Android: Golem (The Identity Trilogy) (15 page)

“You’re Drake 3GI2RC?” Winters stared at me.

I said I was.

“And there’s no doubt that you’re a bioroid.” She seemed most unhappy with that fact.

“I am a bioroid.”

Winters turned on Ormond at that point. “Why didn’t he have a partner tonight?”

Ormond’s face colored slightly but he didn’t back down. “Drake’s partner was killed. It was in the media. Maybe you saw something about that.”

“I’m aware of Detective Nolan’s death in the line of duty, Lieutenant, but this unit wasn’t supposed to be out on the street without a partner.” She turned to me. “Where was your partner?”

“I don’t presently have one assigned.”

“Why did you arrest Carmichael?”

“Because he is responsible for the death of a young girl five years ago.”

Ormond held up his hands. “Back off just a minute here, counselor. I’ve seen Drake’s reports. The collar was a good one. Carmichael is good to go down for the hit-and-run.”

“Is he?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good thing you don’t try case, Lieutenant.”

“What does that mean?”

Winters took a breath. “Did you know that the case hinges on the confession Carmichael gave Drake when the arrest was made?”

“Sure. Drake recorded the confession. No problem.”

“It is a problem. When that confession gets tossed, and it will get tossed, we’ll have to build this case from the ground up. The district attorney isn’t going to be happy about having to spend that much time in court over a five year old hit-and-run.”

“Why will the confession get tossed?”

“Because Drake didn’t have a partner with him to corroborate the confession.”

“He has the confession.”

“Digital media can be spoofed, Lieutenant. Surely you know that. You’ve got a whole department here that deals with cyber crimes. Maybe you should drop in for a refresher course on what hackers and crackers can do. Carmichael’s attorney is already impugning the vid confession, and he’s going to be able to make a case for it.”

I interrupted. “I found the car. It will have Carmichael’s DNA and the girl’s DNA. You can still make this case.”

Winters turned on me. “If we have to pursue that route, we’re going to have to also prove Carmichael was behind the wheel that night. All he has to do is say he wasn’t. Only one person on a jury has to believe that he wasn’t. The DA isn’t going to want to go into court with those odds for a no-win case.”

“Matti Harcourt is dead, and that man did it.”

“I believe you, Drake. I do.” She seemed sincere. “But that little girl’s death was over five years ago. No one cares anymore.”

“What you really mean is that no one cares who matters to the DA’s office.” I said it, but they were Shelly’s words. She’d told ADAs that before when they’d wanted to walk away from a case.

For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, then she stared at me. “That’s right. It’s a sad thing, but that’s how it is.” Winters looked back at Ormond. “If you’re going to have Drake on the streets arresting people, get him a partner. Now.” She left us standing in the hallway while she returned to the interview room.

I stood there and didn’t know what to do. I thought about Shelly and how she would have reacted. I thought about the strange black-haired woman that was haunting me. I thought about the little girl that had lost her life five years ago.

Things were not balanced; I felt that sharply. I didn’t know how else to express it.

Ormond glared at me. “Go home, Drake.”

“I don’t mind working, sir.”

“No. You’re done working for the day. Get out of here.” Ormond left.

I had no choice. I departed as well.

*

I sat in my flat and reviewed the cold case files. Even though I wasn’t at the department, I still had access to them. I was restless, though, and couldn’t focus on any particular case. I knew I was limited. If I made another case, and I was certain that I would, then I still wouldn’t be able to effect a successful arrest.

I missed talking to Shelly.

*

The next morning, I arrived at the police department and started work. I had a few leads on some of the cases that I could run down, and I followed them up. None of them broke as quickly as Matti Harcourt’s had. I was patient, though.

At a quarter to ten, Ormond called me up to his office. I expected to be introduced to my new partner.

I wasn’t.

“We’re going to work the cold case files differently.” Ormond didn’t look up from his flat desktop PAD as he spoke. He moved some holographic images of files around with his fingers. “You’re still assigned to clearing them, but you’re not going to be out in the field. You’re going to work up leads here at the station, then hand them off to Detective Hansen.”

“All right.” I knew Hansen. He was a good investigator—not really creative, but he stuck like a bloodhound. Shelly respected the man, but she’d never wanted to work with him. “Does that mean I also turn over all interviews I can’t do over the Net?”

That made Ormond pause.

Most cold cases weren’t solved by new evidence. I hadn’t found new evidence in Carmichael’s case. I had found a car no one else had been able to locate.

Usually, breaking a cold case meant constant interviewing and re-interviewing, chipping away at stories until new testimony emerged. Sometimes someone remembered an aspect of an event that hadn’t been recalled before, or an investigator could turn up a new witness that hadn’t been found, or who hadn’t come forward for reasons of their own.

The majority of the time, though, partners involved in a crime—murder included—got mad at each other and told someone the truth. Eventually, that truth made the rounds back to the police investigators. Then, the interview process began again until someone broke down and a confession was given.

Contact with the people involved in a cold case was paramount.

“No.” Ormond wasn’t happy about his decision. “Conduct the interviews. But if you turn up a solid lead, or an interview that you know is going to bear fruit, loop Hansen in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go.”

I went.

*

I was in my mental
office
reviewing files when I felt the black-haired woman arrive. One moment she wasn’t there, the next she sat across the desk from me. She had on a different dress, this one dark blue.

