Nick Valentine Detective Agency:
Case # 009
Murder in Vault 114
It was a dark and stormy night; or at least it would'a been if the storm wasn't so damn radioactive and painted the whole sky a pale fluorescence green. The Geiger counter somewhere inside me danced a jig so loud I couldn't hear the thunder roar and Mansfield's voice was lost in a staccato of clicks. Welcome to the wasteland of Boston 2282. A second flash came; illuminating Swan Pond and the surrounding area.
Here the buildings looked almost normal in their wash of green. Solid brick exteriors and heavy wooden doors still stood even two hundred years after the bombs fell; a testament either to the brick layers trade or the poor craftsmanship of the bomb makers. A protectron wheeled its way over to us announcing for all to hear a history of the place and the start of some damn Freedom Trail.
I was all for shooting the thing but Mansfield told us to ignore it. As he was the man paying the caps I did as I was told. Me? I'm Nick Valentine, private investigator to the rich an' famous back in Diamond City; a synth with looks not even a ghoul could love and a knack of getting into trouble; usually over a pretty face. At least this time was different.
Mansfield was some bigshot from the Capital Wasteland who called himself an archaeologist although in reality he was just a scavenger like the rest of us. He had come to the Commonwealth in search of Vault 114 and had hired me out of Diamond City four days ago to be his personal bodyguard. Normally I don't like guard duty but the man was paying me 80 caps a day plus expenses, almost double my usual fee, and the rent was due end of month. Ellie, my assistant, had turned her nose up at the thought of desecrating a Vault but her wages don't come outta thin air.
Mansfield was accompanied by his wife and daughter, his PA and two business partners. The six were veterans of the wasteland and well-armed. My trusty magnum paled beside some of the tech they carried. I daren't even bring my pipe pistol out for fear of looking. . . . well a little bit scrawny. So I was glad that Mansfield didn't need the protectron shot; I was loathe to use the handful of .357 bullets I had left. It wandered away its feelings not bruised even though I felt like a fink for wanting it dead.
There was a movement out of the corner of my LEDs and I swung around gun in hand. A dozen figures moved noisily out of the shadows, the lead figure was stocky and short clothed in a black suit and bowtie with a fedora in better shape than my own. The men spread out behind in a well organised manner and I began to doubt the wisdom in coming here tonight. Mansfield stepped forward unafraid.
"Mr Malone? A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand and the two men shook hands like they were long lost brothers. So this was Skinny Malone. Malone had run with most of the gangs in the Commonwealth; Raiders, Gunners; he's even spent time with the Neighbourhood Watch over at Goodneighbour. Now he runs his own gang of miscreants running contraband and tech in and out of the Commonwealth and, as they say in the funny pages, his star was on the ascent.
His men stepped out of the shadows, most wearing a mixture of Raider armour and leather as befits the life of a wanderer. Some had fairly clean shirts and ties, while others wore plain pants. Two wore hats just like their boss; seems he was trying out a style akin to an old Cagney flick. On him it worked. He eyed me suspiciously.
"What's this?" He asked Mansfield with a hint of menace in his voice.
"This is Nick Valentine, a private detective from out of Diamond City." Mansfield said casually.
"I know who he is. I want to know why he's here." Malone said looking less skinny and more aggressive. I slipped a hand into my trench coat and fingered the magnum. I reckoned that if I was going to go down I might as well use my best gun.
"He's here to guard me. His compensation comes out of my pocket, not your remuneration."
Malone looked at me with his small piggy eyes. There was distrust and a lot of anger there but he didn't look like the kind of guy to fight for no reason. He grunted before saying.
"Fine." He nodded to his men. "My boys here should be enough but you wanna waste money on a broken down synth go ahead." He smiled icily in my direction. "Heard a lot about you Valentine. We got nothing in common so stay clear of me an' the boys and we'll be fine."
I replied. "Aw now Skinny. You went and hurt my feelings; and here I thought you and the boys had some fashion sense." I tipped my fedora and smiled. Ellie says that's my worst feature, but then she also says that about my eyes, my fashion sense and my hands. Guess she has a lot to choose from.
Mansfield seemed to take in all of our 'banter' calmly. He just smiled that big warm smile of his and said. "Valentine stays with me. Your men will be needed to protect the perimeter; once we're in."
