Part 6 (1/2)

”Ick,” Talia said. They could just as easily be talking about her. ”Who would do that?” Her dad gave her a flat look. It was almost cold. He didn't answer her. Probably because she didn't need the answer. She had it. Her mother would have.

Did, in fact. If her dad hadn't shown up and hired all those lawyers, Talia's legal guardian would have been Aleyd Corporation. A condition of employment was that kids whose parents died while working for Aleyd could become wards of the company.

Maybe it wasn't her mom's carelessness that put Talia in that position like everyone a.s.sumed. They just figured Mom hadn't done the paperwork to protect Talia. Maybe Mom had done that intentionally. Or maybe that had been a condition of Talia's creation.

A headache rose from her shoulders, through the back of her neck, and into the base of her skull. Her eyes stung.

”What are we going to do?” she asked.

”You're going to walk me through everything you found on the public links,” he said. ”And then I'm going to see if anyone Tracked your trail.”

”If they did?” Her voice shook just a little.

”Then I'll see if I can figure out who the Tracker was, and see how much danger the two are in.” ”And if no one Tracked it?” Talia asked.

”I'm going to wipe out the records as best I can. They can't go away completely, but I can make them invisible to the casual scan.”

Talia swallowed hard. The headache was getting worse. ”Will that solve the problem?” He looked at her again, and this time his gaze softened. She had the sense he felt sorry for her. ”All we can do,” he said, ”is hope.”

7.

Nyquist walked down the freshly raked path, feeling a frustration deeper than any he'd felt in years. DeRicci had probably been right to be cautious-her job was all about balancing politics with safety, and if someone else had been attacked in the Hunting Club while the security was off, then she would have been blamed.

But the problem was that someone had been attacked on the Hunting Club grounds while security was on on. And no one seemed to care except him.

He wasn't media savvy enough to know what the reaction would be when the press found out that the security hadn't worked right. He didn't know whether they'd belatedly come to Ki Bowles's defense or they would argue that the exclusive club wasn't so exclusive after all.

It really wasn't his concern, unless it hampered his investigation. Like the d.a.m.n security procedures did.

The air in the fake forest smelled of real pine. He sneezed, wondering how much of the evidence he'd needed had already been recycled and recast as that lovely piney smell.

He tugged his coat tighter and stepped between the trees. All four techs were crouched over the two bodies. Apparently the search for more bodies had ended.

”You didn't find anyone else?” Nyquist asked without saying h.e.l.lo. ”No.” Adyson Owens was working around the face of the second victim, the man.

”We got a real problem here.” Hada.s.sa Leidmann stood up. She peeled off her gloves and put them in her evidence kit. Then she removed two more gloves and held them while she stepped around Bowles's body to walk to Nyquist. ”We're losing evidence by the second.”

”I tried everything,” he said. ”We can't shut the system down without some kind of order from G.o.d.”

”You'd better get it,” she said, ”or we're not going to be able to do a thorough investigation. And, provided we get enough that you can make a case against someone, you won't have enough to hold up in court.”

He walked over to Bowles and crouched beside the body. It looked cleaner than it had when he arrived. ”You've made recordings of the scene, right?”

”One of the team is recording everything, all the time. We have to show the deterioration of the evidence. Unfortunately, that's not going to help convict anyone. That'll just help with the defense.” He nodded. He understood. But he wasn't so much interested in a conviction at the moment as he was in catching whoever did this.

”We're not going to get this shut down in time to do any good,” he said. ”So do what you can.” Leidmann nodded and crouched beside him.

”We have a few things,” she said. ”We know that she died before he did, but not much before. We figure from the angle of the wounds on her stomach and on his arm that he was holding her against him when those wounds happened. It was almost simultaneous.”

”Her back against his stomach?” Nyquist asked. ”Yeah. It doesn't work any other way. And we did get enough trace off those wounds to show that they happened at about the same time with the same weapon.”

”That's not a friendly position,” Nyquist said. ”You don't hold someone's back against your front with a hand around the waist very often.”