I glanced out the window and saw that it was no longer day in 1930s San Francisco. A fat moon hung in the window and fought the city lights for supremacy.

I blanked the computer by hanging up the phone. “Who are you?”

“You’ll remember.”

“I have never met you.”

“No.” She smiled agreeably. “You haven’t. But you’ll remember me. That’s what this is all about.”

“What is
this
?”

“You’ll remember.”

“You were with me in the hotel.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t dream, and I’ve never been there.”

“You’re not dreaming and you’ve never been there, but the hotel was real.”

“If it was real and I’ve never been there, it couldn’t have happened.”

“It happened. You’ll remember.”

“Why don’t I remember now?”

The woman shrugged. “Because this is a mystery. Because there are pieces that you haven’t found yet. You will.”

“How do you know?”

She smiled again. “Because I know you.” Then she looked sad. “Except for all the lies you told.”

“I’ve never lied to you.”

“No, I suppose you haven’t.” She leaned forward and picked up a two-dimensional picture from the corner of my desk. I hadn’t ever noticed it before.

As she held it, I saw the picture was of Shelly, Kurt, and the girls. I felt uncomfortable about the woman holding the picture.

The woman looked at me. “Did you ever lie to your partner?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

It was an odd question and I had no response. “How did we get out of that hotel?”

She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “It was a very close thing. We almost didn’t.”

“Where were we?”

“That would be telling. I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not allowed.” A serious look firmed her features. “What was done was a very chancy thing. Very difficult. No one had ever done this before.”

“Done what?”

The seriousness evaporated and she smiled again. “You’ll figure it out. After all, you’re a detective now. Detect.”

I stared at her.

“There’s something else on your mind, though, and you need to take care of it.”

“What?”

“The little girl is unfinished business.”

“The case has been dismissed. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Death isn’t just about a court trial.” She smiled sadly. “People have to know things. Don’t you think the little girl’s parents deserve to know what happened to their child?”

I had thought about that, but I had pushed the thought out of my head. Shelly usually handled talking to victims’ families. I didn’t know if Ormond had assigned someone to talk to the parents, but I doubted it.

“Don’t you want to know who is responsible for your partner’s death?”

“Do you know anything?”

“No, but someone does.” With that, she faded out of view and I was alone again in my office.

*

At 1400, I took a late lunch. Even though I didn’t eat, I was allowed to take a lunch break just like my coworkers. Shelly and I had occasionally taken lunch outside the department, so my departure didn’t raise any red flags for Lieutenant Ormond.

I flagged down a taxi in front of the building and gave the Ecuadorian driver the address I wanted to go to. I had looked for Beverly and Grant Harcourt on the Net and found an address for Beverly.

She lived in a nice apartment on the west side of the megapolis and worked from home as a medical transcriptionist for a podiatrist. Her flat was small but neat when she invited me in.

Beverly Harcourt had aged over the intervening five years. Her black hair was much shorter and shot through with grey. She had put on a little weight, but she looked good-natured and professional.

My appearance set her back when she saw me. I had only sent an email requesting to talk with her about her daughter. She had been reluctant at first, and I had neglected to mention that I was a bioroid.

“I apologize. I should have told you about myself.” I stood in her doorway and wished I could put her at ease.

“No, it’s all right. Please forgive me. I think the biggest surprise is that the police are still involved in this investigation at all.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, Mrs. Harcourt. I know you’re probably busy.”

“My daughter meant everything to me, Detective Drake. If you have news, I want to know. Please, sit.”

I sat on the edge of the chair she pointed me to and watched while she sat across from me on the sofa. I noted that the things in the room were hers. There was no evidence of a man around the room. The only pictures on the walls were of Mrs. Harcourt and Matti.

She muted the 3D, which was showing continued coverage of the Moon’s bid for the Olympics, Mara Blake’s kidnapping, and the bodies that had been discovered in Gila Highlands. Reynolds and Mack had discovered another pit with more bodies, so the killer’s total was now in the double digits. The case was definitely intriguing.

“Can I get you some tea?” She stopped herself as she realized that I wouldn’t need tea. “Sorry.”

“No need to be.” I didn’t often have people forget that I was a bioroid, but Mrs. Harcourt was distracted. “If you wish to have tea, please do so.”

“No, I’d rather hear what you have to say.”

“I found the man that killed your daughter.” At first, Mrs. Harcourt stared at me in stony silence. Then, gradually, the old feelings rose to the surface and her iron resolve fractured. She wept openly.

I explained about the evidence I had found, the way I had discovered the crushed hopper, and my arrest of Steven Carmichael. I also let her know that the DA’s office wasn’t presently interested in prosecuting her daughter’s killer.

“So he’s going to get away with it?” Mrs. Harcourt’s voice was shaky and weak.

“Unless the DA’s office can be persuaded to push the case forward, yes.”

“You said this man wasn’t doing very well.”

I shook my head. “He’s an alcoholic, Mrs. Harcourt. His health isn’t good. He’s barely managing to take care of himself.”

“From what I’ve seen, people in his condition generally don’t get better until they seek help.”

“That’s true.”

“And if the DA was able to make the case against him, this man would get the help he needed inside prison?”

“Help would be offered, yes.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind me saying that I hope that man drinks himself to death.”