not on camera the day after the interview, and was the following one despite not being supposed to be in on either occasion. Contrarily, there was no sign of Laurie Colson entering through the front gates on the day of the interview or either of the following days. Considering the significance of this discovery, I poured the rest of the Kononber down the sink, made a cup of jaffee, and sat down to endure the tedium of watching the entire day's security footage. I went over it twice, noting down the time of every person's entrance and exit.

By the time I was finished working through all the data, there were three things that struck me as suspicious. Firstly, was the absence of Colson appearing on any of the three days despite someone saying she was there. Secondly, was the number of times a boy named Johan Carter left and came back during the day, which by the end I stopped counting, and lastly, was the late exit of a girl I could not identify from personnel files who seemed to have no reason to be there at that time.

The latter two probably had fairly innocuous causes, such as Carter was a lazing off work, and the girl fell asleep on her shift, but in the case of the girl from the compound's testimony and Colson's absence in the security footage, something was wrong.

Chapter 18

20/10/2256 FC

It was not until J.10 the next morning after a restless night's sleep that I realized I knew who the killer was. It was staring me in the face the whole time and yet somehow overlooked. As I suspected all along, it came down to timing.

I called Becky. I had to tell someone, but she wasn't answering. I tried again, but she was ignoring me. I sent her a message saying that I knew who the killer was and she should call me when she woke up, adding a few exclamation points at the end.

I waited a few minutes for a call, but nothing came, and my adrenaline died down. Suddenly, I was tired. I went for a shower, hoping that I would have a message from Becky when I came out.

I didn't. I sent her another message apologizing for not trusting her and explaining the exclamation points were because I was excited, not because I was angry.

Still with no response, I thought about sending another one, but I'd made enough of a fool of myself for one morning. I stumbled around the apartment for a few minutes consolidating the details in my head, then I changed my mind again and sent her a message saying if she could forgive me I would buy her breakfast at Molvinos.

The restaurant looked like an old casino which had been hit by a hurricane. Game machines were turned over to use as tables, pinned to the ceiling, and placed at odd angles along the wall. The bar was an old row boat turned sideways with a plank across the top. Held together with a few lines of wire, it was deceptively stable beneath the weight of leaning patrons.

"Molvinos breakfast, please," I said to the barman. I was about to order a bottle of champagne, but a quick glance at the price list and I downsized it to a pint of shindy. The smell of the unfinished Kononber as I'd poured it down the sink put me off ordering a beer.

"I know you." The barman squinted at me as if I was a picture of a famous person on the far wall. "You're the guy who stood up to those corrupt policemen trying to frame people for things."

I nodded. Apparently my 15 minutes of fame were not completely over.

"Well in that case, you eat off Molvinos this morning partner." He served me my drink on a coaster shaped like a pair of sunglasses. "You been in here a few times, haven't you, before the ruckus? I remember you. How's the case going?"

I looked round, but with no trace of Becky he was as good a person as any. "Just solved it this morning."

He beamed at me and poured himself a drink. The froth not quite spilling over the top, he lifted it over the bar. "Cheers."

We clinked glasses, and a bit of Becky's absence melted away. "So," he said, "who did it then?"

I laughed, slightly nervous that he was being serious. "Afraid I've not had nearly enough drink to get myself into that much trouble."

He winked at me, his huge mustache bending upwards with his smile. "Fair enough. Anything you can tell me?"

"She's pretty fracking smart, and catching her isn't going to be easy."

He nodded. "But not as smart as the man who caught her, eh?"

I smiled. "Luck." I wasn't being modest. The details were there, but I would never have connected the dots had it not been for several incidents that she could never have predicted. "And mercy," I added. For if she hadn't left Hobb to spill his information and then commit suicide, even though she must have known that he was not safe to be left alive, I would never have caught her. Perhaps she didn't care what happened to her now; the murder of Kenrey was the purpose of her existence, but I didn't think so. People who only cared about the murder didn't plan their exits so well.

I took a sip of shindy and saw Becky appear the other side of the glass. She was almost unrecognizable in her hood, mist goggles, and scarf that left only her crooked nose uncovered.

We looked at each other for several clicks while she decided whether to come in. I dismissed a hundred manipulations in the time she stood there, leaving the decision as much up to her as I could. I was never going to trust people, but I wanted to trust one person. That didn't seem so stupid.

When she finally pushed open the door and walked past a screen with a quilla racing through the yellow rings of a hoopla course, I realized I was holding my breath.

"Go on then, Boss, who did it?"

Some of me wanted to skip over the fight and pretend it never happened, talking about the case until my tongue was tired, but I knew as long as our issues remained unresolved they would cast a shadow over our relationship.

"I like you," I said, summoning the courage to say what I'd practiced. "From the moment I first saw you, a switch in me just clicked. I'm not asking you to reciprocate anything. You're a young and attractive girl, and I'm an old, ugly dwarf, but you wanted to hear something honest so there it is."

Becky pulled a stool away from the bar and perched on the edge, one leg still on the ground. "That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me." She placed a hand on top of mine so delicately it tickled the hairs on my skin. "I feel strongly about you too. I never would have cared about your trust if I didn't." She paused as if considering what to say next. "Just not in that way."

I forced myself to smile. "I never imagined you did."