Other Peoples Problems

By Brian Delaney

It’s the near future and Inspector David Capper has a problem. One of his informants is dead at the hand of a vicious serial killer. However, when the murder investigation is taken from them, he and his team are instead relegated to investigating a new designer drug found at the scene. But as the investigation unfolds they find themselves traveling a far deadlier path than any murder case.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Delaney
• Release date: Apr 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005112813

Brian Delaney

Born in New Zealand but have lived in Australia for over twenty years.After a successful career in the technology sector, my wife and I bought a farm in country Victoria where I am free to indulge my triple passions of Painting, Photography and Writing. Although I have written many short stories, only recently have I finished my first full-length novel, "Other Peoples Problem" which is the first book in an eventual trilogy.

Book preview

Glossary Of Abbreviations

1 EL: Elevated Highway

2 FILMS: Forensic Interior Laser Mapping System

3 ETD: Estimated Time of Death

4 S.H.A.I.: Secure Home Automation Interface.

5 CVV: Constant Velocity Vehicle. Technical term for a space ship that is able to achieve constant acceleration.

6 OU. Open Unsolved

7 APC: Armoured Personnel Carrier

8 Mis-per: Missing Persons Alert

9 Alcubierre Higgson Drive named after it’s inventors but commonly shortened to the AH or R drive

10 Mars Orbital station

11 Electronic Halo: The various ID streams emitted by communication devices, medical implants and other network connected devices.

12 The outline of whichever subject is in focus will glow from green to red depending on their legal status and the number of convictions or warrants against their name.

13 National Contemporary Arts Museum

14 The Police A.I. system. Named Orb by it’s designers, although most people referred to it as ‘The core’ or Hub.

15 SS: Senior Sargent

16 DRARAT: Digital Remote Asynchronous Receive and Transmit Module

17 The Box: Slang name for SOU. Headquarters

18 DSC: Detective Senior Constable

19 DCI: Detective Chief Inspector

20 NDA: Non Disclosure Agreement

21 Habs: Extreme Environment Habitats

22 33: Body Discovered

23 55: Indecent assault

24 1143: Precautionary removal of weapon, no imminent threat detected. This code is used in various circumstances although not often. Usually when an officer is suspicious of a person or situation, but does not feel threatened.

25 WA: Western Australia

Chapter 1

Its rubber tracks sucked at the wet tarmac, as the Protector splashed through puddles on the El. David eyed its passage from beneath the dripping awning, till the murk swallowed it. He doubted it could see him though. Well, not clearly anyway, rain and distance would obscure its optics. Even with infrared, he would register no more than an indistinct blob in the darkness. He’d deactivated his badge before leaving his flat. An act not only contrary to department policy but a disciplinary offence in its own right. Still, the added security was worth any repercussions. Shivering in the drizzle, he stabbed in the entry code. Spurring the ancient glass doors into arthritic action.

Released air tousled his hair. Then he was in the foyer, flapping the moisture from his coat and stamping his feet on the terrazzo floor. Although far from tropical, the ageing foyer was at least dry and well lit. It would have been impressive in its heyday. Home now though, to chipped tiles, peeling woodwork and graffitied mailboxes. It was often the way with buildings in this part of town, too near the docks to be affluent, too far from the restaurant’s to be trendy. Ignored by the smart money, but just affluent enough to be called middle class. A gaggle of delivery drones lurked along the shadowed walls, their lock-pads glowing like embers in the darkness. Usually, they dumped their deliveries and buggered off back to the depot, not loitered in the dark like cut-price vampires. In fact, he’d never seen so many huddled in one place before.

David shrugged in his coat, it wasn’t any of his concern. Turning his back on the drones he headed for the elevators.

As was Usual for buildings of this vintage, the elevators were in the building’s central core. Also usual, they didn’t work. Which explained the loitering drones in the foyer at least. He swore vehemently. Jabbing at the panel buttons in frustration.

Fuck. He spat. Adding a flurry of boot prints to the already impressive collection of scuffs and dents on the door’s steel surface. Then reeling off another long stream of expletives, before the adult in him reasserted itself, and he trudged to the stairwell. Muttering darkly.

Tenth fucking floor.

The stairs, behind the tagged steel door, wound round the elevator shaft like rifling in a gun barrel. David paused to take stock of his surroundings. Hoping against hope that some alternative would present itself. The artists who’d ‘improved’ the post boxes in the foyer had worked their dubious magic in here. The usual tags were interspersed with some quite fine, although risque, street art. Every centimetre of every surface caked in layers of lurid colours and sinuous shapes to well above his head height. Then there was the stench of alcohol tinged urine, which pervaded the air.

Nice. He sighed as he began his ascent.

While steep and narrow, the stairwell was at least well lit. Double rows of strip lights snaked across the ceiling, spiralling into the darkness. A minor blessing in a night that had few.

Actually, the concrete stairs seemed steeper than should be considered legal, burning his thighs after only a few flights. Forcing him to rest on the second-floor landing. Whilst leaning against the wall and gasping for breath. His eyes were drawn to a meter high, brightly painted and obsessively detailed penis in purple. The dripping yellow script beneath it.

Bryce Retter can suk my dick. in day-glow yellow.

Hopefully, for whoever Mr Retter was, it wasn’t a life-sized rendition. He chuckled at the thought and continued the climb. The fifth-floor exit soon passed, followed sometime later by the sixth. By the eighth the murals faded away, leaving only cold grey concrete. Obviously, there was a limit to how much one was prepared to suffer for their art. The final two floors held all the charm and character of a cold war missile silo and dragged on for an age. The last flight was a herculean test of stamina and determination. Each step an agony, each breath a searing assault on his tortured throat. Until, eventually, he stood before a peeling green door marked with a barely legible 10. Breathing a sigh of relief. He resting briefly on quivering legs, before shouldering it open.

Although he’d known Regina for many years, this was his first visit to her apartment. The depressing grey facade, faded elegance of the foyer and the claustrophobic stairwell, didn’t sit well with his perception of her. But the hallway he now found himself in, as elegantly sophisticated as any Paris salon or New York apartment, unquestionably did.

The door of apartment 107, like many of its neighbours, was painted deep forest green, the apartment number picked out in flaking gold leaf. Touching the flush fit security panel in the wall, a pasty electronic representation of his own face swam into view.

