Part 12 (2/2)

”Same as mine.”

”So you don't know if he tried to contact Whitford.”

”I don't know anything!” Monteith looked at Van Alen. ”Really. I'm not lying about that.”

”I know,” she said gently. Flint looked at her in surprise. He wasn't so certain that Monteith was telling the truth. Then Flint saw her expression. She had no idea, either. She was just soothing him so that he would talk more.

Flint wasn't sure he needed much more. He had enough to start with. Maybe enough to get ahead of the police investigation.

”Go with the police,” Flint said. ”Cooperate. You'll be fine.”

”I'll lose my job,” Monteith said. ”You may have already,” Flint said. ”Because I lost a client?” Monteith asked. ”Because your boss is dead. The business might go along with him.” Monteith moaned. He clearly hadn't thought of that. ”Doors up,” Van Alen said.

They rose to reveal the police officers leaning against the walls of the waiting room. Talia was standing near one of the men, talking with him.

She looked relieved when she saw Flint. He winked at her, then turned to the officers. ”Mr. Monteith will go with you now. He's going to tell you what he found and what he saw. You don't need to put him in custody.”

”We'll decide that,” one of the officers said. ”We'll be sending an attorney,” Van Alen said, clearly warning the officers that they had limited time with Monteith before someone official would arrive and end the questions.

”I'm . . . I'm going to go voluntarily,” Monteith said from inside the office, although he hadn't moved forward. ”I'll tell you what I know.”

The officers looked at one another; then one of them shrugged. Two walked over to Monteith and took his arms, leading him into the waiting area.

Talia watched with real interest, even though she still leaned against the wall. Flint had started toward her when one street cop held out a hand to stop Flint.

”What did you do?” the cop asked. ”Mediated, like I said I would.” Flint kept his voice even. ”Should we take you along as well?” ”If you think it's necessary,” Flint said.

The cop blinked at him. Van Alen was watching closely. Talia had bit her lower lip, looking nervous. Monteith glanced at Flint.

The one thing Flint had forgotten to tell Monteith was to keep the ident.i.ty of the paying customer quiet. Well, Monteith was going to tell what he knew. If he told them that Flint was the paying customer, then he wasn't violating Flint's instructions, and it would be Flint's own fault.

”We need your name in any case,” the street cop said.

”Sure,” Flint started. ”It's Miles Flint. I'm still pretty well known at the precinct. You can check with most anyone in the Detective Division. I retired from there about four years ago. My partner was Noelle DeRicci.”

”She's the Chief of Security for the United Domes of the Moon,” Van Alen said.

Flint wasn't going to mention that part. He was going to let the street cop find that out on his own. ”Oh,” the cop said, obviously in awe. ”I'm sorry, sir.” ”No need,” Flint said. ”I told you. I do know my way around an investigation.”

The other cops were leading Monteith down the hall. The remaining street cop nodded toward Flint, and thanked Van Alen for calling them. Then he followed his colleagues out of the law firm.

”What was that all about, Dad?” Talia asked. Flint put his hand on her shoulder. She was so tense her muscles felt like wire. ”It's related to something I worked on before I met you,” Flint said. ”What?” He shook his head slightly. ”I'm afraid it's confidential.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. ”Sure it is.” ”I can vouch for that,” Van Alen said. ”Most anything that happens in a law firm is confidential.” ”Except when some guy comes in here and confesses,” Talia said.

”Mr. Monteith didn't confess to anything,” Van Alen said. ”He came to inform me that a friend was dead.”

”So you called the police?” Talia asked. ”It turns out I was under a legal obligation to do so when I figured out that he had left two crime scenes.” ”Is leaving a crime illegal?” Talia asked. ”It is if you don't report the crimes,” Van Alen said. ”So he did break the law.”

”In a minor way,” Van Alen said. ”All your father did was convince the man to talk to the police. I hadn't been able to.”

”You'd think you could, being a lawyer and all,” Talia said.

Van Alen smiled and then looked at Flint. ”She's got your sense of irony and outrage.” ”What does that that mean?” Talia asked. mean?” Talia asked.

”It means,” Van Alen said, ”that you could grow into someone I could like very much.” Then she turned around and headed back into her office.

”Should we have that meeting?” she asked Flint.

”I think we are going to have to,” he said. ”Everything is different now.”

17.

The techs were already inside Bowles's apartment. Nyquist stopped in the hall and stared at the open door.

He remembered the first and only time he had come here. He had stopped in front of Bowles's security system, about to press a fingertip against the identification panel, when the panel insisted on a retinal scan.

He'd been pleased with that. He figured that Bowles had a security system that was good enough for her needs. Because he'd worried when he entered the building; he'd initially been afraid that there wasn't enough security in this place for someone of Bowles's level of fame.

Now her door stood open. Police line lasers marked an area just outside. Anyone who broke the beam would set off an alarm.

He put his hand through one of the beams, knowing that with his identification, the alarm would not go off. Then he stepped into the apartment.

None of the techs were in the living room, although two of Bowles's personal robots were, hovering as if they were distressed at the invasion of their personal domain.

The living room actually had a lived-in look: There was a blanket on the couch, over an indentation made by someone sitting there a little too often. An empty mug sat on an end table, and one of the nearby chairs had a handheld crossways on the seat, as if someone had set it down during a moment of distraction.

He distinctly remembered how uncomfortable the living room had seemed six months ago. Then he had the impression that Bowles never spent any time in it.

He walked past the hovering bots and down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. He hadn't been this way before. Bowles had never let him out of the living room. She'd answered his questions-looking uncomfortable at being the subject of the interview instead of the interviewer-and then she had ushered him out the door.

He felt odd going down the hallway now, as if he were invading her privacy.

The first room was an office. Handhelds, papers, books, and lots of jewel cases littered the floor, shelves, and desk. Another empty mug sat on the floor beside a st.u.r.dy ergonomically correct chair. Only one wall remained clear. It had a slight blue tinge and it took him a moment of staring to realize that the wall was designed to be a backdrop to close-in reporting done away from any studio. He'd need to make sure the team looked at all the handhelds and the computers in here. Then he went down the hall to find a bedroom. It was the neatest room in the apartment, and it smelled musty. A bathroom opened off the back, with neatly folded towels and not a single personal item. No one used this room. If he had to guess, he would a.s.sume it was a guest room-one that no guest had stayed in, or at least, had not stayed in for a very long time.

Finally he walked into the bedroom. It smelled of Bowles's perfume. The scent struck him as forcefully as she had. She still seemed alive in here, in the unmade bed, the three separate outfits resting on the sheets, and the matching shoes neatly placed on the carpet.

A tech was inside yet another bathroom. Nyquist peered in. It was Leidmann. ”Her bots didn't clean up after her, did they?” Nyquist asked.

To her credit, Leidmann didn't even jump at the sound of his voice. But she probably had the police line set to notify her whenever anyone else tried to enter.

”I already checked the programming,” Leidmann said. ”They were to clean surfaces and bathrooms and the kitchen. They were to make the bed, unless they had instructions otherwise, and they were to handle general maintenance, including was.h.i.+ng her clothing, upgrading her wardrobe, and cooking small meals if she so desired.”

”So why am I seeing handhelds everywhere and empty mugs beside tables?”

”Because the programming also specifies that they can't touch any work in progress. Since they're bots and not human a.s.sistants, they can't tell if a dirty mug is important to her work, so they just leave it until she tells them otherwise.” Then Leidmann frowned just a little. ”Told them otherwise.” them otherwise.”

<script>