Part 6 (1/2)

”Thank you. I wish it was under different circ.u.mstances.”

He prodded the sungla.s.ses back up his nose. ”For you, of course. For myself, I'm quite glad you're here.

You've put one of my charges in the clear.”

”Yes. And thank you for the cooperation.”

”A pleasure.”

We rode a limousine over one of the bridges into the city itself. I complimented him on the height of the

buildings we were approaching. Manhattan was, after all, a Caesar city.

”Inevitable,” he said. ”The population in America's northern continent is approaching one and a half billion- and that's just the official figure. The only direction left is up.”

We both instinctively looked at the limousine's sunroof. ”Speaking of which: how much longer?” I asked.

He checked his watch. ”They begin their descent phase in another five hours.”

The limousine pulled up outside the skysc.r.a.per which housed the Caesar family legal bureau in

Manhattan. Neill h.e.l.ler Caesar and I rode the lift up to the seventy-first floor. His office was on the corner of the building, its window walls giving an unparalleled view over ocean and city alike. He sat behind his desk, a marble-topped affair of a stature equal to the room as a whole, watching me as I gazed out at the panorama.

”All right,” I said. ”You win. I'm impressed.” The sun was setting, and in reply the city lights were

coming on, blazing forth from every structure.

He laughed softly. ”Me too, and I've been here fifteen years now. You know they're not even building skysc.r.a.pers under a hundred floors any more. Another couple of decades and the only time you'll see the sun from the street will be a minute either side of noon.”

”Europe is going the same way. Our demographics are still top weighted, so the population rise is slower. But not by much. Something is going to have to give eventually. The Church will either have to endorse contraception, or the pressure will squeeze us into abandoning our current restrictions.” I shuddered.

”Can you imagine what a runaway expansion and exploitation society would be like?”

”Unpleasant,” he said flatly. ”But you'll never get the Borgias out of the Vatican.”

”So they say.”

Neill h.e.l.ler Caesar's phone rang. He picked it up and listened for a moment. ”Antony is on his way up.”

”Great.”

He pressed a b.u.t.ton on his desk, and a large wall panel slid to one side. It revealed the largest TV screen I'd ever seen. ”If you don't mind, I'd like to keep the Prometheus broadcast on,” he said. ”We'll mute the sound.”

”Please do. Is that thing color?” Our family channel had only just begun to broadcast in the new format. I hadn't yet availed myself with a compatible receiver.

His smile was the same as any boy given a new football to play with. ”Certainly is. Twenty-eight-inch diameter, too-in case you're wondering.”

The screen lit up with a slightly fuzzy picture. It showed an external camera view, pointing along the fuselage of the Prometheus, where the silver gray moon hung over it. Even though it was eight years since the first manned s.p.a.ceflight, I found it hard to believe how much progress the Joint Families Astronautics Agency had made. Less than five hours now, and a man would set foot on the moon!

The office door opened and Antony Caesar Pitt walked in. He had done well for himself over the intervening years, rising steadily up through his family's legal offices. Physically, he'd put on a few pounds, but it hardly showed. The biggest change was a curtain of hair, currently held back in a ponytail. There was a mild frown on his face to ill.u.s.trate his disapproval at being summoned without explanation. As soon as he saw me the expression changed to puzzlement, then enlightenment.

”I remember you,” he said. ”You were one of the Raleigh representatives a.s.signed to Justin's murder. Edward, isn't it?”

”That's helpful,” I said.

”In what way?”

”You have a good memory. I need that right now.”

He gave Neill h.e.l.ler Caesar a quick glance. ”I don't believe this. You're here to ask me questions about Justin again, aren't you?”

”Yes.”

”For Mary's sake! It's been twenty-one years.”

”Yes, twenty-one years, and he's still just as dead.”

”I appreciate that. I'd like to see someone brought to justice as much as you. But the Oxford police found nothing. Nothing! No motive, no enemy. They spent weeks trawling through every tiny little aspect of his life. And with you applying pressure they were thorough, believe me. I should know, with our gambling debt I was the prime suspect.”

”Then you should be happy to hear, you're not any more. Something's changed.”

He flopped down into a chair and stared at me. ”What could possibly have changed?”

”It's a new forensic technique.” I waved a hand at the television set. ”Aeroengineering isn't the only

scientific discipline to have made progress recently, you know. The families have developed something we're calling genetic fingerprinting. Any cell with your DNA in it can now be positively identified.”

”Well good and fabulous. But what the h.e.l.l has it got to do with me?”

”It means I personally am now convinced you were at the Westhay that night. You couldn't have murdered Justin.”