Part 10 (1/2)

She touched the main camera chip on the back of her hand. That chip started the sound on four other cameras-one attached to the edge of her eye, like a diamond teardrop; another she had planted on a nearby post; one behind Farkus so that she could get good views of her face; and one on her lapel that sent material directly to InterDome.

They had strict instructions not to use any of her DeRicci material until Bowles told them they could. ”Mr. Farkus, I need you to state your permission for the record.”

He nodded a third time, and she actually thought he wasn't going to say anything. Then he opened his mouth and said slowly, ”I, Ezra Farkus, hereby grant Ki Bowles and InterDome Media the right to use this conversation as news. . .”

She tuned out the rest. It still astonished her how many people knew the permissions statement by heart. These people had to be constantly linked, always getting news or entertainment through the various networks.

”. . . in all forms, irrevocably.” He took a breath. ”There. Is that okay?”

She hoped so, since she missed the middle. But she smiled at him. ”Yes.”

A Waiting Tray floated by with waters on it. Bowles took one. Farkus looked at it hesitantly. ”I'm afraid this place is serve yourself,” she said.

He grabbed one of the waters quickly, before the tray floated away.

”You do know why you're here?” she asked.

”I'm a little stunned by it,” he said. ”In all the years we've been apart, you're the first person to ever contact me.”

It took Bowles a moment to pa.r.s.e his sentence. She hoped he wouldn't be that inarticulate throughout the interview.

”No one contacted you after the Moon Marathon?”

He shook his head. His hair flopped against his ears, obviously a bad regrowth, probably very cheap. ”I'm amazed,” Bowles said, and she was. Ezra Farkus was Noelle DeRicci's ex-husband. Her only ex, in a relatively long life. Granted, DeRicci had married Farkus decades ago and divorced him shortly thereafter, but former intimate partners usually made good-and dishy-interviews. DeRicci had been in the news for more than two years now. Someone else should have found him.

”I'm not,” Farkus was saying. ”Noelle and I weren't together that long.”

”But you married,” Bowles said. ”That's public record. Surely someone would have traced it.” ”Long before she became a cop,” he said. ”I thought she was going to be a teacher.” Bowles couldn't imagine the tough-spoken DeRicci around children. ”Was that her major in college?” ”She didn't have one. Too many interests.” He sighed. ”Guess that should have been a sign.” ”Of?”

”The fact she couldn't settle down.” He looked up at Bowles. ”Noelle did things her own way.” ”Even marriage?” Bowles asked.

”Especially marriage,” he said.

Bowles discreetly touched the back of her thumb, sending a marker to that section of the interview, so she could find it again. A pithy quote that, she hoped, would capture the essence of the interview itself. ”You'd better go back to the beginning,” she said. ”You met Security Chief DeRicci how?” ”Security Chief.” He shook his head. ”That's terrifying.”

He meant for Bowles to pick up on that comment. If she jumped on that now, he would think he could control the entire interview. So she ignored it, although she would pick up on it later if she felt it was worth her time.

”How did you meet her?” Bowles asked again.

He blinked, frowned slightly, and then propped himself up on one elbow. He stared behind her so fiercely that Bowles almost looked behind herself.

Another tray floated by, this one with fruit salads, dessert compotes, and pies. She took one of the salads while she waited for his answer.

If he didn't respond in another minute, she'd end the interview-always wondering, of course, how DeRicci managed to live with this jerk, even for a few months.

”Noelle and I met when we were four.” His voice startled Bowles. She was so convinced he wasn't going to say anything that she had already started to ignore him. ”My parents moved next door to hers.” He still didn't look at her, but he did take a piece of pie from a nearby tray. Bowles walked him through the early years: their childhoods in one of Armstrong's poorer neighborhoods, the death of DeRicci's parents, the way his parents took her in despite their poverty, and how his parents had managed to send them both to college, despite their difficult teenage years.

It sounded almost like DeRicci had married Farkus because she felt she had no choice, or because she had felt grat.i.tude toward his parents. Or maybe she hadn't wanted to leave the warmth of that family, the only real family she had known.

The marriage collapsed in Moscow Dome. They had gone to Moscow Moon University, about as far from Armstrong as they could get. Apparently, life alone, just the two of them, with no parents, no old neighborhood, took the marriage apart in less time than either could imagine.

”You were both very young,” Bowles said with as much sympathy as she could muster. Finally, his gaze focused on hers. His eyes were naturally watery, his skin etched with the kind of lines that told her he still didn't have a lot of money.

”I loved her.” He said it defiantly, as if it were a badge. ”I still do.”

”Have you seen her recently?”

He shook his head. ”We agreed to have no contact.”

”Was that part of the divorce decree?” Bowles asked.

He flinched. ”So what if it was? We still agreed.”

”It's unusual to have that as part of the decree,” Bowles lied.

He shrugged. ”We didn't have children, and we fought all the time. So the judge asked that we didn't see each other again, and we agreed.”

There was more to the story, Bowles was sure of it. She would read the decree herself-divorces were public record-and then she would come back to Farkus if she had more questions. ”You still love her,” Bowles said, ”but you haven't seen her in a long time.”

”I see her on the news.” He sat up a little straighten He hadn't touched his pie.

Bowles hadn't touched the salad either. The ingredients weren't real fruit. She recognized the sheen of the synthesized stuff along the edge of the watermelon cubes.

”And that's enough?” Bowles asked. ”Enough to know that you still love her?”

He raised his chin. ”Is that strange?”

Yes, Bowles wanted to say, but didn't. This man was strange. Now that she knew how DeRicci had married him, Bowles wasn't quite as interested, although she still wanted to see that divorce decree. ”When I contacted you,” Bowles said, ignoring his last comment, ”you said that it was about time someone asked you about Noelle. Why is that?”

”She's flighty,” he said.

Bowles had never heard anyone describe DeRicci as flighty. From her observation, DeRicci was anything but flighty. She was solid and unimaginative and a little too serious. Certainly not flighty. ”Flighty?” Bowles prompted.

”Yeah,” he said. ”She goes from one thing to another, never thinking about what's behind her, always moving forward. There's no thought, no a.n.a.lysis, no real caring. None.”

He was revealing himself in those statements. It was in his tone, half angry, half sad. Bowles decided to guess.

”One thing to another,” she repeated. ”You mean one person to another.”

His skin flushed instantly, revealing white acne scarring along his chin. Bowles hadn't seen that outside the slums in Gargarin Dome.

”Look at her history,” he said. ”She even did it with her partners on the police force.” DeRicci had had a series of partners. Bowles hadn't really investigated that yet.

”But she did it to you too,” Bowles said, keeping her tone compa.s.sionate. ”That must have hurt.” His eyes narrowed. ”She said it hurt her worse than it hurt me. She was such a liar!” liar!” He slapped the table and shouted the last word, startling Bowles. Until that word, he had been He slapped the table and shouted the last word, startling Bowles. Until that word, he had been soft-spoken, almost reserved.

”Why would an affair hurt her?” Bowles said.