The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (30 page)

They could justify or punish anything, just by pointing at the right part of the ROE
, she thought, crossly.
And idiots like Hammerfest will always err on the side of violence
.

“Thank you, sir,” she said. She rose to her feet and motioned for the squad to follow her down to the weapons locker. As always, there was a bureaucrat sitting outside, ready to demand paperwork in triplicate. Belinda ignored him and turned to face her subordinates, her expression as grim as she could make it. “Take weapons and stunners, but leave the weapons unloaded until I give the command.”

Hammerfest snorted, rudely. “And what happens if we need to open fire?”

“I will order you to load your weapons and open fire,” Belinda said. She’d seen the team shoot – and she had a private suspicion that they would be more dangerous to each other than the enemy. Hammerfest wasn't a bad shot, she had to admit, but the others were appallingly bad. If there had been time, she would have forced them to go back to the shooting range and practice time and time again. “Until then, you will keep your weapons unloaded on pain of a beating.”

She glared at him until he lowered his eyes. Dumb muscle. That was all he was, with a little lechery and misogyny rolled in. Someone too stupid to realise how his career was at risk, someone so thick-headed that the only way to get him to obey was to beat hell out of him every time he questioned his orders. She longed, so intensely it was almost painful, for a trained company of Marines. Hell, she would settle for Auxiliaries with some proper weapons training. So far, she hadn't seen Hammerfest point his gun at his own head, but she was sure it was just a matter of time.

“The van’s outside,” she said, once they were tooled up. She had no idea why Hammerfest wanted so many weapons, but she wasn't disposed to argue. “Let's go.”

***

“Why the fuck does he live here?” Isabel asked. “It's a fucking dump.”

Glen nodded in agreement. Kinabalu District might have been nice, once upon a time, but it was definitely suffering now. The houses were dirty and grimy, huge piles of uncollected rubbish lay everywhere and the handful of people on the street kept looking down, refusing to make eye contact. He caught sight of a number of children playing in a side allay, wearing nothing more than rags, and winced inwardly. There were no social services here, no one who might take the children away from unfit parents. But then, the people who lived in the district might actually fight back.

“We really should move them to a CityBlock,” Isabel added. “They could be cared for properly there.”

“That would also cost the government money,” Glen said, as they passed another pile of rubbish. “And how many of them would want to move?”

He considered it as they drove past a burned-out shop. The CityBlocks were meant to be able to supply everything their customers wanted or needed, from food and drink to clothes, entertainment and employment. But Glen knew better. The food was bland, the drinks were often poor and there was little chance of actual employment. And the Block would be dominated by a gang of social workers or outright thugs, depending on how strong the administration actually was. There were probably good reasons for the residents of Kinabalu to stay where they were.

Isabel turned to look at him as they reached the unnamed street. “And why is Nards living here?”

“The atmosphere,” Glen guessed. He parked the van, then opened the door. The stench – he didn't want to think about what was producing it - struck him like a physical blow. “Or maybe he just wants to be out of public view.”

“I’d say he succeeded,” Isabel said. “There aren’t any cameras here, are there?”

Glen shook his head as the snatch squad parked behind them. The squad itself looked terrifyingly incompetent, save for the blonde-haired leader, who carried her stunner as if she’d been born to handle a weapon. She had to be impressive if she managed to dominate her subordinates, Glen decided, then he pushed the thought to one side and turned to walk towards the targeted house. God alone knew what they’d find inside.

“Come on,” he ordered. “Let’s move.”

The house was as dark and grimy as the remaining houses – and seemingly deserted. Glen knocked on the door and listened, carefully, but heard nothing. He hesitated for a long moment, then pulled a multitool off his belt and went to work on the lock. There was a click as the door opened, allowing him to step into the house. The scent of rotting meat greeted his nostrils as he slipped inside, shining his flashlight from place to place.

“That’s dead flesh,” someone muttered. It took Glen a moment to realise it was the blonde woman. “And it’s been dead for quite some time.”

“Stay here,” Glen ordered.