Hey Reggie he waited patiently while nothing happened, then without warning, it happened again. How Rude.

Reggie, are you there? Let me in it’s late.

Same result. Nothing. He tried several more times but was met with equal levels of success. Resting his forehead against the cool metal of the door, he let his arms dangle to his sides. Hopefully, there weren’t any curious neighbours peering through the pin cameras in their doors.

‘So, options?’

‘With someone? A client perhaps? No!’ He dismissed the thought. She wouldn’t have asked for a meeting if she had someone over and had been quite insistent on the phone.

‘OK, out maybe?’ That didn’t fly either. For the same reason. She knew his number and was far too polite not to have used it. Pulling up a screen along his forearm, he checked emails and social network feeds just in case.

Perhaps he should wait another ten minutes, see what happened, poke the panel a few more times, Cause that approach worked so well with the elevator.

Damn it

So where did this leave him? Either she wasn’t home, which he’d discounted. Or was but incapacitated, or worse. David sighed. This really was a shitty night, and about to get worse. An angry unintelligibly strangled noise bubbled in his throat as he reactivated his badge. Now he’d be back on the grid.

Pressing the badge to the screen, he scanned the list of options which flashed up, stabbing number 4, Breach.

His status on the police grid would have flashed to active as soon as the badge came online. Choosing forced entry automatically dispatched a protector to his location. Things were escalating and would continue to do so. A sub-menu replaced the first, from which he chose Occupier Distress as the reason for the door override. After a moment’s hesitation, the panel flicked from a pleasing blue to angry red, and the door clicked open.

His pistol vibrated slightly as he drew it, signifying another escalation in the threat level to the incoming Protector. A second protector would now be assigned standard procedure if an officer pulled his weapon.

After a shake of his head and a series of deep breaths, he shouldered the door open. Going in low and fast, like he’d been taught at the academy, all those years ago. Squatting in the Stygian hallway, he waited for his eyes to adjust.

Hope you know what you’re doing.

The door slammed shut behind him. Good, no silhouette. But bad, as there were no lights on in the apartment, meaning it was ‘blacker than a dead sheep’s arse’. As his not so dearly departed, father used to say.

Shit, glasses

Fumbling in his pocket with one hand, while juggling the heavy pistol in the other. The TAC glasses were eventually liberated, and once activated, revealed the foyer in sickly green

The first door on the left led to a large bedroom and en suite, both empty. He spent some time checking the double wardrobes. They seemed to be storage for various costumes and sex aids but revealed no hidden assailants. The Lounge, dining, and kitchen were similarly uninhabited. Heat blooms glowed in dull orange from the oven and rapidly cooling kettle. A door off the kitchen led to a spacious two-way bathroom and on through the connecting door to the Master bedroom. Which was where he found her.

He knew she was dead before entering the room. Death, and especially savage death, has an odour all its own, a grim cocktail of spilt blood, vented body fluids and fear. Her not registering as a heat bloom was a bit of a giveaway as well.

Reggie’s body sprawled naked on the bed. It was unclear if the positioning was natural or posed. Her carefully trimmed and manicured blonde hair stiff and black with dried blood from a deep gash just above one eye. A dark river of the stuff surged between her breasts, across the plain of her stomach. It dripped from her groin before congealing in a broad, cracked puddle at her feet. Either during or after the struggle that ended her life, her bowels and bladder had let go. Contributing to the stench of death and the pool of filth that had once been a life. He staggered to the window, flinging it open, gulping in huge draughts of air to quell his nausea. Far below a protector, probably the one from earlier hurtled down the street.

He pulled up the wrist display quick dialling dispatch.

Shit, what a mess.

David was still at the window, tears freezing on his face as the first protector arrived. He didn’t turn. Its harsh white lights reflected from the glass blinded him with their glare. Instead of apologising, it recited crime scene protocols, in its flat inflexion-less voice. Through the fog of grief, his anger bubbled to the surface…

Leave me alone, just shut up you stupid machine

But the dull metal voice droned relentlessly on, like a fly buzzing against in his ear. Torn from his reverie, he spun from the window, anger and frustration curling his lips in a snarl. Only then realising Reggie’s hand was in his palm, he must have grasped it when he first walked in and it nestled there still. He gently placed it back in her lap, turned and stalked from the apartment.

Chapter 2

Although the carpet had seemed plush enough, David’s arse had long since gone numb from inaction.

The Protector offered no sympathy. It had positioned its self by the apartment door to deter reporters and other low life’s. Crime Scene Techs arrived soon after the second Protector, and amid much bitching and grumbling, had set-up their equipment and Stretched yellow police tape across the door. As if the hulking protector weren’t deterrent enough. A pretty blonde tech, presumably a junior, had tutted her way through sampling and swabbing him. She took his statement and favoured him with a baleful glare when he told her about holding Reggie’s hand. Since then though, he’d been pretty much ignored, which suited him just fine.

David had amused himself overnight by questioning the constant stream of curious neighbours. He was pretty sure he’d spoken to almost everyone on Reggie’s floor. Who, although concerned and helpful, provided no useful information. The woman in the apartment opposite Reggie’s, however one Lucy Strack, was neither concerned nor helpful. Point blank refusing to open the door, even after he identified himself as a police officer. Vomiting streams of colourful language then disconnecting before he could respond. He’d considered badging his way in but decided against it. What would be the point, she said she hadn’t seen anything, and he was too tired to force the issue. The best plan was to assign someone he didn’t like to take her statement later.

Don’t you stand when a superior comes in the room?

Detective Superintendent Scott loomed above him, blocking out the hall lights.

No, not usually

Scott smiled, Well scoot over then, those stairs nearly did me in

An undignified bum shuffle later, the Superintendent flopped down beside him and nodded towards the apartment.

So what’s the story here then ?

Homicide, Caucasian female, no perp found at the premises

Scott held up his hand,

No, why are you here?

David squirmed his back against the wall.

She was one of my units.

Was she on the Books?

Pfft, what do you think?

In an ideal world, Informants would be logged in the central core. Supposedly the most secure data repository in the country. However, perception landed a long way from reality. Any beat cop could log into the informant register, and many supplemented their income by doing so. Selling the information they gleaned to anyone who’d pay. Plenty of official informants had disappeared or suffered nasty accidents as a result. Good detectives kept their people, or Units, off the books. David ran all his informants this way. Paid them all out of his own pocket. All except Reggie, that is. She’d never asked for anything, said it was her duty to rat out some piece of shit now and then. Of course, he was paraphrasing, but that was the general gist, she’d been far too much of a lady to actually say that.

