The Administration Series (128 page)

Besides, it gave him an excuse to stay awake. The dream — the river — lurked in the back of his mind, barely held at bay, waiting for sleep to release it. Sitting in the living room with Elena made a perfect distraction.

Without any discussion, Elena seemed to have decided to stay awake with them. He watched her, admiring her hair, as she told him something about her family. He vaguely remembered they didn't like Chev and had cut her off without a cent when she married him, or something like that. They were old corporate money, anyway. Chevril hated them with uncharacteristic passion, and was willing to explain why at stunningly tedious length if Elena wasn't around. Toreth wasn't sure what she thought — about her family or anything much.

She had a distant, veiled quality: she flirted gently, took everything in with quiet attention, and hid her feelings with a slight smile that, in function if not appearance, reminded him of Warrick. Toreth used to call her Enigma, and that had made her smile too, impenetrable as ever.

Sara, less charitably, said she was probably stoned all the time, because you'd have to be to marry Chevril for love.

All that said, Elena wasn't entirely impenetrable, at least literally. He'd fucked her, once, but afterwards he'd been able to read her no better than before and her attitude towards him hadn't changed in the slightest. He wondered sometimes if Chevril knew about it. He was always keen enough to keep the two of them apart, but that could easily be on general principles, since —

A question caught his attention.

"Don mentioned that you're seeing someone?"

He blinked, surprised both by the enquiry and by the idea that Chevril would have said anything about it to her. "Yeah."

She smiled. "And?"

"And, well . . . that's it."

"How long has it been going on?"

"A couple of years, I suppose. Although it's not really 'going on' at all. It's a casual thing." That was, he reflected, sounding increasingly — and uncomfortably — improbable.

"Does the casual thing have a name?" Although her smile hadn't changed, there was a definite note of teasing in her voice.

"Warrick. Keir Warrick. He works at the university."

"Don said he owned a corporation?"

Now that was the kind of thing Chevril
would
mention. "SimTech. They develop virtual reality tech."

"That must be very interesting."

Away from Warrick and onto the topic of the sim, he felt more secure. "Yeah, it is. Fantastic, actually. Most mind-blowing thing I've ever seen in my life. It's . . . well, it's hard to explain what it's like. Very, very real, mostly. I could try to get you some time in it, if you'd — "

"Toreth!" Chevril's voice, from the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

Chevril appeared in the doorway, grinning. "Fire at Harper's flat. Going up a bloody treat, if you believe the fire service comms. Come on."

By the time they arrived, the fire service had beaten them to it, and they had the blaze well under control. The flat, however, was gutted, and it would have made an unhealthy place to leave a valuable witness.

Toreth tracked down the lead fireman in the team. After taking his name and rank, he said, "I need a favour."

The man considered Toreth's uniform, then nodded stiffly. "Sir?"

"This flat is part of an investigation in progress. When you get in there, the place will be empty — it'd be helpful for me if there was a rumour you found three bodies. Man, woman and child. It's what the neighbours'll be expecting in any case."

The man nodded again, looked relieved — probably that he wouldn't be spending the night extracting charred corpses from the ruins.

Once the flat had cooled sufficiently, they went inside. Even to Toreth's relatively inexperienced eye, it was obvious what had happened — a charred hole, halfway up the door, marked the start of the fire. Just inside, Toreth kicked something under the layer of fire suppressant foam. He retrieved it, burning his fingers slightly as he did so.

It turned out to be the twisted remains of a small gas canister.

"To start the fire?" Chevril suggested.

"Or narcotics, if they wanted to make sure of them. They might as well, since they didn't bother making it look like an accident. We ought to know soon enough, anyway." He dropped the canister, and it disappeared under the foam. "Something for forensics to get excited about."

Warrick's security company had been as good as their word — the discreet box concealed in a cupboard in the kitchen had survived the fire unscathed, and the equipment inside was undamaged. Rather than watch the recording there, he took everything with him. No point in giving Kemp's men a chance to wonder what had taken them so long in the flat.

Back at Chevril's flat, they woke Chris and gave him the bad news. He was predictably upset but Toreth lacked the time or patience to care.

"The division will pay for the damage in the resettlement. Put in as big a claim as you like, I'll sign it. Now watch the fucking recording."

It took only a few seconds of viewing before Chris nodded. "That's him. Almond."

All he needed, and enough for tonight, or what was left of it. A glance at his watch showed it to be after three in the morning. Rather than go home, Toreth went to I&I. He prepared warrants, firmed up the IIP so that Tillotson wouldn't quibble over it too much, and left a list of things for Sara to do in the morning. Eventually, he fell asleep at his desk, as dawn started to lighten the courtyard outside his window.

If Toreth had a nightmare then he was too exhausted to remember it, or for it to wake him up. It was Sara who woke him, at ten o'clock, with a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon sandwiches. When he sat up, his back and shoulders screamed protest at the uncomfortable night.

"Anything new?" he asked, wishing for painkillers but settling for caffeine.

"Chevril told me what's going on," she said reproachfully.

"I didn't want to make it at all official until I had a link in to Kemp." Not much of an excuse, he reflected, since he'd told her any number of highly unofficial things in the past.

She didn't comment on it. Instead she broke off a crisped piece of meat from the edge of a sandwich and nibbled it. "Do you think you're going to get him?" she asked.

He blinked at her blearily, surprised by the question. Sara was a superb admin, but she rarely displayed any interest in the outcome of particular cases. No reason why she should. Of course, this was more personal than usual. "I hope so. Nowhere near enough evidence yet, but if Almond can give us names . . . maybe. Probably, even."