"You're the boss. Now why are we here?" Malone asked.
Mansfield smiled. "I've found the location of Vault 114." He pointed to the Metro stop. "Inside Park Street Station."
It made sense now. Most Metro stations were places infested with all kind of things. Mole rats, Mirelurks, ghouls. You name it an' if it crawls or slithers or bites it'll end up in the subway system. Raiders loved them for their 'protective ambience'.
"Rumour has it that 114 was never completed." I say. "Why bother if it's empty?"
"Many of the greatest tombs discovered were unfinished masterpieces. Tutankhamun or Artaxerxes IV Arses in Persia; the seventh face on Mount Rushmore. All of these remained unfinished and yet are seen as great achievements. Why should a Vault not be included amongst them?" Mansfield asked passionately, if not a little over the top.
I didn't want to say that no one gave two hoots about the Vaults; after all I had a secretary to pay and rent to meet. Taking my silence as acceptance he called over to Rutherford and Watson, his business partners, and directed them to protect his wife and daughter. Then we all made our way down the ramp to the Metro doors. A thick chain wound its way through the double door handles and Malone took a swing at the lock with the butt of a small calibre rifle. The lock stayed defiantly in place.
"Here let me." I said squeezing through the mass of human flesh waiting at the bottom of the stairs. Now not all ex-cops acquire the skill set I have but I must admit 'old' Nick's memories are darn useful at times. I slipped a bobby pin into the large padlock and levered the ratchet back with a none too subtle click.
We carefully opened the doors as Mansfield pulled out a worn PDA, a handheld computer not unlike a pip-boy, and fingered the keyboard.
"There should be something called escalators, moving stairways although I doubt that these will still be in working order." He laughed. "Then we should find ourselves in the main ticket area. From there we turn left and follow the stairs down to the platform where we follow the northbound tunnels." There was the sound of earth breaking from below followed by a handful of growls. "First things first. I believe we need to clear a path."
A dozen mole rats swarmed up the metal stairs only to be met literally by a hail of bullets. Ten went down immediately and the remaining two were dispatched with a couple of swings from a knife. As one of Malone's men wiped said knife on his pants while Watson carefully descended into the stygian darkness; sniper rifle in hand.
Mansfield indicated for us to wait and I found myself holding my breath even if I don't actually need to breathe. There was a flash and thunderclap simultaneously coming from below and I could momentarily see the outline of all the people present. There was a scurrying from below and I heard Watson call out as he ran back up the stairs.
"I hit one; headshot. Another two incoming."
More growls came from the darkness behind him, this time more human sounding than the mole rats. A pale shadow in human form skittered into view at the bottom of the steps. A low moan, more feral than any of the cries from the mole rats echoed upwards from the creatures dry, desiccated throat. I shot at the first ghoul's legs tripping her up and leaving her to the mercy of Malone's men. The second moved faster but still fell little more than half way up the escalator steps. Mansfield got him with a head shot; a waterless grey paste oozed from the wound. The woman was downed by multiple body shots.
We carefully made our way underground. Light beams swung around the ticket area and sounds echoed in fractured patterns, distorting footsteps and voices until it felt as if we were surrounded by an army. I automatically checked the cigarette machines even though I hadn't smoked for well over two hundred years. A couple of caps and a teddy bear. It's crazy what people put into these machines!
It was late and recon from Watson and Rutherford indicated that a there were a handful of feral ghouls visible at least, with more most likely inhabiting the tunnels themselves. Ghouls are generally territorial so we leave them alone they leave us alone. We made camp in the ticket hall, the humans chowing down on chicken noodle soup and squirrel on a stick.
Emma, Mansfield's daughter came over to sit with me while her father and his PA, Martha Simmons, discussed the next day's plans. Martha wore thick leather gloves and they caught the light as she gesticulated making it appear as if she were creating flashes of stars in the dim light. Emma noticed my interest and said. "Dad found her at Grayditch, a suburb of DC, a couple of years back. They had an outbreak of fire-ants years ago and her hands got pretty burnt."
"It's good of your father to help her out."
Emma sighed almost inaudibly. "Yeah; anything for anyone as long as it's not family."