The Super nodded.

What do you need?

Am I lead?

Don’t see why not? You were first on the scene, and it’s in our zone. What else do you have on?

David rested the back of his head on the wall, his eyes glazed.

Um, a domestic, but she won’t press charges yet. A gang shooting downtown, the usual turf war shit. Missing person, but no new leads on that. Various other bit’s and pieces, nothing overly important though

He turned to his boss, whose brow was creased in feigned concentration.

Missing person case? his face split in a wide grin You didn’t catch the Daley case did you?

Dennis Daley, sometime thief but full-time pest. Bombarded whoever had the misfortune to cross his path with bizarre conspiracy theories explaining why his life was shit. Being a particularly inept thief, but talented and committed drinker, his visits to the cells were as regular as they were unwanted. His sometime girlfriend, Nicole, had reported him missing five days ago. David had been away that day, so hadn’t been able to push the poisoned chalice onto some other hapless bastard.

David gritted his teeth at the thought of it

You bloody well know I caught it.

So not going well then?

The damn woman rings me every day to complain about the lack of progress.

Tell reception to screen her out.

I have, but magic fucking fairies or something, make sure she always manages to find me.

The Super’s grin widened, which he halfheartedly concealed with his hand.

What I can’t fathom David huffed is why she wants the little shit back anyway. Any normal person would be deliriously happy to be shot of him. Go off on a cruise or something

Ah, the mysteries of the heart eh Which seemed very philosophical given the early hour.

They sat in silence for a while, watching the various forensics personnel bustle past. Scott placed a conciliatory hand on his DI’s shoulder.

So, what do you need?

Oh, just the usual. A task force, fully funded, of course, a swat team, forensics and a vicious Doberman with a rubber band around its nuts. OH, And someone to take Dennis fucking Daley’s case off my hands.

HA. I bet you do

The Superintendent pulled up his wrist interface and scrolled through some pages.

Tell you what, you can have Glenn, plus the first two uniforms you see, but you only get them for the week.

David grimaced

Is that it? Not even a Doberman with a rubber band around its balls?

I said you could have Glenn

It was David’s turn to grin. Glenn Crosby was a large red-headed DI, Jovial in nature, intelligent and irreverent, but certainly no Doberman. He and David had been partners for the last three years, and friends since the academy.

Where is Glenn anyway?

Scott shrugged.

Dunno, when I passed him he was having a heart attack by the giant penis on level five.

Awesome, he’ll be after one of them for Christmas now.

The three fibre optic implant pips beneath Scott’s ear flared abruptly. He checked his wrist display. Hang on, it’s the missus. I’d better answer.

He tapped the pips turning them green.

Hello dear. a pause No at work another pause yes I’ll get them at three

Tapping his neck again turned the implants orange.

I’ll be off, talk to you later and with a wave of his hand headed off down the hallway. No of course I didn’t mute you dear.

David watched him go , wondering how the man always seemed so clean and unruffled.

The stairwell door burst open and Detective Inspector Glenn Crosby collapsed on the carpet

Have you seen those fucking stairs? he bellowed, the sweat sheening his face. He turned and glared at David Have you fucking seen them?

Super Scott waved up the hall, then pointed to the man at his feet.

Found him he mouthed.

Eventually, Glenn recovered sufficiently to crawl over and flop down next to David. Whereupon he launched into an expletive heavy dialogue about the stairs, the job and life in general.

Jeez Glenn, do you kiss your wife with that mouth?

Yep, and not just on the mouth he made a lurid display with his tongue by way of illustration. David shuddered.

So why was Mr Fancy pants here?

Gave me lead on this David gestured towards the door opposite.

Pfft, couldn’t he get anyone competent then ?

Hilarious, just for that you’re getting all the shit jobs.

So what else is new he waved his hand in the door’s direction, What’s the go, anyway?

It’s Reggie, she’s dead David pointed with his chin In there

Glenn’s face registered confusion for a moment then understanding

Not the cute blonde unit?

Uh Huh

They sat in silence for a while, lost in thought as the white-clad techs hurried about their business. Glenn punched him on the shoulder.

Well, fuck all is going to get solved sitting here.

Doctor Andrew Reese was not an interesting man. Fortunately, his job as head crime scene technician didn’t require a high degree of personality. But still, he failed to meet even that low standard. As a result, he was universally shunned. Not that he seemed to care, or even notice come to that.

David had once asked a question about the FILMS device and been subjected to an interminably long and obsessively boring description of the things innermost workings. Yet despite his shortcomings, or perhaps because of them, Andrew Reese was extremely good at what he did.

David and Glenn stood uncertainly in the doorway, watching the forensic team swarm termite like over the apartment. Reese stood stock still in the centre of the room, engrossed in the contents of his data feed.

An island of boredom in a sea of nerd commented Glenn.

They edged closer, not wishing to interact with the man, but understanding it was inevitable. Bloody crime scene protocols and all that.

David cleared his throat.

Ah, David, Glenn. Reese’s nasal drone grated in their ears. I see you are the lead detective on this case.

He indicated the data stream scrolling from his wrist, presumably to illustrate the source of his knowledge.

I suppose you’ve come for an update on our progress thus far.

No David realised he had shouted and attempted to modulate his tone. Er no thanks Andrew, I’ll wait for your written report.

The doctor dragged a soft white hand through his sparse black hair, looking for all the world like a dead fish entangled in seaweed. Hard to believe the man was only forty.

Very astute of you David, very astute. Be sure of the facts before proceeding he returned to his data feed in an act of dismissal.

There was one thing Andrew He refocused on the pair of them, Is Mona about?

Oh yes, she’s in the bedroom with the body. Was there anything else?

No, No. Thank you Andrew.

Mona Painter, forensic pathologist, musician and all-round agreeable person, turned on them as they entered the bedroom.

David, what the fuck. her hair was blue today, last time he had seen her it was a vivid pink You held her hand. I mean actually held her hand, without gloves, what’s wrong with you? Contaminating my body like that.

