Android: Golem (The Identity Trilogy) (6 page)

I knew where she was going with her thinking, but I didn’t think our victim was a professional gambler. Still, I ran the composite face I’d assembled against the licensed gamblers in the megapolis.

The various tax agencies and casinos insisted on the licensing of professional gamblers. That worked for and against the gamblers. On the plus side, they were given more secure Net accommodations—when they were
bucks up
and could afford it—and were often comped in casino hotels. The hotels were willing to give away beds and room service to patrons they felt certain would rain profits on them.

On the downside, the tax agencies all got their fair share of declared winnings. Also, at times, the professional gamblers—or their families—became targets of criminals. As a result, the gamblers were allowed to legally live under assumed names.

I got no hits on either the face or the Richard Smith name. I gave a slight shake of my head to Shelly.

“Did the casino keep track of Mr. Smith’s winnings?” Shelly got to her feet. She was irritated and antsy. I knew it was because we were only minutes behind the killers.

A murder investigation burned hottest for the first forty-eight hours. After that, people’s memories, leads, and the media pressure tended to fade or shift gears. Getting a solid suspect in the first two days was important.

Solving the murder would be even better.

“I’m sure they kept track of Mr. Smith’s winnings.” Latimer rocked forward on his toes as if he were antsy himself. “The casino has to do that. I don’t have those figures.”

“Mr. Smith was $2,157 up on his account.” I had those figures from my earlier search through the hotel records. “That was over sporadic play totaling six hours, nine minutes, and twenty-six seconds. His account remains active in the casino.”

Latimer looked surprised. “Smith didn’t cash out.”

“No.”

“So he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

I played devil’s advocate because that was part of my required role as Shelly’s partner. “He could have cashed out after he left with an e-transfer.”

Almost immediately, Shelly shook her head. “That would have left a trail. This guy was all about not leaving footprints.”

Her logic was impeccable.

“So what was Smith doing the other forty-two hours?”

Her mathematical skill was not always so flawless. I provided the overview based on the e-card travel. “Smith was actually registered at the hotel for the last fifty-three hours, forty minutes, and seventeen seconds. Six hours, nine minutes, and twenty-six seconds were spent at the casino. He spent five hours, twenty-two minutes, and fifty-three seconds in the dining rooms. Three hours, forty-six minutes, and nineteen seconds were spent on food preparation, based on the time his order was turned in to the kitchens—”

Shelly waved me to silence. I had other time increments that I could give her, but she knew how much she needed. If she wanted more, she’d ask later. “How many meals in the dining rooms?”

“Six.”

“Alone?”

“According to the receipts, always alone. I can further break that report down by figuring the individual times he spent in each of the four restaurants. He did not patronize two of them.”

Shelly shook her head. “That won’t be necessary at this time.”

“Wow.” Latimer grinned uncertainly. “I don’t know whether or not to be impressed by this thing. My agency may need to look into getting one.”

“Not a
thing.
Detective Drake is an entity.” Shelly’s rebuke was sharp and quick.

Latimer grimaced. He clearly was not a man who took correction from outsiders well.

I placed my hand on the security captain’s shoulder and warmed the synthskin to a pleasant temperature. “In the event you should decide you are impressed by my performance, I can provide you with a private contact within Haas-Bioroid.”

Neuro-linguistic processing, the communications bridge between humans and computers, had been made easier by a computer’s ability to more directly interact with humans. The field was closely associated with neuro-linguistic programming, a technique used by communicators and con men. With my warm, compassionate touch, I planted the subconscious texture of being impressed with Haas-Bioroid as a positive thing to do.

I didn’t have a choice. Soft-selling the corporation was also a subroutine.

Shelly shot me an unhappy look. She recognized the sales effort for what it was. She didn’t like it, but—like me—there was nothing she could do to circumvent it.

Her voice was light but firm. “Maybe later.”

“Of course.” I took my warm palm from Latimer’s shoulder.

Latimer was aware that something had taken place between Shelly and me, but he didn’t know what it was.

“The point is that Smith spent most of his time in his room.” Shelly turned and slowly inspected the room.

Nothing appeared to be out of place. The open curtains covering the window on the wall opposite the door showed the falling rain. A deluge cascaded down the bulletproof glass. Hoppers cruised by outside, but none could see into the suite due to the image damper broadcasting on the transplas. The suite was an armored egg sitting on the top of a man-made mountain.

“He was hiding, or he was waiting for someone.” Shelly gave both possibilities some thought before moving on. “How much time did Smith spend on the Net?”

Latimer started to pull up the figures on his PAD. He stopped and glanced at me. “Go ahead.”

“Three hours, twenty-two minutes, and four seconds.”

The time troubled Shelly. “Not much time for someone that wanted to get away to do work outside the office. What about visitors?”

“No visitors were registered to the hotel.” Both of us knew the hotels didn’t keep track of that unless credaccounts were used by strangers ordering room service.

“Doesn’t mean he didn’t meet anyone here. We’ll have to review the sec vid.” Shelly glanced at Latimer. “That won’t be a problem?”

“No. That’ll be fine, except that we don’t run vid on the exec floors.”

I knew that wasn’t entirely true, since I’d been able to bypass the hotel seccams in order to bring up the image of the victim in his room on our way over. But, this wasn’t the first time we’d encountered different levels of security based on floors.

Although there were legal movements aimed toward not allowing seccams in private areas—including hotel rooms and their connecting hallways—the issue was still being debated, and Shelly and I were used to finding different security measures in different locations. Having limited vid on exec floors was just another no-peek perk offered by the top-of-the-line hotels. In case of emergencies, guests always had panic buttons on their PADs.

