Night and Day (Book 3): Bandit's Moon (23 page)

Even if I knew the answers, it
wouldn’t tell me what Schleu had planned. They were just random pieces of a
jigsaw puzzle. And I didn’t even know what the puzzle was supposed to look
like when I put it all together.

Olsen was silent. I’d already
figured out that meant she was waiting for the answer to a previously asked
question.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What was your
question?”

“Did you observe any persons who
might have been Katarina S. Schleu’s new deputy commander, and if so,
describe them,” she repeated.

“No, I didn’t see anyone who looked
like a prospective new deputy,” I said. “Just Schleu and the sentries
outside the Floresta.”

“All right,” she said. Then the
phone went dead. She’d hung up on me. I guess she figured the reason for
the call was over.

I dialed again. Three rings and an
answer. “Yes?”

“Sgt. Olsen?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Charlie Welles again. Did you
hang up on me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I
mentioned that I had a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“How complete is your access to the
Metro PD database?”

“I have level five access to all
Metro systems,” she said. “All members of the Intelligence Squad have level
five access. Our duties require that we be able to research and connect
what appear to be random facts and produce comprehensive intelligence
estimates and reports for Chief Daryl Northport.”

“Good,” I said quickly before she
got decided that question time was over and hung up. “Would it be possible
for you to run me through the system and see what’s there?”

“I have the level five access to
perform such a search, but information contained within Metro police
systems is for the express use of authorized law enforcement entities and
is not to be shared with non-law enforcement personnel without the express
authority of the Chief of Police Operations Daryl Northport or the Police
Commissioner Joseph Napier.”

“Yeah, I understand that,
but...”

She wasn’t finished. “Chief
Northport’s office instructed me to fully cooperate with you, which can be
interpreted as Chief Northport authorizing your current
request.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Yes,” she said. “What is your full
name?”

“Charles Lawrence
Welles.”

Her fingers pounded the keyboard.
“Charles Lawrence Welles,” she said. “Current residence one-one-four-five
Bacon Street, employed Night and Day Investigations, one-nine-eight
Hennessy Street, current work address one-nine-eight Hennessy Street, age
forty-four, date of birth 5
^th
November...”

“Yeah, I know all of my personal
details,” I interrupted. “What else? Does it have my PI
license?”

“Active private investigator
license DR-3995-227.”

“Okay,” I said. “Does it list any
contacts with the police department since internment?”

“There is an attached log file,”
she said. Tap tap tap on the keyboard. “Charged with uttering a threat
against a police officer, charge dropped, Tuesday, October...”

“Yeah, I don’t need the dates,” I
said. “Just the entries in the file.”

She was silent for a moment, then
said, “Last year. Charged with uttering a threat against a police officer,
charge dropped. Charged with homicide, charge dropped. Assist to police
department. Witness statement taken. Assist to police department. Witness
statement redacted, Administrative Area Three Governor’s Office.” She
paused. “This year. Assist to police department. Witness statement
redacted, Administrative Area Three Governor’s Office.”

That sounded about right. And if
Schleu knew any of it, I’d be pushing up daisies in the basement of the
Floresta. Literally.

That was the easy stuff out of the
way with Olsen. Or at least easier. Nothing was particularly easy with
Olsen. Now came the tricker play.

“Do you have the ability to modify
records, Sgt. Olsen?”

“Yes,” she said. “Level five access
includes both read and write permissions for all Metro PD systems. In that
way, those with level five access can update records as needed, which is
often necessary based on additional information that has been
gathered.”

“Good. So how would you feel about
making some temporary changes to my records?”

“I do not believe that changing
your record can be interpreted as a part of Chief Northport’s instruction
to give you full cooperation,” she said. “My interpretation of his
instruction was to fully and accurately answer any questions you might
have. Modification of an official record would subject me, and you as well,
to criminal charges, and I do not believe that was the intent of Chief
Northport’s instruction.”

“It would only be for a few days,”
I said. “Just till Friday or so. Then you could change it back. Nobody
would even have to know that you did it.”

“I would know,” she said. “You
would know.”

I sighed. Her willingness to please
based on Daryl’s orders only went so far. Which left me only one other card
to play.

“My life could very well depend on
you doing it,” I said.

She didn’t say anything for a
moment. Then, “Explain.”

“Okay, sergeant, let me tell you
what’s going on, and why I’m asking you to change the records. I have
credible information that Katarina Schleu is planning a major action on
Christmas Eve. Not something small. Something that could have disastrous
consequences for the citizens of this city.”

“What is the nature of this
action?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I have
chunks of reliable information, but I don’t know how they fit together. And
the only way I can think of to put them together and get a clear picture is
to get inside the Floresta, which is heavily guarded, and see what I can
learn.”

“How to you intend to make entrance
to the Floresta Apartments?”

“Schleu is recruiting people on the
east side, probably for whatever she has planned. I intend to get myself
recruited and have them invite me in.”

“Undercover work is dangerous and
not recommended for civilians,” she said. “Though you are a licensed
private investigator, you have no law enforcement authority and are a
civilian by law. Allowing yourself to be recruited by Katarina S. Schleu
could result in injury or death.”

