Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (32 page)

Tabby picked at the bread. “Like I said, it's difficult to imagine and alternative to what we have now.”

“And there lies the major benefit of population control. It supports the remaining people. There’s no denying that death generates jobs and stimulates demand for different industries. From about 2020 onwards, the work began to increase, and slowly things improved. Yes, people died, but those still alive had a better life.”

“You sound like an advocate for it.”

“I understand how it works and that, sadly, because there are too many of us on earth now, it’s a necessity. The earth and its resources—water; the ability to produce agriculture; even the sun, given the damage we did to the ozone layer—can only support a certain amount of people.”

“Still, who makes that choice? This company is playing God.”

“If you believe in that. Anyway, if you can pinpoint a moment in time, it was 2019. One of the western governments released the Ebola virus in Africa and thwarted all attempts to suppress it. You wouldn’t remember; I doubt you were born yet, and I was only young. That started the ball rolling. It reached every country on Earth, killing tens of millions. Primarily, that started the population control.”

Tabby looked at the plate of bread and dips. Here she was sitting in her dream restaurant, and she no longer felt like eating. “All those innocent people that have died.”

Tom’s implant beeped. “Excuse me.” He touched a spot behind his ear to answer. “Tom Bright.” He looked away from Tabby, listening, brow furrowed. Twenty seconds went by. Tabby wondered whether she shouldn’t give him any privacy. She was about to push her chair back and leave when he said. “Are you sure?” It was the darkness in his eyes that made her stay. He finished the call and couldn’t meet her gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

He sat; head bowed, and looked up. His sea-blue eyes pained, his mind full of knowledge she sought. The power of his handsomeness almost drew her away, but she focused, ignoring the pull on her emotions, and other places.

“Your mother.” Tabby stiffened. All other thoughts washed away. “I found the information you were after.”

“They killed her, didn’t they?” Tom nodded. Tabby locked her mouth shut with a click of her teeth and felt her jaw bulge as she ground it hard, pain flaring. Her breathing kicked up a gear, and her fists began to clench, opening and closing, anxious to work their tricks. Rage swept over her, a deep, primal anger, coupled with a soulful aching that no physical response could appease. She thought of her father, telling him that her mother didn’t have to die. It was almost unbearable.

“…Tabitha? Tabitha?” Tom stared at her, eyes wide, creases on his forehead. “You with me?”

No. “Yes.”

“You look about ready to kill.”

She closed her eyes and imagined her place of peace. The beach. Her mother. A warm afternoon, ice creams and coke by the water, her father swimming with his muscled physique, picking her up and tossing her into the waves, not yet the invalid he would become. Her breathing slowed. When she opened her eyes, Tom was staring. “I’m good.”

“You sure?”

She nodded. “I’m going to talk to the detective.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Tabby.”

“Why?”

“Because anybody that’s ever brought the cops into it has ended up dead.”

“I don’t care. It’s beyond that for me. Charlie? And now my mother? How many other people in the world have lost loved ones for no good reason? I’m not going to sit here and watch them keep doing this. I’m going to stop it.”

“You bring the authorities into this and you’ll implicate yourself. Did you read the contract you signed?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong. What could they possibly—?”

Tom sat forward, hands gripping the table. “Are you prepared for them to go after your family?”

“What family? They’ve apparently already killed my mother. I’ve only got my father left and they’ve probably been holding back treatment from him.”

Tom glanced around. People were looking. “Lower your voice, please.”

Tabby snatched her napkin off her lap and tossed it onto the table. She pushed her chair back and stood. “This lunch is over.” She didn’t look back as she passed him.

“Don’t do anything rash or stupid, okay?”

Tabby wouldn't be making any promises.

Bright light washed in through the wide bay windows of Fox’s den, but there was no sunshine in his life on this day. He sat behind his mahogany desk with a glass of scotch in his hand, a notepad and ballpoint pen laid out in front of him. Only when things were ultra-serious did he break out the notepad and try to arrange his thoughts using an old ink pen.

He was beginning to clear the backlog of tasks—at least for his family. For himself, the time had all but run out. He still had one option, though. He scrolled the screen of his terminal, looking through his contact list. There was one name he had deferred until now. Johan Haremeyer. He was the global head of Janefield Investments, the man to whom Chekov reported, responsible for all the sites across the globe.

Fox tapped the screen and waited as the computer connected with Johan Haremeyer’s holographic system. Fox had only met him three times, but he felt they had struck a connection. On the third occasion, Haremeyer had handed over his details and told Fox that if he ever needed anything to call him.

Haremeyer did not pick up. Instead, a hologram of Haremeyer appeared where he asked the caller to leave a detailed message to which he would attend as soon as time permitted. Fox touched the icon to record his holomessage.

