Metal Fatigue (8 page)

"Too young. Haven't you checked his records?"

"Birth dates can be faked."

Roads glanced across at DeKurzak. The liaison officer's face was closed, serious. The urge to laugh abruptly vanished. "You're crazy."

"It's worth checking. And, what's more, if you stop to look at things objectively, it makes sense. The best way for the assassin to remain at large — and the thief for that matter, assuming they aren't one and the same person — is to ensure that the authorities don't want to catch him. Or to actually
be
the authorities."

"So you think I'm the Mole?"

"No. Your alibis check out. But the resemblance is uncanny, all the same."

Roads gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands and tried to keep his anger at bay. Again he wondered if DeKurzak was deliberately trying to provoke him, or simply didn't realise what he was saying, what open nerve he had unwittingly probed.

"How old are you, DeKurzak?"

The liaison officer blinked. "Thirty-six. Is this relevant?"

"It might be. Anyone under fifty won't remember the War — "

"Obviously, but — "

" — and if you don't remember the War, how can you possibly understand what it was like? How can you speak for this 'Old Guard' of yours if you haven't been through what they have? Think about it for a moment. Doesn't it seem more likely that those who have seen the Dissolution first-hand would actually
want
the Reassimilation, rather than resist it?"

DeKurzak had his mouth open, wanting to break in, but Roads ploughed on: "The ones who remember what it was like to watch hungry people die rather than let them in and starve the city, who were forced to kill the beggars that screamed at the Wall for months, who had friends and relatives thrown out of Kennedy for fighting when there wasn't enough to go around ... These people aren't your Old Guard. These people won't kill to keep Kennedy closed. They've seen enough death already.

"The ones you're looking for are younger. They've lived here all their lives, and regard Kennedy as
theirs
. They don't want it invaded by upstarts from the Outside. If anybody's going to fight to keep Kennedy closed, they'll be the ones — not people like me ..."

Roads took a deep breath, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was sweating heavily.

DeKurzak looked surprised; Roads' outburst had clearly startled him, too. "What exactly are you driving at, Officer Roads?"

"That it's not me, you son of a bitch. I'm not the Mole, or the assassin, and I'm not protecting anyone."

"But Wiggs might be."

"He's not. Jesus." Roads felt like banging his head on the steering wheel. "We're just trying to do our jobs."

"And no-one's stopping you." The liaison officer glanced away. "No-one's questioned the fine work you've done for RSD over the years. That's not the issue here. What is at stake is
this
case, at
this
moment, and how we're going to solve it. Given that it's not a simple whodunit, and that there's no keeping politics out of it, we have to consider every possibility."

Roads bristled at the 'we', but kept his mouth in check this time. "Just give me a little longer, DeKurzak. I don't believe in the uncatchable thief."

DeKurzak smiled. "Neither do I, as a matter of fact. But we've only got three days left before General Stedman arrives."

The turn-off for Old North Street appeared, and Roads swung the wheel to follow it, grateful for the distraction. As the scene of the break-in approached, DeKurzak broke the brief, tense silence.

"I'm only doing my job, too, Phil. Remember that, and our relationship will be a little less strained."

With daylight had come the spectators. A couple of dozen had settled in shaded doorways and windows for the morning, curious to see what had happened. Most were young parents with small children in tow, looking for entertainment. Although loitering was technically illegal, being a waste of human resources, none of the attending officers bothered to move the crowd along.

Barney was asleep in the van, stretched across the rear seat with her coat bunched up against the window, acting as a pillow. He felt like a bastard for waking her.

"What — ?" She opened her eyes and rubbed her forehead. "Oh, it's you."

"Sleeping on the job?"

"Yes and no. HQ sent Rashid to relieve me not long after you left, but I thought I'd wait for you to come back." She glanced at her watch. "I only lay down ten minutes ago."

"This fanatical devotion to duty will get you places."

"That's a relief." She struggled upright and tugged at her clothes. The rear of the car was suffocatingly hot and her uniform damp with sweat as a result. "Are we going now?"