“Trust me, I know that,” I said.
“But it’s my only way to find out what’s planned and hopefully stop it. I
could turn the whole thing over to the police department or even the
Security Force, but official action might just trigger whatever it is.” I
paused. “And then there’s the problem of Resistance moles inside Metro PD.
Chief Northport told me that he’s pretty sure that some of Schleu’s people
are inside Eastside District station. If they find out that action is
planned against Schleu, they might move up their timetable.”

“Yes, there are six employees
assigned to Eastside District station that I have personally identified as
likely members of the Humans First Front,” she said. “Four uniformed
officers, one detective, one clerical.”

“There you go,” I said. “So I’m
going into the Floresta, as a new recruit. But what if Schleu checks out
her recruits with one of her moles inside the Eastside station? Even that
clerical person you’ve identified could run my name and find out that I
wasn’t just somebody off the street. They’d know that I was a private
investigator, that I’d worked with the police department and the Area
Governor’s Office. What do you think happens to me then?”

Olsen didn’t reply. In the
background, I could hear her typing.

“Look, sergeant, I’m not asking you
to make a permanent change, and I’m not asking you to make a phoney record.
I just need you to remove the information about Night and Day
Investigations, my PI license, and my contacts with the police department
and area government in the past couple of years. Temporarily. Until the end
of the week. Friday. Then you can add it all back.”

She remained silent. The typing
continued.

“In return, I’ll give you
everything I find out about Schleu’s operation,” I said. “I might even be
able to learn the names of some of the Humans First Front members inside
Eastside station.”

Continued silence. Typing. She was
probably working on her report to Northport.

“The bottom line is, I’m going in
there whether you help me out or not,” I said. “So I guess I’ll just have
to take my chances and hope Schleu doesn’t have one of her people run me
through the system.”

Nothing. More typing.

“Sgt. Olsen?”

“One moment,” she said. I could
still hear the typing.

I’d given it my best shot. Appealed
to everything she seemed to like. Clear limits. More information. I’d even
gone for sympathy, though she hadn’t given any indication that sympathy, or
any human emotion for the matter, was part of her makeup.

“I have created a dummy file and
placed the excised information in the file,” she finally said. “I will
return that information to your log file on Friday morning, December
26
^th
at zero-eight-hundred hours. If you survive the undercover
operation inside the Floresta building, you will pass all relevant
information to me so it can be included in Katarina S. Schleu’s case file.
You will also advise the names of any Humans First Front members who you
can confirm are employed at the Eastside District station.”

“Thank you,” I said. I paused. “Can
I ask one more thing?”

“Yes?”

“Could we keep this between the two
of us?” I asked. “No report to Chief Northport? I really don’t want you to
get into any trouble for helping me.” And I didn’t want Daryl crawling all
over me about what I had done. And what I planned to do. At least not until
it was all over, one way or another.

“No,” she said. “I am required to
submit a daily report on all activities I undertake to assist you. That was
part of the instruction from Chief Northport’s office. I will prepare and
submit the report as instructed.”

“Can you maybe hold off on writing
the report until Friday?”

“No. I will prepare the report
after we conclude this conversation and send it to Chief Northport when he
returns from annual leave on Monday, December 29
^th
.”

“Daryl’s on vacation?”

“Chief Northport always takes
annual leave beginning the Monday of Christmas week and returns the
following Monday. Does Chief Northport have a family?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I said.
“He was married fifteen or twenty years ago, but they got divorced and I don’t
believe they had any children. I don’t know if he remarried.”

“He does not wear a ring, though
many men do not wear wedding bands,” she said.

“I’ll have to ask him the next time
I see him,” I said. Which would probably be the week after Christmas, when
he saw Olsen’s report. Assuming, of course, that I was still alive the week
after Christmas. “So my file is clean?”

“Your police department file
contains your name, address and date of birth. No other
information.”

“I really appreciate your help,
Sgt. Olsen. Thank you again.”

She didn’t reply. She hung
up.

I laughed and headed back to the
bedroom.

It didn’t mean that I would be
successful. There were still plenty of variables, starting with the need to
sell myself to Schleu’s recruiters in a bar. If I got through that, I’d
probably at least get inside the Floresta, though at this point I had no
clear idea of what I’d find in there. Or even what there was to
find.

And then, sometime in the next
three days, I’d use whatever information I’d gathered to figure out what
she was planning, and if it could be stopped. It was a tall order, and I
wasn’t all that confident that I could do what I needed to.

But if Redmond had been telling me
the truth, the stakes were too high to fail. So I’d give it my best shot.
Even if it included killing Katarina Schleu.

I slipped the Glock under my pillow
and climbed into bed. I had a big day ahead.

Chapter
Fifteen

“I don’t think this is a good idea,
Mr. Welles,” Angelo said. “I talked to Ed, and he doesn’t think it’s a good
idea either.”

“I agree with both of you,” I said.
“As ideas go, this is bottom of the barrel. But when it’s the only idea on
the table, you go with it, good or bad.”

I was in the small office off the
foyer of Werkle’s house. Angelo was behind the desk, and a guy named Marco
was leaning against the wall. Angelo was settling in nicely as temporary
underboss.

“There is one thing you can do for
me, though,” I said. “You have a holster and a cheap pistol? Anything.
Revolver, automatic, throwaway cheapie, whatever you have.” I’d left the
black suit at home and was back to the sweater, jeans and bomber jacket.
Unfortunately, every belt I owned had holster scuff from the pistol and
holster that normally rested on my right hip.