He stepped forward and peered into the living room – and froze. A dead body sat on a chair, peering accusingly at him. It wasn't hard to identify the body as belonging to Nards. He swore, then took his camera from his belt and started taking pictures of the crime scene, recording as much as possible for the backroom experts. It was unlikely the crime scene would remain undisturbed once the locals realised the house had been effectively abandoned.

“Cause of death; slashed throat,” Isabel said. She leaned close to the body without actually touching it. “No other obvious signs of damage.”

Glen nodded, then let her inspect the body while he checked the rest of the house. It was surprisingly bare, given how much money Nards had been collecting; Glen puzzled over it for a long moment, before putting the issue on the backburner. Maybe Nards had been courting a wealthy high-class woman, or had a gambling addiction. It was certainly not unknown among the ones who longed to be rich and powerful. He peered into the bedroom and swore out loud. Four bodies lay on the bed; one woman, three children. They all looked surprisingly peaceful.

“No obvious cause of death,” he said, for the benefit of the recorders. He took a handful of photographs, then took a closer look. One of the children had lips that had turned blue. “Poison seems the most likely cause, based on observation. There are no signs of sexual or other forms of assault or restraint. Time of death unknown, but judging from the lack of visible decay probably not more than two or three days ago.”

“The forensic staff will have to come out here,” Isabel said, as she entered the room. “If the killers left clues behind ...”

Glen shook his head. “They’re not likely to come,” he said. “Everyone is busy with the rioters right now. And ... well, here.”

Isabel made a face. “Shit,” she said. “So ... what do we do? Take the bodies with us?”

“There’s no alternative,” Glen said. “Send one of the team to pick up some body bags, Isabel. We’ll have to carry them back to the station.”

They searched the rest of the house, taking photographs as they moved. There was very little to indicate that Nards was a rich man, which bothered Glen more than he cared to admit. The file hadn't shown any problem with drinking or gambling, or anything else that might explain why Nards wasn't living in the lap of luxury. He’d had three children, Glen knew, and bringing them up in Kinabalu was asking for trouble. Glen wouldn't have been too surprised if the boy, just entering his teens, was already a member of a gang. What sort of parent would bring his children up in such a place if he had a choice?

“It makes no sense,” Isabel agreed, when he outlined his thoughts. “He must have had debts of some kind. We can do a spending analysis when we get back to the station, if the eggheads haven’t done it already. See if he was spewing out money as fast as it was coming in.”

She frowned, searching for alternate suggestions. “Maybe he was a committed Nihilist and just couldn't take the strain of living any longer.”

Glen shrugged. The Nihilists rarely committed suicide without taking as many people as possible down with them. Nards might have poisoned his family – there was no sign of a struggle upstairs – but it was still a remarkably low body-count. Normally, even a single Nihilist aimed to kill dozens of innocent victims. He slapped his head, angrily. Nothing about the case made
sense
!

“It’s odd,” he said, softly. He turned to walk back to the living room. “But if he killed himself, what happened to the knife?”

“Point,” Isabel said. They returned to the body and inspected the surroundings, but found no sign of the knife. “He couldn't have hidden it before he died, not with that slash in his throat. Someone else definitely killed him, probably to cover their tracks.”

“It looks that way,” Glen agreed. If Nards
hadn't
been anything more than an easily-bribed official, the Nihilists would have killed him to ensure he couldn't betray them afterwards. It was so common that he honestly wondered why
anyone
would accept a bribe from the Nihilists ... unless, of course, Nards had had no idea who’d bribed him. “Or maybe there’s something else going on.”

He sighed. “Get the bodies bagged up,” he ordered. He reached for one of the bags, then opened it up and eyed the body, wondering how best to tackle the job. The bodies would be contaminated, damaging the chain of evidence, no matter what they did. It might be harder to secure a conviction. “We’ll take them home.”

“Of course,” Isabel said. She took a smaller bag and started to walk towards the stairs. “And ...”

She broke off as a deafening explosion shook the entire house. “The hell ...?”