"Not yet. We have a visitor."

"Who?"

"The MSA have sent someone to watch over our shoulder. He's standing just over there and answers to the name 'DeKurzak'."

"Watch us why?"

Roads filled her in on the meeting that morning, content to let the MSA liaison officer wait a few minutes longer. By the time he finished, Barney had recovered a semblance of alertness.

"So they're giving us a deadline?"

"Seems that way."

"Bastards." She groaned as he helped her out of the van. "Okay, I guess I'm ready. As if I haven't already done enough for one day."

"I presume you went through this lot for eyewitnesses," Roads said, indicating the crowd with a nod.

"Yeah, not a one. Door-knocked, too." Barney raised a hand to point. "This is 114, right? One hundred and eleven, 113 and 115 are empty offices, haven't had tenants for at least ten years and haven't been converted to accommodation because no-one really wants to live in this area. One hundred and twelve and 116 are tenantable, but unoccupied. City records don't mention anyone ever moving in, so they've been empty since the War — just like 114 itself, supposedly."

They walked to where DeKurzak was standing, watching the squad move in and out of the house. Roads made the introductions. DeKurzak shook Barney's hand with an ingratiating smile, then suggested they move inside.

The cellar was cool but crowded, and considerably more ordered than when Roads had last seen it. The piles of components had been returned to their respective boxes; all the cupboards were closed.

Barney's replacement was talking earnestly with Raoul over one of the terminals. A short, dark-haired man, he had a large smallpox scar on his left cheek that Kennedy's utilitarian approach to medical care had not allowed to be removed. He looked up as Roads and company approached.

"Good morning, Phil."

"That depends. Have you got anything for me?"

"I'm not sure. We have the security check on the data system."

"And?"

"It looks like nothing was stolen."

Roads raised his eyebrows. "Run that by me again?"

"As he said," said Raoul, his dark skin dusty. He wiped his hands on a rag as he approached. "It's as clean as a preacher's prick down here."

DeKurzak looked curiously at the new arrival, and Roads explained as briefly he could: "Raoul ran this place. He can tell us what's been stolen."

"Which is nothing," Raoul repeated.

"But that's inconsistent," Barney said. "Why would the Mole go to the trouble of breaking in and then not take anything?"

"To prove he can?" DeKurzak suggested, obviously dissatisfied with remaining an observer.

"We already know he can."

"Then maybe he was scared off."

Roads shook his head. "The building was empty until Raoul arrived. Right, Raoul?"

"That's correct. He set off the alarm as he left. He must have finished what he came to do."

"Exactly. But what the hell was that?" Roads rubbed thoughtfully at his moustache. "How's the list of hardware coming?"

"Finished. We're about to check for discrepancies."

"Good. That might tell us something."

"Do you really think so?" asked DeKurzak, peering curiously into an open box nearby.

"Of course." Roads fought yet another explosive response, already sick of justifying himself to the liaison officer. "This is the first time the Mole hasn't lifted data in six weeks. If he took hardware instead, then that must mean something. And if he didn't, same again. Any break in the pattern, no matter how slight, is significant."

"I guess you're right." DeKurzak looked suitably chastised. "I wasn't thinking."

Roads, slightly mollified, turned away. "Rashid, this is Antoni DeKurzak of the MSA. When he's finished looking around, have one of the squad take him to see Wiggs at the scene of last night's homicide. HQ will give you the address."

Rashid mock-saluted. "Yessir."

"Meanwhile, I'm going to get some sleep. Have someone call me if you find something."

"Will do, boss."

"Okay. Ciao."

As they climbed the stairs, Roads felt DeKurzak's hurt stare at his back. The liaison officer knew he'd been dumped, but Roads wasn't going to let that bother him.

"He's keen, at least," said Barney.

"Yes, but a little on the paranoid side, too, if I'm any judge of character."

"Ain't that dandy."

"No, not really." They exited the building. The thinning crowd watched them walk down the steps to the sidewalk with mild interest.

