Chapter Fifteen

“Another murder—the owner of one of the steam laundries this time.” Captain Addelforce tossed Brendan a look. “Word is the man was a real tyrant to his workers, most of which were steam units. Seems he used to hire humans exclusively but realized he could run the steam units round the clock and be as abusive to them as he chose.”

“A real prince, eh?” Brendan knew he wasn’t expected to give his opinion of individuals with whom he came into contact, especially victims. But he hadn’t slept well the last few nights—ever since running into Ginny Landry at that tavern, in fact—and the last thing he needed was another grisly murder scene. “Who reported it?”

“One of the human workers. Came running in here like a madwoman.” Addelforce flipped open the notebook that lay on his scarred desk. “Name of Ida Flude. Says when she got to work her employer, Mort Gressling, was lying across one of the steam presses with all the steam units gathered around him. He’d been…”

“Pressed?”

Addelforce shuddered. “The body’s being collected now. I want you to take someone down there and assess the scene. Interview the steamies, see if you can get them to talk.”

Brendan wanted to ask, “Why me?” But a good cop never allowed himself to so much as think that question.

Addelforce must have read his mind. “You’re my best man, Sergeant. I need you on this.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve just been in touch with Commissioner Messenberg. He’s had people besieging his office, demanding we put the automatons down. He thinks there’s going to be a riot if we don’t get to the bottom of these murders.”

“Yes, sir. Any news, sir, about the arson at Miss Landry’s home?”

“Someone claims to have seen a steam unit sneaking round back of the house. But since Miss Landry employs four steam units, it may have been one of hers. I’ve sent a man over to ask them further questions.”

And why couldn’t he have got that assignment rather than the flattened corpse?

He nodded. “Any of the Irish Squad on duty, sir? I’d like to take one with me. Sometimes the steamies open up better to them.”

“Check the roster. I think Dempsey’s on.”

“Will do.”

He found Kevin Dempsey sweeping out the jail yard. A big man, like all Mason and Charles’ victims, he had sandy hair and mild brown eyes.

“Murder scene, Kevin,” he said briefly. “Will you come?”

“Anything for a fellow Irishman.”

****

“Now that is an ugly scene and no mistake.” Dempsey spoke judiciously, and Brendan lifted his eyebrows at the staggering understatement. They’d arrived just as the coroner prepared to lift Gressling from the place where he’d died.

“Never seen anything like it, myself,” said Ben Rail, the coroner. “To tell you the truth, Captain Addelforce said he’d be sending someone over. I waited so you could see.”

Brendan blew out a breath. The pressing machine, monstrous in size, had been cranked open to reveal the body of a middle-aged man with graying hair. He might once have been overweight. Impossible to tell for sure, now.

“Cause of death?” he asked, feeling foolish for asking.

“I’ll need to determine the exact cause at my laboratory. You can see his sides burst when the machine clamped down on him. He’s also burned, but I doubt that killed him. All a matter of timing. If the machine came down fast, I’m sure his lungs ruptured. If it came down slowly…who knows?”

“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” Brendan whispered.

Rail had the nerve to look amused. “You can see many of his organs have been pushed out the sides.” He pointed. “That’s his liver, what’s left of it.” He clasped Brendan on the shoulder. “You have a strong stomach, Sergeant. I don’t think many men could look at that and not lose their breakfast.”

“Lucky for me I had no breakfast. Where’s the woman who reported the murder?” He pulled out his notebook and consulted the page. “Ida Flude?”

“Here, Officer.” The woman, tinged decidedly green, scrambled up from the floor and came over.

“Kevin, would you mind speaking to the steam units? See if you can find out what they saw.”

“I will, sor.”

Brendan drew Ida Flude aside, away from the pressing table, where Rail and his helper had begun the removal.

“I understand, Miss Flude…”

“It’s Mrs., though I’m a widow. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have spent the last eight years here.”

“Mrs. Flude, I understand you found the body.”

“Well, yes. When I got here this morning.” Her eyes flicked wildly. “But I wasn’t the first, was I?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean the steamies must have found him first, right?”

“Do they usually arrive ahead of you?”

“You don’t understand. They live here. Day and night. They have nowhere else to go. If Mr. Gressling had the orders, he made them work all night.”

“I see.” Brendan thought furiously. “But you were the first human to arrive today.”

“Yes.”

“And no one was working?”