”Oh,” Leidmann said, ”sometimes you do. You might both be listening to a concert or talking to someone. The person in front, the smaller person-in this case, Bowles-would lean against the taller person and that person would put his arm around her waist. Sure. I've seen it.”

Nyquist had, too. He'd even done it once or twice, but that didn't make it something people usually did along a wooded path, with no entertainment in sight.

”You think these two knew each other?” he asked Leidmann. ”Impossible to say from any evidence we've found here,” she said. ”I suspect that'll be your job.” ”Do you have an identification on the man?” ”No,” Owens said. ”We've checked his ID chips. They're clean.” ”Clean?” Nyquist asked. He'd never heard of anything like that before.

”Yeah,” Owens said. ”I'll have to check in the lab, but right now the reading that I'm getting is that they're new. They're the kind of chips you'd find in a hospital, the kind you'd set just before you put it into a newborn.”

”These haven't been set?” Nyquist asked. ”Not that I can tell. But they might just be an upgrade that got erased. I'll be able to tell with the right equipment.”

”Have you checked Bowles's ID chips?” Nyquist asked. ”No,” Owens said. ”There's no need. We all know who she is.” ”Do it anyway,” Nyquist said.

Owens shot him an irritated look and started to move toward Bowles's body. But Leidmann waved him away.

”I'll do it,” she said. She took out a small handheld and ran it over Bowles's left hand. Then she frowned, and ran it over Bowles's right hand. Finally she ran it along Bowles's entire body.

”Nothing,” she said. ”Clean.” ”No identification?” Nyquist asked. ”None.” ”Could something in this security system be wiping the identification chips?” Nyquist asked.

”That would be counterproductive,” Owen said. ”That would mean everyone who went to the Hunting Club would have to reset their identification chips.”

”Most people don't lie on the ground for a long period of time,” Nyquist said. ”Not even during the so-called hunts. Both bodies have had prolonged contact with the same system that cleans up the dirt and smoothes the gra.s.s-”

”And absorbs small particles,” Leidmann said. ”It's possible,” Owens said. ”But why would it have that function?”

”Think about it,” Nyquist said. ”If you're some kind of Gossip reporter and you hide behind these fake trees or rig up a camera behind one of the expensive rocks, the security system would wipe it clean as a matter of course. The work you meticulously gathered over a prolonged period of time would vanish, and you wouldn't know until you went back to the studio.”

Owens cursed. ”I'll bet you're right.”

”There are systems like that,” Leidmann said. ”Sometimes they erase, but sometimes they mine and store. Same with the security system itself. Our trace might show up in some kind of storage bag. The problem would be proving that it's the stuff from this crime scene and not from some other part of the so-called forest.”

”I'm sure we can get a court order for all of that,” Nyquist said, ”and it'll be better coming from you guys. You're the ones who process the evidence. It won't look like you have a vendetta against the club. It'll just look like you're trying to get as much evidence as possible.”

Leidmann raised an eyebrow. She looked amused. ”Do you have a vendetta against the club?” ”I'm sure I will by the time this investigation is over,” he said. ”Anything else you can tell me?”

”They died about the same time,” Owens said. ”They were killed with the laser knife that we found. It had Bowles's initials. It seemed to come from her bag. The bag itself didn't have much. A scarf, the laser knife, and a handheld, which I think is weird considering how many chips she has that link her to various systems. She has independent cameras on her hands, in the corners of her eyes, and dotting her tattoos. There are other chips on her that record sound, some that do entire holo imagery-she's a walking spy system.”

”And all of that shuts down in the Hunting Club?” Nyquist asked.

”Yeah,” Owens said. ”It gets shut off just like the emergency links. That's automatic.” ”Which makes you wonder what she was doing here,” Nyquist said.

”Probably being seen,” Leidmann said. ”She had that story run last night. It was a big comeback for her.” ”Story?” Nyquist asked. ”I wasn't watching yesterday.”

”Something about Wagner, Stuart, and Xendor,” Leidmann said. ”I didn't pay a lot of attention because I felt like it was just a rehas.h.i.+ng of stuff anyone who paid attention already knew.”