They had hardly gone more than a few steps towards the car, however, when Barney stopped and squinted through the sunlight. "Hang on."

"What?" Roads followed the direction of her gaze. On the second floor of one of the neighbouring buildings, half-visible through a curtained window, something moved.

"That's strange," Barney said. "I checked 116 myself."

"Did you actually search every floor?"

"No. I just knocked where I couldn't get in, and left it at that." She squinted to see better, but the movement didn't return.

"Do you want to check it out?"

"Do we have to?"

"No." For once, he was glad to play devil's advocate. "Maybe it's time we called it a night."

"Well and truly." She didn't move on, however. "But I suppose we'd better have a look.
Fuck
."

Roads followed her past the van and through the cordon to the address next door. The building was narrow, two storeys high, and had obviously been much better-kept in years gone by; its stonework was now chipped and scarred, its glass for the most part broken. Like 114, it had a small yard and fence, with a flight of steps leading to its front door. From the street, its interior looked abandoned, and didn't welcome potential visitors.

Barney knocked once on the door, waited a second, then shouldered it open. Dusty silence greeted them, but both sensed the presence of an occupant, somewhere in the building.

"Squatters?" proposed Roads. Individual property ownership had been abolished in the first decade of the Dissolution, with housing dispensation resting in the hands of the Mayoralty. After the difficult years, however, the number of houses had gradually exceeded the number of tenants and the rules had been relaxed. Squatters presently had the right to move into any building, provided only that the building was officially listed as unoccupied. It was entirely possible that someone had moved into the house next door to 114 without registering the move with the Mayoralty.

Barney shrugged in answer to Roads' question. "Could be. Doesn't explain why they didn't respond when I came here earlier, though."

"I don't know. You can be fairly intimidating when you're short of sleep." Roads ignored the look she cast at him, and indicated the stairs. "Shall we?"

The first floor was empty. Roads' shout of "Hello?" echoed dully from stained walls and ceilings. He was about to suggest that they try the second floor when the sound of stealthy movement came from the stairwell.

He and Barney took positions out of sight on either side of the stairs, pistols at the ready. The slight sound became the creaking of steps as someone descended slowly into view. Roads peered at the indistinct form, obscured by the shadows: small in both height and mass, most probably female, hair long and in curls; clothing dark-coloured and loose-fitting. Her hands appeared to be empty.

The silhouette of the woman stopped on the last step. "Hello?" she called, softly. "Is someone there?"

Roads nodded to Barney in her hiding place. She holstered her pistol and stepped into view. "Hello," she said. "My name is Officer Daniels. I'm with RSD."

The woman visibly started at Barney's appearance. "What do you want? I haven't done anything."

"No-one is suggesting you have." Barney motioned for the woman to come down the stairs.

She shook her head. "There's someone else here with you. A man; I saw him. Where is he?"

Roads stepped forward. "We're investigating an incident that occurred next door," he said. "Part of that investigation includes checking neighbours for possible eyewitnesses. I don't suppose you saw anything?"

The woman glanced between them before asking: "When?"

"Last night, early this morning."

She shook her head. "I wasn't here then."

"But you live here?"

"I came up here for the view."

"Why?"

The woman hesitated. "Because I was curious." She stepped down from the stairs. In slightly better light, Roads could finally make out the details of her face. She was older than her slight figure suggested, maybe early thirties. Her dark brown hair and eyes, full lips and olive skin suggested a distilled European ancestry. The way her hand gripped the bannister behind her betrayed her tension.

"Will you tell me what happened?" she asked. "Next door, I mean. What sort of 'incident'?"

Roads met her stare evenly. "If I tell you, will you tell me why you want to know?"

The woman hesitated again, but only slightly. "You first."

Roads passed the buck to Barney, who explained: "Someone broke into the building next door. No-one was hurt; we're not even sure if anything was taken. There's nothing to be concerned about, if you do live in the area."

The woman looked sceptical. "So why all the fuss?" she asked. "Houses are broken into every day."

"We're still looking into it," Barney explained, "but we believe this break-in to be the work of the Mole."