Sorry, Mona. It’s just she’s, well was, a friend

Mona’s visage quickly softened to a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment Well er, no harm done, I suppose. Sorry Dave, you know, for your loss

He waved the sentiment away. It was a phrase he never used and hated hearing. Sorry For Your Loss. Managed to sound both disingenuous and patronising, one of those trite automatic emotional responses people used. Like Have a nice day. or Oh that’s no Good when they didn’t want to get involved.

What killed her Mona?

The pathologist shrugged, pulling on her professional face.

Old fashioned blow to the head stunned her, stab in the heart. The other wounds are all post mortem. She used a pencil to indicate the four or five stab wounds dotted around the chest and stomach.

David lent down for a closer look. Marvelling for a moment, how his easily the training took over. Rendering Reggie, for the time being, no more than another in a long line of homicide victims he’d attended over his long career.

So why the other wounds then ?

Well, that’s the strange thing she pushed her glasses up her nose to get a clearer view, I don’t know. They’re very deliberate, not frenzied attack wounds. Someone just stood here and very carefully and slowly drove the knife in four times.

But Why?

I don’t know, the last humiliation perhaps. Some kind of ritual. You’re the detectives, not me. Maybe you can ask him when you catch him

Him?

Well, I’m assuming, obviously. Men commit most female homicides. But hey, anyone could have hit her, and once she’s down, you wouldn’t have to be particularly strong to finish her off.

David nodded as he surveyed the room. It looked different in the morning light, not as sinister somehow. A large portion of carpet was missing, though. Presumably removed by some lucky tech, and currently in one of the black evidence bags in the hall. The rest of the furniture seemed unruffled, and apart from the floor under the bed and wall behind it, blood splatter had been kept to a minimum.

Any idea what she was struck with?

Mona frowned and shrugged Whatever it was it’s not here. I won’t be able to tell you for sure till we’ve got her on the slab. But I think it’s something soft but heavy like a cosh, or bar with a towel around it, something like that. she pointed to Reggie’s temple. Skins not broken you see.

David and Glenn returned to the main living area, partly to get the lay of the land. But mainly because two Morgue workers had turned up and we’re currently trying to stuff Reggie into a body bag. Something neither of them needed to be lodged in their memories.

Most of the jump suited techs had departed. Only Andrew Reese and a young beat cop remained when they returned to the lounge room. The FILMS had been activated, its multi-coloured lasers played about the walls. The young officer looked simultaneously bored and terrified in equal measure. A feeling David remembered well.

He’s asked Andrew a question hasn’t he whispered Glenn The poor bastard. Look at him, like a rabbit corned by a boring wolf.

David sighed We’d better rescue him I suppose

The cop in question, one Neal Shelton, if his badge was to be believed, was almost childishly relieved when they interrupted Reece’s flow.

Can we borrow this officer for a while Andrew?

Reese, noticing them for the first time, gave a little start.

Oh, David, I was just telling Officer ah.

Shelton, said officer Shelton, his voice shaking slightly

Yes, that was it, Sheldon, about the FILMS

Sorry Andrew, have to wait I’m afraid we need officer Shelton for canvassing

Glenn grabbed the beat cop’s arm, steering him towards the door. It’s OK Andrew we’ll bring him back when we’re finished

David suppressed a giggle as the young cop’s shoulders sagged.

Chapter 3

I mean, I only asked if it was OK to walk past They were in the hallway outside the apartment. David sent a comm request for another beat cop, Scott had promised two bodies after all. He was seriously considering cutting Shelton loose though and requesting someone else. Anyone else, actually. In the ten minutes they’d been there, all the whiny bastard had done was bitch about his near sleep experience with Reese.

Give it a rest you’re doing my fucking head in

All right, no need to get nasty he turned to Glenn for support I was just saying

Hey don’t look at me, I was sick of you Glenn glanced at his watch nine minutes ago

Shelton swapped his whiny face for a grumpy one, leaning against the wall to study his shoes.

Glenn grinned and sauntered up to David.

So what’s the plan?

Well, you and captain winge there.

Hey.

Sorry, sorry David held up his palms towards the disgruntled officer Officer Winge.

Shelton made a face.

So anyway, you take the top floors, work your way up from here. I’ll wait for the help and start from the bottom and work my way up, meet back here in a couple of hours

It was Glenn’s turn to make a face There’s like eight more floors above us.

Nine

Nine more floors above us, on those stairs. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, with him

David Grinned It’s another glorious day on the force

Fuck you

Don’t be like that, if you’re a good boy I’ll buy you an ice cream.

Glenn pretended to think it over for a while, Well alright then.

He rounded on Shelton, Come on Captain, time to work.

Do I get an ice cream too, then?

Glenn laughed Shit no, ice creams are for senior investigators, you get to fetch them for us though

David watched them disappear up the stairwell. Glenn whistling tunelessly, Shelton slouching in his wake, muttering darkly. He settled back to await the arrival of their new addition.

As he did, he studied the inert protector guarding Reggie’s apartment. Like everyone he’d seen, this one had a sort of urban camouflage of coloured paint splats. Street denizens loved chucking paint bombs or bricks at the things, to prove their questionable manhood. Inexplicably this one had the word Carrot spray-painted in a day-glow green scrawl across its back. Whichever little monster had done that one would have garnered some serious street cred from his inbred mates. Protectors were not something to provoke. Standing over two meters tall, with stowed tracks, armoured and well-armed. Protectors were a formidable weapon, although not immune from paint.

While he mused over the merits and failings of the protector units, a condom clad tech mooched past. A clear bag stuffed full of colourful dermatabs slung over his shoulder, like a latex Santa.

Hoy, anything interesting ?

The young tech turned and tapped his neck, turning his pulsing neck pips from blue to orange for pause.

Oh hey, Inspector Capper, isn’t it?

David nodded, he’d seen the guy before, one of Andrews usual crew, Stephen, or Simon maybe.

He sauntered over to the Inspector. Some old friends, some new ones to keep me busy, you know the usual.

Dermatabs had first appeared over a century ago as patches to help addicted smokers kick the habit. Drug manufacturers, however, had utilised them as the perfect delivery system for narcotics, registered and illicit. Nano-sized needles drenched the drug of choice was embedded in a sticky patch. Once slapped on your body, delivered a hit just under the outer layer of skin. Painless, cheap, disposable, and no risk of collapsed veins or ugly track marks. Dealers printed the tabs with colourful logos to differentiate their product from the oppositions. A handy side effect of the colourful images was their attractiveness to young children. Who often picked them up getting a weak dose through their unprotected fingertips. Hey presto new customers for the dealer.