I looked into eyes as blue as a summers day and as sad as a spinster on her hundredth birthday. So full of regrets I couldn't see how she would have room for anything else in her young life. "That bad eh?" I replied.
"I don't think I've ever slept more than a week in the same place. And it's been this way all my life. Moving from place to place; hunting this vault or that monument. I think he feels more for that computer pad of his than he does for me. People think it must be a glamourous life, seeing the world; but the world is a dead place Mr Valentine; full of browns and greys and rubble and shit else. What's a young girl supposed to do when her future is just the dead past stretching onwards until she dies?"
I couldn't think of an answer. Instead we watched her father as he rabidly tapped away on the small keypad. Emma's mother, Sandra, wandered listlessly around him as if unsure whether to break orbit or not.
"Look at her!" Emma suddenly said. "You'd never guess the hatred she feels deep inside would you?" With that she stood up. "I apologise Mr Valentine; you shouldn't have to listen to me air my family's dirty laundry."
"Hey! If you can't gossip with your friendly neighbourhood synth who else are you going to talk to?" She smiled and the room felt larger, warmer somehow. "And the names Nick. Mr Valentine was. . . . well he was a long time ago."
"Thank you, Nick." With that she wondered back to her tent.
I continued to watch Sandra Mansfield. Her body language was overtly safe and timid but I could detect a fierce look of anger in her eyes which I may have missed if not for Emma's comments. Watson walked passed and an interesting frisson passed between them. It was so subtle that back when I had actually been a cop for BADTFL, the Bureau of Alcohol, Drugs, Tobacco, Firearms and Lasers, I probably wouldn't have caught it at all. Yay for LEDs and positronic brains.
Once supper was over Malone's men were split into three groups to take shifts looking out for danger and the rest slept, each in their separate tents; Mr and Mrs Mansfield obviously had issues. As for me? I'm a synth and mostly I essentially switch off but I don't really need to, so I stayed awake and watched from the side-lines. Everyone seemed to be on their best behaviour all but Rutherford who waited a while and then slipped into Mansfield's tent. Whatever was talked about I couldn't hear, despite my obvious advantages, but they spoke in that kinda hushed anger that gives you an impression of the mood but not the topic. He returned half hour later his face blood red.
Morning saw us ready and armed. Watson, Rutherford, Mansfield, Malone, his two best shots and I descended the escalators onto the platforms below. Watson carried an
enhanced sniper rifle, .50 Cal, with the ease of a professional and he was the one to take the first shot, catching a feral ghoul sitting stiffly just waiting for its meal time to wander innocently by.
The shot awakened three others and stirred a fourth towards the back of the platform on the rails. I used my magnum and caught one in the shoulder, finishing her with a close body shot. Malone racked a semi-automatic across the platforms catching all of the ghouls in its wake forcing them to halt for a second. The rest of us finished the job with Watson catching the furthest ghoul with a chest shot.
We all reloaded quickly and waited with our breath definitely bated. Nothing moved and no sounds came from further in the tunnels. Mansfield ushered his family and the rest of Malone's men down onto the platform. He took out his PDA and tapped its small keyboard.
"Okay. Specs say that the tunnels there, "He pointed to the furthest end of the platforms. "Should lead to Vault 114." He smiled winningly. "Of course there's probably a shitload of things between us and the vault; most of which will want to eat us. Everybody up for a stroll in the dark?"
"Was probably real nice before it was covered in glass shards and broken concrete." I said. "The blood splatter adds a Jackson Pollock vibe to the whole experience."
Mansfield just laughed as if this was the most natural thing in the world; and I guess, for him, it was.
"We'll take the left-hand tunnel; but you." He indicated Malone's men standing in various macho poses around the three women. "Keep an eye on the right-hand tunnel. We shouldn't need to disturb it but god knows what could wander out of there." He marched off without a word to either his wife or daughter although I caught a flash of something in Watson's eyes as he looked back at the still attractive Mrs Mansfield.
No one mentioned the ghoul-in-the-room. You see the odd feral ghoul seemed to absorb more radiation than most and became a thing of terrible beauty; a glowing, fiery man-furnace which we knowingly call a 'glowing one'. I suppose calling them 'luminous necrotic post-humans' is a bit of a mouthful, but the term glowing one always seems to me to be a little shallow for such a hard to kill bastard. Where there were a lot of ghouls you'd find one all glowly and angry because his tax returns were late.