“Well, that’s just it. The first thing I noticed was the quiet. That hardly ever happens here, with all the machines running. No,” she corrected herself, “the first thing I noticed was the smell.” Mrs. Flude wrinkled her nose. “I’d never smelled nothing like it. You can still catch a whiff now.”

“Aye, I can smell…something.”

She leaned closer. “Like seared pork. Bacon.”

Brendan’s empty stomach turned over. He loved bacon. Had loved bacon.

“Was the presser cold when you came in?”

“You think I went close enough to tell? Went anywhere near that…that? It smelled hot in here, but it always smells hot in here.”

“Well, what did you see?”

“At first I just seen the steamies standing all in a circle, like, around…around the presser. They were in the way. I couldn’t see him. Then I came in a few steps, called out to one of them, ‘Hey, what’s going on here?’ And I saw…him.”

“No question he was already dead when you came in?”

Mrs. Flude choked.

“Sorry, ma’am. I have to ask.”

“He was…was like that. Some of my fellow workers…humans…came, and I made them stay outside.”

“Good work.”

“I asked some of the steamies what happened. What happened? None of them said anything.”

Brendan stole a look at Kevin Dempsey, speaking steadily to one of the units.

Mrs. Flude lowered her voice. “Do you think they killed him?”

“No way to say, ma’am.”

“The thing is, I know them all. There’s not a bit of harm in any of them. And he treated them so badly.” Mrs. Flude’s eyes filled with tears.

“Did he, ma’am? How so?”

“Look at me—crying. But not for him. He was one mean son of a bitch, if you’ll excuse my language.”

“Was he abusive to the units?”

“He was abusive to all of us. Tell me, Officer, do you see so much as a stick of furniture in this place? A stool where a woman might sit down for one blessed minute? Sixteen hours a day I worked here—rain, shine, sick or well. And not an instant’s rest.

“But Mr. Gressling had a special hatred for the steamies. Never left them alone and nothing they did was ever good enough. He denied them maintenance and then complained they were too slow. If they got injured—everyone got injured here—he battered them for it. I know they don’t feel pain, but…”

Brendan glanced at Kevin again. “Mrs. Flude, did they mind? The steamies, I mean.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. It was no ordinary question, and he guessed she tried to decide how much to say. “Well they’re stoical, aren’t they? Never say much. I think that’s what made it so awful. But yes, I think they did…mind. They’re not as unfeeling as people like to say.”

“Do you think they—or any among them—had the ability to turn on their owner?”

“I would have said no.” Again she lowered her voice. “But then there was them Ladies that turned on that doctor woman, wasn’t there? I’d have said ours were all gentle. But something very nasty happened here last night.”

The coroner and his assistant had wrapped Mr. Gressling in a tarpaulin and shuffled him out the door. Brendan glanced at the gory presser and told Mrs. Flude, “Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”

“But, Officer, what will happen here? Will this place stay open?”

“Not today.”

“What am I to do for work?” She pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. “I’ll never make the rent.”

With real sympathy, Brendan said, “I’m sure I don’t know. Try not to worry. Maybe someone will take this place over.”

She nodded and went out. Brendan crossed over to Kevin.

“Officer, did you learn anything?”

“Many things, Sergeant Fagan. I have written it all down.”

“Are the units willing to talk to you?”

“Some of them are. Some seem to have partially shut down. Those say nothing at all. I still have a few to interview.” Kevin paused. “Several of them are severely damaged. They have had no repairs yet were expected to perform their jobs.”

“Yes, that’s what Mrs. Flude said.”

“One told me his hand got flattened in that selfsame presser. The deceased called him clumsy and left it there until all the joints were burned out.”

“An unpleasant man and no mistake. Do you think one of them killed him?”

“They say not. They say they ran out of work and he put them on standby. When their timers restarted them this morning, they found him like that.”

“Do you believe them?”

“Yes. They are not capable of lying.”

Brendan, not so sure about that, said nothing.

“When they found him,” Kevin went on, “they did not know what to do. They gathered and waited for instructions.”

“Found him? Surely they knew he was dead?”

“That is uncertain. Sergeant Fagan, these are very basic models, most of them, and in poor condition. They lack a higher unit’s ability to discriminate.”

“Would you like my assistance interviewing the others?”

“I believe they will speak more freely to me.”

“Then I’ll just wait for you, shall I?” Brendan glanced at the presser and away again. “Terrible stink in here, though.”

Kevin smiled. “Fortunately for me, Sergeant Fagan, I have no sense of smell.”