Part 23 (2/2)

Mankoff's mouth opened slightly. He clearly hadn't thought of that. He'd been dealing with other things-probably panicked employees who, like Van Alen, had flashed back on the dome explosion.

”That is odd,” he said. ”I'll see what I can find.” ”I want someone good with networks now,” Van Alen said. ”Our best went out to lunch before the glitch,” Mankoff said. ”Then send our second best and have our best come here when he gets back.”

”All right.” Mankoff slid out the door, hurrying away, obviously trying to get everything done as fast as Van Alen wanted it.

She went back to the window. Maybe she should contact Flint. But he had enough troubles with that daughter of his, and conducting what he thought was a necessary investigation of Bowles.

Still, Flint knew computers and networks and systems better than anyone Van Alen had ever met. And he did ask her to tell him if something went wrong.

She sat down behind her desk and used her personal link to contact Miles Flint.

35.

Nyquist pulled up outside Paloma's apartment building, using one of two emergency vehicle s.p.a.ces. He hit the car's police code, so that any pa.s.sing police vehicle knew he had the right to park here, and then he shut off the engine.

Once, the buildings in this exclusive section of Armstrong had violated city codes by b.u.t.ting up against the dome. But rich people like Paloma loved the view. The dome side of the apartments overlooked the Moonscape, as if they were part of the dome itself.

Nyquist had nearly died here.

This was the first time he had come back.

He leaned back in his seat, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach. Flint had brought him back here. Flint and his hints that Ki Bowles's murder was somehow related to the murders of Paloma and Charles Hawke, aka Claudius Wagner.

Nyquist's stomach twisted even more.

He tried not to think about those last hours in this building. Sometimes he dreamed about them, though.

He'd been interviewing Claudius Wagner. Wagner had been a tall, athletic man with a mane of silver hair. He had a patrician look, and he'd used it, staring down his hawklike nose at Nyquist. Nyquist had turned to go, and then he'd seen Wagner near the door, shaking his right arm as if it were on fire. The man didn't scream, even though the pain had to be intense.

For instead of skin, he had a Bixian a.s.sa.s.sin wrapped around the bone. Bixian a.s.sa.s.sins looked like a rope, except when they were killing. Then they turned into a whirling machine. Their scales flared, acting like individual knives, severing the skin and arteries with ease.

In his dreams, that whirling thing would detach from Wagner's arm and twirl toward Nyquist. And then he would force himself to wake up, his heart pounding.

His heart was pounding now.

But there was more than the dream. He needed to remember the case.

Once Nyquist became a victim of the same a.s.sa.s.sins that had killed Wagner, Gumiela had taken Nyquist off the case. At the time, he hadn't cared. He didn't want to think about it.

Instead, he wanted to concentrate on getting well.

So Gumiela had a.s.signed a junior detective to the case, and that fact alone proved to Nyquist that Gumiela didn't want to follow where the trail led-to the head of WSX.

Initially, he'd been called to this place to investigate Paloma's death. It had taken him some time to realize that what he and the techs thought was a biochemical goo was the remains of a Bixian a.s.sa.s.sin. At that point, he also didn't know that the a.s.sa.s.sins worked in pairs.

Paloma had managed to kill one of them before the other killed her.

He shuddered. He'd managed to kill the a.s.sa.s.sin that had been attacking Wagner.

DeRicci told him that he eventually killed the other as well.

He remembered the fight in flashes. His laser pistol, the a.s.sa.s.sin being smaller than he expected, the pain, the pain, the pain, and trying to think through it, realizing if he didn't think through it he would be dead, then thinking he was dead, and DeRicci leaning over him, promising he would be all right in that voice people used when they didn't believe what they were saying, and then the hospital and more pain. . . .

He took a breath. He hated thinking about this. But if he was going to follow the leads in the Bowles case, he had to.

Initially, he had suspected Flint in Paloma's death. Paloma had been Flint's mentor and she had left everything to him in her will. Including some incriminating files from Wagner, Stuart, and Xendor, Ltd. Justinian Wagner had come to Nyquist, pretending an interest in finding his mother's killer, when really he had wanted those files.

Bowles had been part of that investigation, too. She had talked to Flint the morning that Paloma had died. Nyquist had found that strange because he believed that Flint and Bowles hated each other. Had they been lying to Nyquist during the Paloma murder investigation? And if so, why? He rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose, feeling the raised tissue from the thin, almost invisible scars.

Justinian Wagner had wanted files. Flint had inherited them.

When Nyquist had awakened in the hospital, he had asked about the case, particularly Wagner. Gumiela had said there was no evidence tying Justinian Wagner to his parents' murder, although they would continue looking into it.

And Flint had said . . . Flint had said . . . What?

Nyquist frowned. He had trouble remembering this, like he couldn't remember the beginning of the attack.

Flint had said . . . That he had given the files to Justinian Wagner. That he hadn't even looked at them. And Nyquist, not willing to think about the case anymore, had taken Flint's words at face value. Even though Flint had lied to him before in other cases.

Now Ki Bowles was dead because she had confidential information. Flint had said he knew about that information.

Nyquist had understood during the conversation-even though it was all innuendo-that Flint had given Bowles the information that had jump-started her reporting, even hiring bodyguards to protect her. Was he protecting her from Justinian Wagner?

Nyquist's thumb traced the scars all over his face. They really weren't visible anymore. He'd gone through so many surgeries. But they were still there, small raised areas that the doctors a.s.sured him would disappear with a few more surgeries.

Surgeries that would have been completely unnecessary if Justinian Wagner hadn't led the Bixian a.s.sa.s.sins to his parents.

Something about that . . . Something about that day . . .

Nyquist made himself look at the building. Inside that building in one of the cheaper apartments, without a dome view, on a floor near Paloma's, he had nearly died.

But he'd been there for a reason, and that reason had not been to save Claudius Wagner's life. It had been to talk with Claudius Wagner.

About files?

About a.s.sa.s.sins?

About the reasons Paloma died?

What had he said?

Nyquist closed his eyes. His head hurt. He hadn't allowed himself to remember this before, and he needed to.

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