“Johan, this is Bryan Fox in New York. We’ve met a couple of times, most recently at the global conference in Stockholm. I was… hoping you could return my call.” He wondered whether he should alert Haremeyer to his concerns. “Looking forward to hearing from you.” He ended the message.

Fox might not be able to stop Jennings and Chekov from hurting him, but he hoped that Haremeyer would listen to his point of view and consider a response.

The holographic system flashed and Fox saw it was Lethlean again, the man with whom he had spent most of the day brokering a property deal in Canada. He reached out and swiped the screen. A chubby, blue face and a cheesy smile greeted him.

“Mr. Zimmerman, I have what you wanted.”

“I hope so because I’m sick of these back and forth calls,” Fox said.

“Well, this should be the last one. The vendor has come down even further, despite his protests. I must say, I didn’t think he would, but I conveyed your authenticity as a serious man.”

“What’s the figure?”

“Two million. He will not go lower. If you don't accept that, then I’m afraid it really will be the end of our conversation.”

Fox considered this. He’d driven the vendor hard—not as hard as he once might have—but had still reduced the price by a third. He didn’t often participate in such negotiations, and couldn’t help himself. The truth was he would have paid double. The property was four hectares tucked away in a rural town in Alberta. He had overpaid Lethlean to track it down, having been explicit in his requirements.

“All right. Draw up the papers. And he’s happy to settle tomorrow?”

“Very happy. I assume your wife and kids are moving up there immediately?”

“End of the week.”

“But she doesn’t know about this yet?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I’m sure she will be.”

“Lethlean, just remember, if this transaction ever sees the light of day, you won’t make another,” Fox said.

The line went silent. “Sir, I’ve worked for you for the last ten years. Have I ever reneged on my promise of silence?”

“No, I suppose not. But this one is more important than any others.”

Fox ended the connection and refilled his Scotch glass. One down. The next problem to solve was Tabitha and the drive. He vacillated daily over approaching her about it. They'd had little contact over the years, and he didn’t want to scare her off. She had to trust him. If she thought he was coercive, they would lose her and the drive. He needed to think of another way.

Thinking of Tabby made him think of Charlie. Fox reached out and lifted the document off the desk. It was Charlie’s autopsy report, and he had read it three times already. It was no different to what Fox had expected, though. Coronary heart disease brought on by bad genes, a poor long-term diet and excess weight. Blood fats stood out: high blood cholesterol and triglycerides, along with elevated levels of lipoprotein. To an unsuspecting eye, it all looked normal, but Fox knew better. Though the autopsy didn’t reveal anything else, he knew HKX was involved. Looking at the photo of Charlie lying on the table, Fox detected the slight tinge of his skin color. That was the giveaway. He probably shouldn’t have obtained the autopsy report. Jennings would be kicking himself.

Still, he knew how they would probably come for him now. And soon. Fox would be ready. That reminded him he had another call to make.

The line into the restaurant snaked out through the inner doorway and into the glass enclosed foyer. It was a typical night and spoke volumes of the value it offered. Quality at an affordable price was a rarity these days. Gutterson stood with his kids, Amber and Joe, and his mother, trying to find the hostess, Michiko, near the greeting desk. He hoped she was working; otherwise they might as well turn around and go elsewhere. If Carolyn hadn’t gone to high school with one of the owners, they'd have had little hope of getting a seat for hours.

Eating out was a compromise with his mother. Gutterson had lost count of the times the kids had dined with his parents over the past weeks. He was lucky to eat dinner these days. The case on Dom Curwood and the others involved with Janefield Investments had consumed him. His mother argued that the kids were starting to resent his absence. She was probably right. And to top it all off, Martinez had called a meeting for Thursday morning. Gutterson suspected the captain would shut the case down.

They inched their way towards the counter. As the kids began to push each other, Gutterson stood on tip toes, trying to find Michiko. He found her standing at the service desk, attempting to placate a customer. Ten more minutes, at least.

Amber leaned into his waist. He tousled her hair and thought about Tabitha Marks’ silence since Sunday night. He must have called her ten times already and left half a dozen messages until he realized he might drive her further away if he kept pushing. With his record, if she lodged a complaint he’d be in serious trouble. Truth was he'd messed up by going to the restaurant without a more convincing plan. His hope that she would help had all but slipped away.

They were moving again. He caught Michiko’s eye as she stood with another staff member still in dispute with the patron. Her frown disappeared, transforming her features into a sweet smile. She raised a hand and signaled Gutterson through, leaving the problem behind. He nudged the kids alongside the logjam and waved his mother on, ignoring the whispers of annoyance from the waiting patrons.

“Hi there,” Michiko said, holding up a hand for the children. They slapped it with their palms.

