The Administration Series (239 page)

"Toreth?" Warrick asked softly.

He kept still, breathing slightly irregularly, until finally Warrick climbed into bed beside him. Then it was simply a question of timing the movement right so that they met in the middle, accidentally, and his arm slipped accidentally round Warrick.

Why, he wondered sleepily, did he still bother pretending?

The other side of the bed was empty when Toreth woke in the morning. He checked his watch hastily, hoping he wouldn't be late for Cele, but it was still ridiculously early.

He found Warrick downstairs in the kitchen, talking to Jen.

"Warrick, Sara called," Toreth said. "I've got to go in to work — I'm sorry."

Warrick looked up. "That's fine. Thanks for coming out here in the first place. Do you want the car?"

"I'll get a taxi. I'll call later, see how things are. If you're still out here, I'll come back this evening."

Warrick nodded, then stood. "If you can wait just a moment, I'll add you to the security system." He hesitated, as if expecting a protest, then added, "In case we're out when you get back."

Cele's flat-cum-studio was filled with clear spring light. She made coffee, then took it over to the giant cushions on the floor by the floor-to-ceiling windows in her work area. As they settled down, the expensive view caught his attention and he realised what an easy shot they would both make for a sniper in any one of dozens of places.

Paranoia levels high and rising.

Cele looked at him expectantly. "What's so urgent?"

On the way over he had considered how to approach the problem — the best idea seemed to be to say as little as possible.

"What do you know about what happened?" he asked.

Despite the question sounding more professional than he meant it to, she answered without hesitation. From the phrases she used, she'd obviously got the story from Dillian, and possibly spoken to Warrick as well. But she gave him no reason to think she knew anything more than the publicly available facts.

When she'd run through the events, he said, "And what do you know about Tarin?"

She glanced at him sharply, then turned away to refill her coffee cup. When she settled back into her cushions, her wariness was unmistakable.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Come on, we both know he has some dangerous friends." Which sounded better than 'traitorous'. "And a lot of risky opinions."

"Do we?" she asked.

"Cele, I'm not planning to arrest him out of intensive care. Christ, how long have you known me?"

At that she did look a little embarrassed. "It's just not something any of us would ever talk about. At least . . . "

"Not in front of me. And believe me, I'm grateful. But right now we can't afford to ignore it. Politically, things are volatile. Opinions like his might not be treason any more, or even a reason for an arrest, but on the other hand they might be. And whatever the official position turns out to be, they're still potentially bad for your health."

She looked at him, still uncomprehending, then her eyes went wide. "Christ on a crutch — you think someone tried to kill him."

"No, I don't. I think it's possible."

"Who?"

"I have no idea, and there's no safe way of asking anyone else to look into it." Play it down. "
If
there's anything to find out in the first place. It could be nothing more than an accident. However, Valeria saw a man hanging around her school yesterday afternoon. And I thought you could — "

"Whip out a pencil and draw him for you?"

"Got it in one."

She cocked her head. "Do Keir and Dilly know?"

"No. It'll probably turn out to be nothing, and they've got enough to do."

She nodded, a little reluctantly. "What about Tarin? Will he be safe in the hospital?"

"Yeah. Those places have too much security for anyone to get to him easily. Besides, odds are he's going to die anyway."

Cele stared at him, then said, "So that would make it a pointless risk to go after him again unless they say he's going to pull through?"

"Right. Don't worry about him."

"That's one way of looking at it." She studied him for a moment longer, then added, "I'm glad I don't live in your world."

That gave him pause for thought. Cele was a close family friend. Not as close as him, in the sense that she wasn't currently fucking any of the family (unless there was something still going on with Dillian), but there was an outside chance that she could be in danger. Then there was Asher Linton, the other New Year regular at Kate's house, and a SimTech director to boot. He'd also carelessly forgotten Philly, who as the putative target's wife was probably in more danger than any of them.

Well, more targets meant more chance of a corpse showing up that wasn't his own, which improved the odds of finding whoever was behind it. On the other hand, too many accidents in a row would make Warrick suspicious, and if that happened Warrick would want to do something. He was a talented amateur, but an amateur he still was and he could stir up a lot of danger.

Too many complications, and he began to wish his suspicions had never arisen in the first place. He felt hemmed in by the uncertainty of the dangers, and having to worry about Warrick as well as himself was an unwelcome novelty.

"What are you thinking about?" Cele asked.

"Warrick." He looked up and smiled, with his best show of natural charm. "If I'm looking blank, I'm usually thinking about Warrick."

"Sweetheart, you
never
look blank. Not even when you're sleeping and/or passed out." Before he could ask for an elaboration, Cele stood up. "That reminds me. I've got something for you. Although I'm not sure if now's really an appropriate time to show you, but . . . "

She hunted through a rack, then returned with a portfolio.

"Keir called me about the move and the house-warming, so I was looking out a present for him. This is from the good old days, when he had time to pose and I had time to draw him."

He shifted round on the cushions to sit side-on to the window, to improve the light, and opened the file.

Studies of Warrick sleeping. In most of them, the bed was a shadowy presence, sketched in with a few lines to give a context for the figure. Faces, hands, torsos, full length. Frowning, he wondered when the hell Cele had had a chance to draw these. She always said — and Warrick had always said — that they'd never fucked.

Cele cleared her throat quietly. "He slept at the studio for a while, way back when. A different place — I couldn't afford anywhere this swish. I never laid a finger on him, although God knows I was plenty tempted. But he was engaged to Mel; they'd had a fight, which was why he was there at all."