Imperial Marshals, by contrast, worked cases that extended beyond a single planet in the Empire. A Marshal commanded vast authority; in theory, they were superior to both policemen and guardsmen wherever they went. However, their authority was not always recognised by their so-called allies.

- Professor Leo Caesius.
The Decline of Law and Order and the Rise of Anarchy.

Belinda spun around and swore out loud as she saw the vans explode into a fireball. She gripped her weapon as the mob appeared, swarming out of the nearby houses and heading towards them with deadly intent. Mobs were always dangerous, particularly in close confines where there was nowhere to run. She cursed under her breath, then snapped a command to load weapons as the mob came closer.

“We have to get out the back,” she snapped, thinking hard. There was no point in trying to stand and fight, not with only a handful of men. “Hurry!”

Two of her men looked to be on the verge of panic. She slapped them both, hard enough to sting, then shoved them towards the door. The lack of real training was harming them now, she knew, although training for mobs was never easy. There was something brutally
primal
about the sheer force of a mob that scared people to death, even though they had training and weapons and even powered combat armour. But if they’d had armour, she knew, they would have been safe. The only problem would have been keeping her men from tearing through the mob like paper.

The Marshals looked up in surprise as she urged her men into the house and through the kitchen. One of them, a middle-aged man with a reassuring air of competence, tossed her a questioning look. Belinda motioned for him and his partner to start moving, then gabbled out an explanation.

“There’s a mob approaching the house and the vans are gone,” she snapped. What had destroyed the vans? They weren’t tanks, but they
were
heavily armoured. Did the locals have antitank weapons or homemade RPGs at their disposal? “We have to get out of here.”

She hit the emergency beacon, summoning help, then followed them out the rear door. The back garden was a desolate wasteland, the grass dying through lack of care. Belinda had no time to take in the sight; ahead of her, there was a wall that was high enough to pose a real barrier to some of her team. She pulled out an explosive charge, cursing their lack of training as she keyed the trigger, then darted backwards. The sound of the explosion would reveal their position to anyone who wasn't already sure of where they were. Moments later, the wall collapsed as the charge detonated, sending pieces of shattered brick flying everywhere. Behind her, she could hear the mob rampaging through the house.

“Run, she snapped, urging the Marshals through the gap. She unhooked a stun grenade from her belt and threw it backwards, as the mob came crashing into the garden. Blue-white light flared, sending tingles down her spine. The mob howled in outrage as a dozen bodies were sent tumbling to the ground, but there were just too many people in the crowd for them all to be knocked out. “Hurry!”

She watched grimly as the team ran for their lives, bringing up the rear. She’d seen enough mobs to know the dangers of being caught, but there was no way to know if the mob was carrying out an organised plan or if it was purely spontaneous. If the former, they might well run into another mob as they tried to beat a retreat, which would force them to take up residence in one of the houses and hope they could hold out long enough for backup to arrive before they died. But if it was the latter, they might well manage to escape by running.

A piece of stone crashed down beside her, thrown from an uppermost window. Something seemed to have broken in the district, she decided, as she fought back the temptation to open fire. The locals, never very inclined to obey authority, had decided to just lash out at the Marshals and their support staff. But were they primed to explode or was it just a coincidence? She contemplated the possibilities, then pushed the thought aside. Her one priority was getting the Marshals and her team out alive.

“Assholes,” Hammerfest shouted, as more pieces of rubbish cascaded down from upper-floor windows. “Fuck off and die, you pricks!”

“Ignore them and keep running,” Belinda snapped.
She
could have outrun or evaded the mob with ease, but she couldn't simply abandon the team. “Get your weapons loaded, but don’t shoot ...”

She swore as they spun around a corner and saw another mob at the far end. Belinda hesitated, then unslung her rifle and fired a handful of rounds over their heads. The mob seemed to quiver for a long moment, then rushed forward, the ones in front pushed by the ones behind. Belinda swore, then pointed the Marshals towards an alleyway, feeling sweat trickling down her back as they ran for their lives. But the alley was a dead end, save for a metal staircase leading up to the rooftops.