“How many exec floors are there?”

Latimer shrugged. “As of the last two days, the top three. Two other floors float between exec and econ units.”

“We’ll have access to everything below that?”

“No problem.”

“And the elevators to the exec floors show e-card and e-ID usage?”

“Definitely.”

That didn’t rule out the possibility that Richard Smith had met someone, also housed in the exec floors, and brought that person up. Shelly was merely running down the variables. The first thing a detective tried to ascertain, was how wide to throw the investigative net. Then, we worked on narrowing the scope, hopefully in the right direction.

Shelly decided to take a new tack as she stared at the holodisc beside the dead man. “Who found the body?”

“Still-life sec popped up on the screens. The monitor team saw all the blood and responded immediately, but it was too late.” Latimer looked down at the dead man and grimaced. “Something like this, you’re gonna be too late no matter what.”

 
Still-life sec was a new security feature. Not all hotels had updated to the new software, and there was some resistance to the installation. The NAPD and the District Attorney’s office were lobbying hard to make it standard.

Even though no vid was shot on an exec floor, motion sensor arrays set up in the rooms provided a backup plan: as long as the guest was inside the room based on e-card usage at the door, the sensor arrays pinged for movement every fifteen minutes.

If there was no movement during a fifteen-minute cycle—basically a still-life sequence, like sleeping—the sensor array would trigger a bio radar that would ping the room. The ping would demand a biorhythm reading on a guest to make certain there hadn’t been an incidence of injury.
 

Humans still suffered heart attacks or other life-threatening problems, but that was something their PADs were supposed to handle. When a person’s vital signs dropped, PADs could be set to instantly call for medical assistance to their location. The service was expensive and not everyone had it. Someone like Richard Smith could have easily afforded it.

Shelly pointed to the device on the dead man’s hip. “Did you ping his PAD?”

Latimer nodded. “First thing.”

I did the same and sorted through the easily accessible data open to me.

“Did it show an emergency medical service?”

“Yes, but it was turned off two days ago.”

“Get a name off the PAD?”

“No. The information’s heavily encrypted.”

Shelly glanced at me, just a brief look.

I nodded, letting her know that everything Latimer had stated was true.

Shelly shifted her attention to the red holodisc. It was about the same size as a casino poker chip but four times as thick. The micro-circuitry inside was capable of pulsing a series of 3D images or a single, deeply detailed image.

Latimer scratched his chin and looked irritated as he followed Shelly’s gaze. “That’s where things get more interesting.”

Chapter Five

“The murderers tried to cover their tracks.”
 

Latimer squatted by the holodisc, reached out with a metal pointer, and tapped the activation button.

Immediately, a rainbow prism of light pulsed from the holodisc and stood 1.83 meters tall. A buxom young woman took 3D shape. Tall and statuesque, the blond female stood there completely naked for a moment, then she began a series of gyrations that drew the attention of the two sec men watching the door.

Latimer stood. “I think the killer or killers tried to use the 3D to fool the motion sensor sweep, hoping to buy themselves more time.”

“Did it work?” Shelly stared at the nude figure.

“I don’t know. I’ve heard that sometimes it does. Some of these things have complicated foolie coding that pings on several levels for humans and cyberware.”

This was the first instance of someone trying to fool the sec measures I’d seen. I was intrigued.

Latimer rolled his head on his neck, an obvious indication of tension. “The thing is, this holodisc is corrupted. Fails out about a minute into the routine.”

Almost immediately, the image of the woman pixilated and shorted out. The holodisc returned to its inert state.

Shelly nodded. “So when the holodisc failed out, still-life sec pinged for vitals fifteen minutes later and didn’t find them?”

“That’s what I believe happened.”

“And you called the NAPD immediately?”

“Yes.”

I knew he was lying. Hotel sec always tried to cover up their own messes first. That was standard operating procedure. First rule: don’t let the hotel be embarrassed. Second rule: don’t let the guests be embarrassed.

I checked the time. It was 0326. We’d gotten the squeal at 0238. I allowed Latimer five minutes for the “discovery” of the body and fifteen minutes for the time between when the disc shorted out and when still-life sec pinged the room, pushing the probable time of death back to 0218. We were an hour and eight minutes behind the murderers.

Shelly tapped the holodisc again and triggered the release of the 3D vid. “Either this unit was damaged during the struggle, or the guys that left it behind didn’t know it was faulty.” She looked at me. “Tracing the serial number on it will probably be useless.”

“We’ll do it anyway.” I knelt down and passed my hand only a centimeter above the holodisc. I “read” the e-info on the unit easily, then sent a trace through the licensing databanks.

One of the sec men at the door stepped inside and called for Latimer. “Got a forspec out here. Name is Carmody. Says he’s with Sagan Forensics, Inc.”

Shelly addressed Latimer. “He’s one of ours.”

Latimer nodded. “Send him in.”

*

August Carmody was a lean human in his greying years. He wore the white cleansuit all forspec people wore to crime scenes, and always had a smile and a pleasant word for everyone he worked with. Under his clear hood, his white hair was neatly combed.

“Hello, Shelly, Drake.” He shook hands with each of us. Carmody loved mechanical things and AI programming, so he liked me quite a lot. He often probed me, mentally as well as physically. Shelly didn’t allow that to go on as a general rule because she believed I should be somehow affronted by the man’s interest.