It had become standard procedure at crime scenes to collect discarded tabs for a snapshot of dealers in the area.

Funny thing though

Oh yeah, what’s that

Well, most of these, he thrust forward the bag are old, you know a year or more.

And?

The tech shrugged, his coverall straining perilously across his groin. He should’ve got the next size up.

Funny is all. You’d expect more up to date one’s in a place like this. Anyway, must get on. he tapped his neck again and turned to leave.

Hang on, you said Most of them were old. So, which ones weren’t

Stephen, Simon? Swung the bag off his shoulder as he hit pause, turning it over on the floor until he found what he was after. Here, this one, it’s not been there long, don’t recognise the graphic either.

David peered at the indicated tab. A bright yellow and black smiley face dissolved to a skull across its surface.

OK thanks, Stephen?

Stuart

Oh yeah sorry, Stuart

Stuart threw the bag on his back and sauntered off. David distinctly heard him mumble Prick under his breath, as he re-hit play on whatever music he was listening to. Probably fair.

He recognised the officer they’d sent as soon as her cursing, red-faced form appeared in the hallway. Of course, they would send her. PC Sylvia Rook, nobodies favourite partner.

Hi Sylvie.

Don’t you fucking Hi Sylvie me, have you seen the state of those stairs

He nodded in what he hoped was a sympathetic way.

Don’t fucking nod at me

It wasn’t.

She threw off her helmet, doubling over as she sucked down lungfuls of air.

David watched her, waiting until she got control of herself before saying anything. He’d taken her out for coffee twice, never went anywhere though. She was quite attractive in that sort of athletic, tomboyish way some women had.

Stop fucking gawping at me, pervert

Bit of a mouth on her though.

You realise I’m a DI, right ?

Get over yourself man. Jeez

So much for pulling rank. He thought about trying again, but that seemed too much like kicking a land mine, so he left her alone.

After an age, she straightened and stuffed her unruly curls back under the riot helmet. Which resulted in considerably more swearing than seemed strictly necessary. Eventually, however, she was satisfied with the result and glowered at him alarmingly.

OK David, what are we up to then?

Well PC Rook She scowled dangerously Er Sylvie, we’re door knocking.

What us two ?

No, no, Glenn’s doing the top ten, and we’re doing the bottom ten and well meet back here when we’ve finished.

As the words left his mouth, he realised his mistake. Sylvie’s rising colour and contorted features told him she’d noticed too.

So you dragged me all the way up here, so we can go back down and come back up

He had to admit that it sounded stupid when you said it out loud.

Well, yeah was the best he could manage

You, fucking prick, you could have met me down there. and with that, she stalked back down the stairs. Mumbling something about Fucking stupid men.

Probably fair.

Sylvie didn’t wait for him, but he could hear her swearing and muttering several floors ahead. Not feeling any particular urge to catch up with her, he dawdled as he looked over the impromptu graffiti art gallery instead. Others appreciated the works rather less than the artist may have hoped. Comments and critiques had been added to selected pieces, as aggravated police and techs had vented their frustrations beneath the various artworks. One that caught his eye around the third-floor landing was a particularly well-executed painting of a naked woman in a top hat.

Someone had scrawled a message across the bottom in what looked suspiciously like Glenn’s handwriting.

The only hat she needs is my firefighter’s helmet. it read.

Not his best work. The police anti-discrimination and professional standards department would have a collective seizure if they found out. But then again, they had seizures about everything. He supposed it was the nature of the job.

Sylvie was waiting in the foyer. Slouched against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles and looking bored.

You made it then?

He shrugged off the disappointment in her tone.

So what’s the layout here

Sylvie sighed, flicking her Data bangle a few times until the floor plan appeared on her forearm.

The first floor comprised only four actual apartments. Utility area’s of various types, storage area’s and an access door to the basement filled the remaining space.

They started with the basement and utility rooms, before tackling actual residents. Reasoning that most would be less than impressed with an early morning interrogation.

The basement was interesting. Not evidence wise, but held an abundance of discarded electronics and Bric-à-brac. Nostalgia dripped from every shelf. Even Sylvie smiled at some secret memory, as she tripped her fingers along the steel shelves.

By contrast, the three utility rooms were the usual power, water and data hubs. Inspection of their lock history revealed that none had used in the last forty-eight hours. So a total bust.

According to Sylvie’s data band, the marigold yellow door of the nearest apartment belonged to a Miss Debra Boucher. A petite, dark-haired young woman with a bored expression cracked the door.

Whaddayawant,

Miss Boucher. I’m Detective Inspector David Capper, and this is Constable

It’s Ms, and I don’t use that name anymore. Now I’m Debbie Doors.

I see

Sylvie let out a loud huff, but they both ignored her

I’m an artist, you see. Debbie Doors has more of a ring to it.

For a moment David thought she was making a joke about doorbells. But her determinedly earnest face said otherwise.

OK, Ms Doors. Sylvie let out another derisive snort. There was a murder here last night, so we are interviewing everyone to see if they saw or heard anything. It was standard patter, he’d lost count of how many times he’d said it over the course of the last ten years. It always elicited one of three responses, boredom Yeah, saw nothing. Leave me alone

Fear, Oh my god that could have been me, do you think they’re still around?

Or the one so clearly displayed on Miss Boucher’s youthful face. Intense interest.

Oh, So who was Murdered? David and Sylvie exchanged a look, she’d hop on social media as soon as they left. Playing up the danger angle to her vapid self-absorbed friends.

It was a woman on the tenth floor.

Not the whore? They glanced at each other It was, wasn’t it?

Whore, Miss Boucher?

Yeah, Regina something, everyone knows about her. Debra’s pretty face glowed with malice.

Really, Miss Boucher, what does everyone know?

My name is Debbie Doors, not Boucher she spat venomously.

David smiled sweetly, forcing his best professional voice.

Sorry Miss Boucher, but we have to refer to you by your legal name, not as your fantasy character. Sylvie spat out a quick laugh before regaining composure.

David expected her to stamp her foot or slam the door in their faces. But instead, she dropped her lip, arms folded across her chest.

