THIRTEEN

 

 

DETECTIVE SAVITA ROMEY crouched next to Mayor Soseki’s corpse. How anyone could have mistaken this death for a natural one was beyond her. She knew that his aides didn’t want to cause a panic, but their caution had already slowed down an important part of the investigation.

The man was gray. Steel metal gray, the kind you could see in the Museum of the City of Armstrong on the old ships originally flown to the Moon hundreds of years ago. Uneven gray—darker on his left side, and getting lighter across his face, until there was no gray at all on his right side.

None.

She had no idea what this was, but she’d bet her entire career on the fact that it was intentional.

“I need vids,” she said to one of the on-scene officers. “And we need to canvas. I want to interview everyone who was in the area when this happened.”

“Everyone?” the officer said, with some surprise.

She looked up at him. Young, so innocent that he didn’t even have frown lines around his mouth. He probably hadn’t been on the job longer than a year.

“Everyone,” she said.

“What do you consider to be the vicinity?” he asked. Which was a really good question. She had no idea. One block? Five? Ten? It didn’t entirely matter. She had taken so long to get here—the system had taken so long to contact her—that if anyone wanted to get away from the crime scene they could.

“Five-block radius,” she said, just because it sounded good. “Up and down. See if anyone saw anything from windows and aircars, too.”

He nodded crisply. She had a hunch he’d get this done efficiently, which would make her life easier.

She should have gotten his name, and by the time she had that realization, he was already gone, doing what she needed.

The mayor’s aides were fluttering around her, trying not to ask her questions, looking nervous. She should feel nervous as well, but she didn’t. Even though this was the biggest case of her career.

The mistakes had already been made. One hour from death to a detective on site. That was the biggest error, and it wasn’t hers. She’d make note of it in her report as a cover-her-ass moment. Not that she needed it.

This investigation would be gone over, detail by detail, by the law enforcement branch, by the press, and by the hundreds of conspiracy theorists who seemed to thrive in the Moon dust.

She couldn’t think about them. She needed to think about doing this properly.

She had full control of this investigation. The chief of police had hand-picked her due to her closing record and her ability to handle high-profile cases. He gave her carte blanche. She could pick her team, and she could conduct the investigation as she saw fit.

She saw a lot of fit. Crime scene lasers in the wrong place, too many people close to the corpse, too many ways into and out of the scene, from the door to the restaurant to the open limo door to the sidewalk, up and around.

She sent a message to Dispatch on her links. I needed crime scene techs an hour ago. And how come there’s no coroner yet?

Ethan Brodeur wanted to make sure his lab was in order before he brought in such an important corpse, the dispatch sent. She didn’t just send audio but added an icon, a sketch of herself rolling her eyes, which was more of a commentary than Romey had ever seen from anyone on Dispatch.

Not that anyone liked Brodeur. He was marginally competent at best, and he’d screwed up more cases than he had resolved. Romey had a hunch he was a political appointee—or he knew where all the bodies were buried, and he used that knowledge to keep his job.

Send that new coroner—the one with the stupid name—?

Jacobs? Dispatch sent.

Yeah, her. What’s her first name?

Marigold, Dispatch sent.

This time it was Romey’s turn to roll her eyes. How could she forget a name like that? But she had.

Send her, Romey sent, and get Bartholomew Nyquist here ASAP. I need someone competent, and right now, I’m surrounded by politicos and street cops.

Anyone else? Dispatch sent.

Not at the moment, Romey sent, even though she should have reminded Dispatch that she was supposed to have a supervisor/advisor of sorts from Moon Security.

That was the only part of this case that really bothered her. She didn’t have a true buffer between her investigation and the United Domes of the Moon. When she knew anything, she was supposed to contact Security Chief DeRicci.

Romey supposed she should contact her now. But she was going to wait a few minutes. She half-thought she’d let Nyquist do it, but that wouldn’t work. The stupid man had some kind of relationship with DeRicci, and that alone might complicate the case.

It certainly explained why Romey had lead here, and not Nyquist. Since he’d got back from sick leave, he’d gone back to his old ways—closing more cases than anyone and alienating partners.

He’d asked her to partner with him twice, and she’d said no, not because they’d be a bad team but because they’d be a damn good one.

He was the first man she’d met in years who intrigued her. Who more than intrigued her.

Who fascinated her.

And that didn’t make for a good working relationship.

Except when she needed him.

Like right now.