She smiled. "Good. No more important corporate father."

Ah. "What about Jon Kemp? Any sign of him?"

"Not yet." She licked her thumb and finger carefully. "Toreth, I don't want to be stupid about this, but if he — "

"I'm not bringing him in. I want to know where he is, that's all. Nothing's going to come out."

"Yes, of course. I'm sorry."

"Are you? Consider yourself spanked." He put the coffee down and picked up a sandwich — doing everything one-handed was growing tiresome. "Where are we up to with Almond?"

"Um . . . the ident system coughed up a full name — Jack Almond. I've pulled his security file for you. Chevril's sent some of his team out looking for him — says he's got a few spare he can use without having to put a request in to Tillotson for any from the pool. There's an address in the system, but Sedanioni called in to say that it's empty, and looks to have been that way for a while. She's talking to the neighbours, just in case, and then starting on a list of places Harper suggested."

"Great." Toreth swapped back to coffee and considered options. Not a lot he could do until Almond was found, except . . .

"Call Warrick and ask him to meet me at my flat, if he can. If not, let me know. I'm going there now, anyway — I need a shower."

Not wanting to waste time, he took a taxi home, although the sun was shining again and the day promised to be beautiful. Maybe it was a good omen for things to come.

Back in the flat, the first thing Toreth did was find the painkillers. Then, after showering and changing, he tidied up a little. Normally he didn't bother but it seemed like the least he could do, since he was about to ask Warrick for a rather more significant favour than finding Jon Kemp's address.

By the time Warrick arrived, the place looked almost respectable; judging by his raised eyebrows, he clearly noticed. But after sniffing the air, his only comment was, "Coffee?"

"Yeah — the nice stuff you left behind. What do you think of the new door?"

"Very impressive."

"I'm fucked if I ever forget the code. The old one opened if you kicked the right place. Have you got access?"

Warrick shook his head, smiling. "I only sent them round to fit it. I didn't ask them for the code."

Of course, he wouldn't have, but the compulsion to check had been . . . compulsive.

To his relief, Toreth could remember the instructions given by the security consultant, so didn't embarrass himself by setting off the alarm while trying to open the authorisation program. Leaving Warrick to introduce himself to the system, Toreth went to fetch the coffee.

He'd already washed the mugs, to save himself from Warrick's usual pained expression. Toreth poured some milk into a mismatched jug that had come with the flat, and even found a packet of biscuits at the back of a cupboard. He didn't remember buying them, but they seemed edible enough so he piled a handful on a plate and set them on the coffee table.

He surveyed the results. Pretty hospitable, if he did say so himself.

Once they were settled on the sofa, Warrick asked, "Well?"

"It's Kemp. Gil Kemp. I went looking for a bit of leverage, something to keep him at bay, and I found something a lot better than that. He's running an operation to bypass population control laws, probably on a large scale."

He enjoyed surprising Warrick — it happened so rarely. Warrick stared at him, mug halfway to his mouth, before he blinked and put the mug down on the table. "Kemp? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Why on Earth would he?"

"Money, is my guess. At least the sample of one I have so far is being squeezed for everything he can afford. If it's idealism, it's very lucrative."

"Good God." Warrick narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I suppose . . . it might make a certain amount of sense."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've, ah, been doing some checking into his finances myself. Like you, I considered the desirability of leverage. I have the SimTech legal department hunting for loopholes in the sponsorship contract, to shut down our deal with his corporation. I thought they might need some help — they're very good, but distressingly honest, for lawyers."

Toreth frowned. "Why?"

"Probably something to do with our hiring policies. I ought to speak to Personnel." Warrick's face didn't show even a flicker of the evasion the answer certainly was.

"Not that — why are you cancelling the sponsorship?"

Warrick picked up his mug again, leaned back on the sofa, and took a sip of coffee. "After due consideration, I decided to take what happened to you personally. I don't appreciate having my . . . having you assaulted and threatened. It annoyed me. SimTech doesn't need his money — or any money — that badly."

Warrick's lawyers weren't the only ones whose honesty was disturbing. Toreth decided to drop it, and also not to mention that he'd asked — ordered — Warrick to leave Kemp alone.

"So what did you find out?" Toreth asked.

"Primarily that there is something of a repetition of history in progress. Gil Kemp fell out with his own father, James Kemp. It was a long time ago now, but the conclusion was that they parted company extremely acrimoniously, and he went to start training as a medic."

"Jesus. Some fucking bedside manner he'd have."

Warrick nodded. "Quite. However, he never qualified. In some way no one I spoke to was clear about, he became involved in the running of a small private hospital. The enterprise was extremely successful and the hospital expanded. That became the foundation of the current Kemp Incorporated. He and his father were never reconciled, but I understand that by the time Kemp senior died, Gil Kemp had forced him to surrender control of several of his companies — and the rest was left to him in the will."

Toreth raised his eyebrows. "How old was James Kemp when he died?"

"Probably not old enough. Lots of talk of corporate sabotage at the time, or so I was told, but no one was ever charged." Warrick half smiled. "You know how it goes. I doubt anyone pressed the investigation — James Kemp was, by all accounts, as charming as his son and grandson. But if you want to suggest that Gil Kemp was involved, I'd advise very good lawyers before you even let the thought cross your mind."

"Happy fucking family. So you think the illegal conception money might have been the basis of it all?"

"It's more than possible. What have you found out about it?"