So anyway, Miss Boucher, you were telling us what everybody knows

I don’t have to tell you anything. Actually, I don’t know anything. she endeavoured to retreat into her apartment.

So what was it you do again, Miss Sylvie stuck her foot in the door as she spoke Artist, didn’t you say?

Debbie tried an experimental tap of the door against Sylvie’s urban combat boots before replying.

Yes. she huffed.

Only I’ve looked up Miss Debra Boucher, in the database. she poked at her display for emphasis. And it says you are or at least were up until about six months ago, a switch bitch at a tech company.

I wasn’t reaching my full potential there

Sylvie ignored her and tapped another part of the display. But if I look up Debbie Doors she paused fixing a look on the petite woman Shit name by the way. Returning her gaze to the screen, she raised an eyebrow. It comes up with a picture of someone, who looks remarkably like you, but is a cam girl.

Cam Girls had been around almost as long as the internet itself. Attractive young women, like Debbie, found they could make more money from online flesh and fantasy shows than mollifying disgruntled tech customers.

Digital artist yelled Debbie.

Sylvie frowned theatrically. It’s not what I’d call art, but hey what do I know. See what you think, Inspector. She dragged her hand across the display, throwing a life-size video of naked Debbie on the hallway wall. Virtual Debbie was butt naked and using a wine bottle in a manner contrary to the manufacturer’s intentions.

Debbie squealed and hurled herself in front of the projection, superimposing the naked doppelganger over her own body. To interesting effect.

Hey, members-only content, she screamed How the Fuck did you get it.

Sylvie shrugged Hey maybe I’m a member. she elbowed David with a smirk. Did you want to see the one where she raids the veggie crisper?

No, you can’t Debbie actually stamped her foot this time It’s members only. she shrieked it’s not fair.

Look. David sighed, We can do this all day. I’m sure Officer Rook can find more content to display on the wall. He glanced at Sylvie, who nodded enthusiastically.

Or you can help us, and we’ll be on our way. Your call.

Debbie looked miserably at herself reaching climax. On herself.

OK, OK, No problem, but I know nothing. Can we turn that off, please?

David nodded, Sylvie grudgingly killed the feed.

I was working last night till about 2 am, then went to bed.

Can anyone verify this?

Debbie sighed, gesturing to Sylvie’s data bangle. My work is time-stamped that one you had up before that was last night.

Sylvie threw the video up again, insisting on watching it to the end, ‘To Check the time stamps.’

Debbie was less than impressed falling into a world-class sulk So is that all?

No, what made you think Regina was the victim, I mean we never mentioned her He turned to Sylvie Did we? She shook her head solemnly.

Debbie’s sly look returned Regina, is it? Did you KNOW her, Inspector?

Sylvie threw another naked vid to the wall, this time involving an Aubergine.

OK, look, I knew she was a whore. Everyone in the building knows it, and well it’s an unsavoury lifestyle, I knew it would catch up with her one day

And how did you know Miss Meyer?

We meet in the hall sometimes, you know, clearing the mail, that kinda Shit.

Did you ever see her with anyone?

Anyone? You mean like Johns? She eyed David as he shrugged Yeah I suppose, never paid much attention though. You know random guys, nothing special.

David frowned, We’ll need a statement from you, sometime today. Do you want me to send an officer round or would you prefer to come down to the station?

I’d prefer to go back to bed. You know it’s 7 am, right?

Oh yeah, book and a bottle, is it? Sylvie sniped, which earned her a sour look.

I’ll come down the station, can I go now?

Of course you can, Miss Boucher. Have a nice day.

Yeah whatever. she hissed, slamming the door hard enough to scramble her door display.

They sauntered off in search of another resident to harass.

That wasn’t very professional, Sylvie remarked. Fun though.

David shrugged I didn’t like her. I have two questions though.

Sylvie eyed him expectantly. Where did she get that bottle? I haven’t seen a glass bottle since I was a kid

Really? That’s your question?

Yeah, and also, how did you get into her account?

Easy. I did some work with Vice last month, and they loaded some nice little backdoor worms on my bracelet. You know purely to help with work.

David thought of pointing out that she should have deleted them when her secondment had finished. But what the hell, Sylvie was happy, and that suited him just fine.

The next two apartments they checked were unoccupied. But they badged the locks anyway, letting themselves in for a look around. One belonged to a Joanne and Nathan Lloyd. They and their two sons were on holiday in New York, according to the E-calendar in the fridge. David dropped his card on the kitchen Island, while Sylvie checked out the bedrooms, commenting loudly on the couple’s décor choices. The second apartment looked like it had been vacant for sometime. The furniture was gone, as were the curtains and anything else not nailed down. David doubted the former occupant, one Scott Marsden, would return anytime soon. Especially as he’d written, If you want my rent, you can suck my dick in green crayon across the living room wall.

Interesting rental agreement quipped Sylvie, punching David playfully.

They didn’t bother leaving a card.

The only other apartment on the first floor was also closest to the stairs, so potentially the most interesting. Sylvie consulted her data band.

A Mr Bryce Retter

David stopped in his tracks, a wide grin on his face Really ?

Sylvie hadn’t noticed he’d stopped stuttering to a halt some meters past him.

What it says here. Why, do you know him

No, but I have read about him recently.

Mr Retter turned out to be a friendly, although slightly distracted, ginger-haired man in his forties. He waved them to a seat in his lounge room, offering a cup of tea, without too much prompting from Sylvie.

Perhaps a biscuit too? She yelled hopefully.

David frowned at her.

What? I didn’t get breakfast.

He returned in short order, with a tray bearing on it a rather old-fashioned teapot, two cups and a plate of rock cakes.

Oh You, beauty gushed Sylvie, helping herself to one of the teas and three of the rock cakes.

David gave her another hard look, which she ignored. He balanced the tea on the arm of his chair, placing his cake beside it, as his stomach protested.

Mr Retter, the reason we’re here..

The man held up his palm I know, officer Capper, Reggie’s murder. It’s beyond awful.

David frowned.

It’s Inspector Capper sir He ignored Sylvie’s miming of Oh la de da at him and how do you know?

Retter jerked a thumb at the ceiling Lucy called me early this morning. Lucy Strack, she lives opposite Reggie.

David’s frown deepened

Oh yes. I’ve met her

Yes she can be abrupt, it’s just her way, she has agoraphobia you see. Doesn’t react well to strangers. She’s actually extremely upset. They’re, I mean were, good friends.