Gutterson greeted her. “Any chance of a table for four?”

She smiled again, blinding them with beauty. "We can always sneak my favorite guests in.”

“I bet you say that about everyone,” Joe said.

Michiko ruffled his hair. “You’re too smart for me, aren’t you big guy?” Joe smiled; something he didn't do enough of these days, Gutterson thought.

Michiko led them to a table by the wall, where a large screen displayed an incredible view of the Nile River in Egypt. Neither Gutterson nor his family had seen the real thing, but the screen was incredibly realistic, as though they might be looking out the window of their hotel room along the banks. It contained sensory enhancements including a breeze and the scent of water that were released through tiny holes in the edge of the screen. Although they had seen it before, the kids' faces reflected amazement.

Michiko pressed a device and the four floating chairs retracted from underneath the glass table. “Buzz me if you need anything, okay?” She flashed another broad smile and hurried away.

They sat. His mother put a hand on Gutterson’s. “See? It’s not so bad, John.”

Gutterson sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I never said it would be bad.”

They ordered drinks through the touch screens in the table and, minutes later, a female waitress converged on them with a plate of beverages. The use of ‘Bots was banned in food service businesses after the unemployment numbers sky-rocketed with their introduction in the late twenties. It was one of the few promises the incumbent government hadn’t broken.

As they sipped their drinks, Gutterson adjusted the comfort rating of his seat, the back molding to his physique. The kids played with theirs until it looked like they were lounging by the pool. By the time they ordered, Gutterson felt more relaxed. Joe had brought along a tablet and, together, they played a holographic game simulation. This was what he had needed—time with the kids, time away from the precinct and the case. He caught his mother smiling several times. She had been right, of course. He was slow sometimes. His kids were the most important thing. Keeping them safe, providing a stable environment, and showing them reliability. He had to prove to them that in the absence of their mother he was capable of taking care of them. He pledged to himself he would do that better.

The food arrived in a banquet style, with plates of grilled fish, steamed vegetables, rice, soup, and a couple of dipping sauce trays. Gutterson began to fill the kids' plates and he felt more fatherly than he had in some time.

But the only downside was the memory of eating out with Carolyn and the kids when she was alive. They were good memories, but he wished for more of them. It reminded him of failing her so often in those last two years, which steered him to thinking of the case, and what would become of him if he let it go. He'd only be letting her down again. Furthermore, if he failed, he would probably have to quit the force.

A comfortable silence had fallen over them as they digested the exquisite food. Both kids glanced up at him often, as though checking to make sure he was still there. His mother was right; he did spend too much time away from them. And he enjoyed their company. He had to change. Even if by some miracle the case continued on, he had to find the balance.

“So when does basketball start, Amber?”

She twisted her nose with mock anger. “We’ve started already, Dad.”

He gave a pained smile. “Oh. Sorry. Maybe I can catch the next one?”

She broke into a smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You bet.”

Gutterson’s implant beeped. His mother shot him a sharp look. He paused, waiting for the caller identification, hoping he could leave it. Tabitha’s name sounded.

He pushed his floating chair back and stood, excusing himself from the table. His mother’s icy glare followed.
You’re ruining it,
an internal voice screamed. He mouthed the word 'sorry' and turned away.

He walked across the crowded room, people moving from his path as they noticed his urgency. He passed Michiko and reached the foyer, sidestepping a couple with their two kids shuffling through the entrance.

“Sorry,” Gutterson stammered and shot out the door onto the sidewalk. He touched a place on his skin behind his ear and Tabitha's voice cut in.

“Gutterson?”

“Tabitha. What is it?”

“I want in.”

He reached for the wall to steady himself. “Really?”

“Yes. I want to get these bastards.”

He ran a hand through his hair. They had to let him keep investigating with this. “That’s… great news. Thank you. What happened to change your mind?”

Tabitha ran through her week. “I’ve got so much to tell you. You’re not going to believe it. Dom Curwood, Bryce Adler, and Charlie are just the tip of the iceberg. It’s more than just a series of murders, John. Much more. They killed my mother. They gave her cancer as part of their population control program.”

Gutterson turned away from the murmuring traffic, and edged up against one of the opaque glass panels of the restaurant. “Jesus.”

“I’m telling myself I don’t want revenge, that it’s justice, but I can’t be sure.”

“It doesn’t matter. Revenge can be perfectly acceptable in the right context—if it’s within the law and brings lawbreakers to justice.”

“I’ll keep telling myself that.”

“We need to meet,” Gutterson said, trying to contain his excitement. This was it—Martinez couldn’t shut them down now. “Tomorrow or Friday, latest. I’ll come back to you. Don’t do anything else until we speak, okay?”

“I won’t.”