Without looking up, Toreth nodded. Pretty much what he'd thought, he told himself. Repeating that a few times made it feel almost true.

Reassured, and with Tarin completely forgotten, he took his time. He'd never watched Warrick sleeping — until this moment he'd never even considered it. What would be the point? He wanted to do it now. To study him, to map out the differences in his body between now and these images from years ago. To see if he looked the same: vulnerable, guarded, irresistible.

He touched sleeping lips with his finger, wondering.

What are you dreaming? About fucking your precious Lissa? Or about something else — something she couldn't give you? A cock inside you, chains on your wrists . . .

So many subtle nuances of expression, so many varieties of sleep. He had no idea how long he browsed, or even how long he spent looking at a single drawing of Warrick on his side, perhaps nearing waking, his cock hard, his hand lying curled carelessly beside it. His slight, inviting smile made Toreth want to reach into the paper, shake him awake and fuck him into the mattress until they both came screaming. Except that Warrick hated fucking before breakfast. What a criminal bloody waste, if this was what —

A soft scratching made him look up. Cele now sat on the floor a little way away, leaning against the window, a large sketchbook on her knee.

Cele smiled. "Carry on, Seven Inches — don't mind me."

But he couldn't, not once he'd realised he was being watched. He set the portfolio aside. "What are you drawing?"

"You and your gorgeous cheekbones. Come see."

Feeling oddly reluctant, he went to crouch beside her.

She had indeed drawn his gorgeous cheekbones. His face was, so far, the one clear part of the drawing — everything else was sketchy but expressive lines. As he watched, Cele was filling in the details of his arms and shoulders, the open portfolio on his knees, his hands lifting a sketch to get just the right angle for the light — what was on the paper wasn't visible. Everything faded gently away from the focus of his face, with mere hints of the cushion and the rest of the background.

His face, looking at Warrick's face. Nicely recursive. Like all Cele's work, it was very good. Very true to life, or he assumed it was. Sketch-Toreth was intent on the drawing in his hand, absorbed, oblivious to surroundings and observer. And his expression was . . .

Oh, Christ in heaven. Burn it. Burn the damn thing right now.

The pencil stopped moving. "Well?" Cele asked.

Toreth stayed where he was for a long moment, appalled and yet unable to look away, then he stood up and looked at his watch. "Finish it, if you like. Give it to Warrick. I have to go — I'll get in touch about Valeria. We need to do it soon, though."

"Okay. Do you want to take one of those old ones? In exchange for giving me this." She lifted the sketch pad.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks."

He skimmed through the sketches again, for form's sake, but he knew which one he wanted. She signed it with a flourish, gave him a sleeve to protect it, and let him out of the studio.

At I&I, Sara was waiting for him, agog to hear the news. He told her the public version: unlucky accident, with SimTech considering the possibility of something corporate. There was no need to worry her with his speculations. Back in I&I, away from the gloomy atmosphere of Kate's house, the idea of a deliberate murder attempt seemed less plausible. All he really had was Tarin's resister background and the word of one child witness that a man might have been outside the school. He wished he hadn't spoken to Cele about it, even though he felt confident she wouldn't tell Warrick or Dillian.

He was surprised to get a call from Cele only half an hour after he reached the office.

"Toreth? I'm going to Kate's place this afternoon. Dillian and Warrick have to go back to the hospital with Philly, and they don't want to leave Jen on her own with Val. I didn't tell them I was calling you."

What a star. "Great. When you get there, see if you can get her friend over — the one who saw the accident. Katty is all I know."

After a few minutes' thought, he copied the appropriate section on eliciting descriptions from child witnesses from the P&P and sent it to her. That shouldn't be too risky.

He thought about going straight back to Kate's but decided against it. The later he got back, the less time he'd have to spend with Dillian glowering at him. Besides, the more work he could get done today, the more time he'd have free to devote to unofficial investigations later.

Toreth sat in Jen's kitchen, which was becoming familiar, and watched Cele sketching. She had Valeria's rapt attention, or at least all the attention she could spare from a plate of biscuits. The girl seemed to be enjoying the process of producing the likeness, which was good from the point of view of keeping her cooperation, but bad in that it made her more likely to drag the sketching out and distort her recollections. He kept quiet but listened carefully, making sure that Cele stuck to the protocols from the guide he'd sent her.

The house was silent except for the soft scuff of the pencil and Cele's occasional questions. Jen was asleep upstairs, and the SimTech security guard had gone with Warrick.

"How about that, sweetheart?" Cele said, turning the sketchbook towards Valeria.

Valeria studied the drawing with a thoughtful frown. "His nose is wrong."

Cele rolled her eyes, but all she said was, "Wrong how?"

"It was pointier." Valeria dipped her last chocolate chip cookie into the glass of milk and nibbled.

"Okay." Cele began to erase lines. "I'm not sure you should give her any more of those," she added without looking up. "And if you do, you're responsible for cleaning up the consequences. I traded my maternal instincts in years ago for a pair of genuine leather trousers so tight you could count my pubes."

Toreth paused, hand on the biscuit tin. Valeria eyed him hopefully. On reflection, he decided Cele was probably right. The brat was certainly smart enough to spot a bribe pattern. She'd already provided a description and a second recounting of the events that was clearer than many he'd heard from adults.

"How about that?" Cele asked at length. "Give it a good look, sweetheart."

After a lingering glance at the tin, Valeria obeyed. "It's okay," she said eventually.

Cele laid the sketchbook down on the table and all three of them examined the drawing.