And what about you Mr Retter were you good friends with Miss Meyer ?

Retter bowed his head and ran a hand through his hair before answering

Yes Inspector, actually we were good friends. Tears sprang to his eyes, coursing down his cheeks as he spoke Reggie and I helped Lucy to cope with life. The doctors don’t care, they just dosed her up with drugs to keep her what they called ‘calm.’ But actually they made her brain-dead, you know, like a zombie. Reggie helped get her off the Meds, and I helped with mail and shopping, that kind of thing. He smiled to himself, a brittle expression which faded before it ever fully formed.

Who’s going to help me now? He whispered.

Other people’s grief had always left David appalled and embarrassed in equal measure. It’s not that he was callous, or lacked empathy. But was unable to bring himself to say anything that didn’t sound trite in his ears . Fortunately, Sylvie had no such problems leaping from her chair in a spray of cake crumbs. She grasped the man’s hand. Appropriately soothing phrases tumbling from her lips. It had the required effect. Bryce eventually regained his composure, wiping away a tear with an embarrassed smile.

Is there someone you want us to call? It was the only thing David could think of that didn’t sound stupid.

Bryce shook his head No, No, I’m OK now. Anyway, I live alone, this was my Mum’s flat, I only moved in to tidy up after her passing, and well ended up staying. He waved a limp hand at the surrounding space As you can see I didn’t even get far with the clean-out either. Just couldn’t bring myself to chuck anything out. He gave the brief smile again and Sylvie patted his hand in a brave little soldier kind of way. David glanced around the sitting room, realising it wasn’t the sort of room a forty-year-old bachelor should have. For one thing, the décor was a little feminine, fuddy-duddy even. Musty family photo’s in faux gold or ebony frames huddled in groups on tables or clung to walls. But it was the Elephants, which gave David pause. Populating every available surface, and over-represented in paintings, rugs and cushions. They sucked the air from the room and any joy with it.

She collected them Bryce nodded towards the clustered pachyderms and shrugged. Can’t stand them myself, but can’t seem to bring myself to throw them out now

Try harder grumbled David. Sylvie nodded in agreement, squeezing his hand encouragingly.

I don’t suppose you saw anyone or anything suspicious between about ten and midnight?

Retter shook his head. No, I watched a documentary till about nine then went to bed. I didn’t know anything had happened till Lucy rang me about three this morning

David nodded, that would have been straight after he’d talked to her. Or rather been screeched at by her.

Well thank you, Mr Retter. If you think of anything, let us know, an officer will be by later to take a more complete statement. OK?

Retter simply nodded as Sylvie released his hand to stuff rock cakes into the pockets of her TAC vest.

David stopped at the door, looking back. There’s grief counselling available if you want it and please. For god’s sake. Make an effort with the elephants, it can’t be healthy

They worked their way through the remaining floors, which was exhausting as it was unhelpful. Sylvie’s good humour didn’t last either. Her vocal time checks became more frequent as her conversation petered out. By the time they made it back to the 10th floor, she was capable only of grunting and jabbing her time display. Causing it to recite the time in an annoying metallic voice whenever she did.

Glenn and Captain winge were already there. Somehow Glenn had found a sofa and was draped across it, fanning himself with a foil screen. Shelton scowled like a schoolboy on a shopping trip with Mum.

Glenn stopped fanning himself and waved at them.

Ah there you are. Bout time, I’ve had about all I can take of Mr Wonderful here. he jerked a thumb at the offending officer.

David nodded Yeah mines defective too.

Sylvie flicked him a finger, then very deliberately pushed the time display again.

15:30

So what’s with the couch?

Glenn shuffled over so his partner could sit down.

The techs are moving Reggie’s furniture out. So they can check the nooks and crannies in there. So I requisitioned this.

15:30

For Fuck’s sake Sylvie give it a rest. He could feel the pain starting behind his eyes, stress and lack of sleep coming for a visit. Mr Migraine wouldn’t be far behind.

Well, my shift finished over an hour ago. she glared at him some of us have a life you know.

Glenn let his head fall back on the cushions as he looked up at her.

It’s a wonder you haven’t made Detective yet Sylvie

Yeah, well, I applied, but they said there weren’t any available slots Glenn. So you know, Fuck you very much

Shelton giggled, which didn’t win him any friends.

She glared back at David

15:31

Just then there was a loud ding, followed closely by the lift doors opening.

Oh, hi Inspector, I thought you might like some tea. Bryce Retter stood in the lift, his left foot jammed against the door to stop it from closing, a large urn balanced on a Trolley. Or, coffee? he stammered uncertainly into the heavy silence.

The fucking lift works? Sylvie exploded, advancing on David and poking him in the chest. You made me walk up those stinking stairs, and the fucking lift works.

She made a strangled sort of noise in her throat. Stalking to the elevator doors, she jabbed the keys, then stood facing them with her arms folded across her chest. A murderous look danced in her eye’s, daring them to say something. Nobody was that stupid, not even Shelton. As the doors slid closed, she slowly raised her middle finger at them. Then inverting it, just as deliberately poked her display.

15:32, said the tinny voice as the steel door slammed shut.

David realised he’d been holding his breath and let it out in a long sigh. His eyeballs felt like they were vibrating in his sockets, all he wanted was to curl up somewhere and go to sleep.

I’ll have a tea thanks, Mr Retter. He pointed at Glenn and the young constable. I’m sure, they’d like something too, oh and any technicians who are still here.

The elevators, Mr Retter explained, as they sipped their beverages and dunked their biscuits. Were controlled by a keypad hidden behind a little silver panel next to the doors. Residents had their own codes which once entered opened the doors. The out-of-order sign was to fool salespeople, pushers, and other lowlife’s who made past the front door security. The explanation was simple enough and in a fair and just world would have absolved David of any blame.

Do you know how much Shit, I had to lug up those stairs? By Shit, David supposed, Simon or whatever, meant the precision instruments in the other room. I’ve got thighs like a fucking water Buffalo now, thanks to you.

Glenn was no help either, as he and Shelton sat on the couch looking grumpy. Even when David stalked over to them and slumped against the wall, Glenn feigned interest in a woman’s E-zine he’d projected on to the wall.

Come on Glenn, don’t be like that

I’m not talking to you

How childish

Is not

Is too David grinned but his friend glowered at him.

Look, it’s not my fault. How was I supposed to know the bloody elevators worked ?

You could have asked, you are a Detective you know.

David could feel his frustration levels rising. But crushed them down with a deep breath.

Glenn dropped his E-zine swivelling in his seat. I’m bloody buggered because of you, those stairs nearly bloody killed me

You’re buggered? Oh! Boo, fucking hoo. I’ve been up since yesterday morning, that’s. he looked at his band. Thirty-eight hours for your information, it’s one of my friends who’s dead in there. Oh, and guess what I’ve been up and down those fucking stairs too, so… Damn couldn’t think of anything pithy. gahhh

He didn’t realise he’d been yelling either until he stopped. Mr Retter and the techs, even the protector. Had all stopped what they were doing, which was probably bitching about him anyway, and were staring his way.

Ah Fuck, I’m going home.

As he turned to make his grand exit, Glenn stepped in front of him.

What now?

His partner grinned and offered his hand. Nestled in the palm were two pain blockers. David scooped them up as he stormed to the Elevator.

Chapter 4

Hooligan, Hooligan where are you

He’d called an AutoCab from Reggie’s apartment building and fallen asleep on the trip home. The pain blockers hadn’t kicked in yet. But the nap had left a sour taste in his mouth, to go with the throbbing in his head. So bonus points there.

Hooligan, there you are the large ginger cat yawned, as he unfurled from his hammock Want some food?

When Sara left, a couple of years back. The only things she didn’t take were David’s clothes, the media hub and Hooligan. David scratched the ginger Tom behind the ears, as cat biscuits disappeared down its throat. Earning him no more than a tail-flick for his troubles. Hooligan was a friendly cat most of the time, sometimes prone to random acts of violence though, hence the name.

He kicked off his shoes, unbuckled his gun-belt , and ordered a coffee from the service interface. Leaning against the kitchen counter, he surveyed the apartment, while the coffee brewed.

How depressing. Reggie’s place looked less like a crime scene. It’s not that it was messy, just unloved, with the charm and character of a hospital waiting room. Once It had been cosy though, when Sarah was there. Somehow the eclectic collections of ornaments, he had dismissed as clutter, actually conspired to make the apartment home. An atmosphere David, try as he might, couldn’t replicate. The Coffee machine gave one last splutter then subsided into silence. Hooligan crunched his biscuits in the silence. The caffeine washed away the sour taste and went some way towards numbing the pounding in his head. But his eyes still vibrated and stung. Time for bed.

Struggling with his jacket and ballistic vest, he managed to spill most of his coffee in the process. It sloshed on the bed and dripped to the carpet, like the blood in Reggie’s apartment.

Shit, Shit, Shit

Hooligan padded in and staked out a spot at the foot of the bed. David settled against the headboard to sift through the media feeds. Nothing grabbed him, though. Just the usual mindless celebrity scandal or crooked politician crap. Something about the upcoming deep space shot held his attention for a while. But when it finished, he swiped the feeds away, to preserve his sanity. The quiet, though nice, left him alone with his thoughts, and they didn’t like him very much. He lay in the dark torturing himself with what-ifs and second guesses.

When Reggie rang, he’d tried to blow her off. When that didn’t work had taken as long as possible to get to her apartment, even stopping for Tacos at a roadside diner. What if he’d gone straight there, taken her more seriously. Clouds of doubt swirled in his head. Snapshots of Reggie, the first time they’d met in Victoria Park. Her smile, her earnestness, the animation when she talked. He loved her, he could see that now. Not sexually, but certainly, as a friend, someone who touched his life, made it better. His cheek tickled. He realised there were tears coursing through the stubble on his face. The Migraine may be gone, but the clarity of his self loathing and self-pity seemed far worse. So he welcomed the intrusion of the soft vibration from the bone speaker behind his right ear.

Hey Glenn, what’s up?

Where are you? he sounded irritated. Still snippy about the stair thing probably, the big baby.

I’m at home, obviously.

What still?

Well, yeah

But it’s 10 am you should be here. You know running the investigation

David looked around the room. Light slanted through his grubby windows and spilt under the bottom of the heavy blinds. He must have dosed off at some stage the previous evening and slept right through. That was disconcerting. There was no sense of the passage of time, and he didn’t feel particularly rested either.

OK, I’ll be there as soon as I can. which wouldn’t be for a while, he conceded. Can you cover till I get there

Yeah, pose. Still sounded grumpy. Don’t be too long, though. Oh, and better swing by the dungeons on the way, Mona’s got something for you.

Can’t you handle it?

No. I’m busy with Daley’s girlfriends bullshit

No wonder he sounded shitty. A morning visit from Dennis Daley’s Harpy of a girlfriend Nicole, would ruin anyone’s morning cheer. Still, at least it wasn’t him.

After a quick shower, he put some dry food in Hooligan’s bowl, then poured himself a coffee. The cat had disappeared, slipped out the window most likely, David mused. Living on the fifteenth floor seemed no barrier to Hooligan’s social life. His favourite destination being the Roof Rat’s who lived on the top of their building. Most Apartment blocks in this part of the city had them. Down on their luck people who lived in makeshift shanties in the sky. Some were the working poor, many disabled, disturbed, runaways or the aged. Tolerated mostly, but sometimes not,. It depended on the individual landlords. In David’s building, they worked for their rent. Nothing too arduous, some cleaning and other menial tasks. David and a couple of the other residents kept an eye on The Rat’s. Both for protection, and to make sure they adhered to the city’s various hygiene and loading restrictions. He made a mental note to check up on them later, see if Hooligan had been there.

He slouched against the large picture window in the kitchen, sipping the steaming coffee. The kitchen’s only redeeming feature and the major reason they’d bought the apartment in the first place. The view, straight up King Street, ran laser straight between the towering metal and glass skyscrapers All the way to the mercury silver CBD* glinting in the distance. Part of his morning ritual was to stand at the window, coffee in hand, and watch the ebb and flow of the city beneath him. This morning, though, a squall had rolled in from the harbour, obscuring all but the building across the way. He watched the spatter of rain against the grimy glass carving brown paths through the filth. Storms usually made him feel warm and safe, but this morning it seemed sinister and depressing.

Despite promising Glenn, he’d be straight in, David made a detour to