We didn't have to wait long until we found our 'elephant'. He came at us like a Maserati on octane. Now one of the benefits I gained from the Institute was the ability to slow down my sense of time as I used a weapon. It's funny really; I coulda sworn that a few years ago I could actually stop time and take aim, but you use what you got.
As the beast came towards us I did so now, taking aim with my magnum and getting off three shots before time restarted at full speed. Mansfield hit him with his ray gun and Malone's chattering semi did the rest. The ghoul went down a good twenty feet from us enough to protect us from its 'meltdown' as it died. A burst of radiation sphered outwards.
After that it was a day of ghouls in packs and ghouls alone interspaced with the odd pack of mole rats. Slowly we moved forward with Mansfield calling for the rest of the group to follow at a distance. By evening we made the end of tunnel and saw the shadowy shapes of machinery in the tunnels gloom. Huge bags of cement still lay around the rails and on the platform indicating that the stories about Vault 114 been incomplete appeared to be correct.
We rested again for the night before breaking camp early the next day; at least that's what my internal clock told me. The dull blackness of the subway tunnels indicated no passage of time. We approached the Vault.
Scaffolding rose upwards and a great steel door emblazoned with the number 114 sat flush in the wall high up. A shelf with some machinery jutted out at the same height as the door. I climbed the scaffolding alongside Mansfield, Watson and Rutherford. The platform held a terminal that still appeared to be powered.
After a brief muttered conversation between the three men Mansfield took out an actual working Pip-boy and attached a thick connection to both the terminal and the Pip-boy. Using his pad he painstakingly typed in a few commands with his finger and then suddenly there was a hiss of escaping air and a siren sounded from within the vault. Lights flashed red above the door casting the rough cavern in an unearthly glow that presaged the coming events.
Mansfield strolled over to me and handed over four boxes.
".357 bullets. I noticed that you favoured the pipe-gun but used the magnum when you thought necessary. Vault-tec allowed up to two hundred people in a vault and any one of them could be either dead or a raving ghoul. I'd prefer it if you used the more powerful weapon."
I didn't know what to say but stuttered out. "These are like gold dust, no scrap that gold dust is easier to find; this is vault-tec lunchbox stuff. I can't. . ."
"I'm the client. Remember? Consider it expenses."
Cool air wafted out of the opening as the thick door rolled away revealing a gleaming technological parade of surfaces and machinery. Pipes shone with pristine cleanliness and the floor was clear of debris. I breathed in air that had last been in human lungs two hundred years ago. From the entrance lobby it was plain to see that the vault was empty of life. Boxes stacked seven or eight high leant against walls and a bank of lockers stood open and empty along one wall.
Still we waited, guns raised just in case there had been inhabitants and they had become ghoulified; but after what seemed like hours of waiting Mansfield strode into the vault. We followed him in. A glass window stretched the length of the right-hand wall and behind it I could see banks of computers their lights still twinkling on and off, and desks cluttered with clip boards and coffee cups.
One door blocked our way. It had no handle or lock but a terminal sat alongside of it. Mansfield pulled out his pad but I stepped forward cracking my knuckles – or would have if the pivots that made up my knuckle joints could crack – and said. "Leave this to me. I have an affinity for terminals."
A couple of key presses and the door slid open with a nice hrush. The corridor was a dull shade of brown echoing the carpet in all its glory. A painting of a man, stiff and lifeless – the painting not the man – leant against a wall. Some clothes were scattered around, old looking even in 'my' day. "What year is it in here?" I asked sarcastically.
"Well; an added bonus Nick. I didn't see you as the hacker type." Mansfield said.
"It's amazing what a few wires and cathode tubes instead of brains will do to a guy." I replied.
He smiled then turned to the others. "Malone! I want six of your men camping outside; the rest are in here with us. We'll scout the vault out first; then camp providing we find no surprises."
We found that the vault was squat and cramped, laid out over only a couple of floors and either obviously built for only a handful of people, or else part of some mad scheme of Vault-tec. To be honest no one really knows. There are rumours that some vaults were used for social experiments, but no one's actually come out of these alive. Anyway the vault was empty but for one skeleton, inexplicably found in a locker near the showers. God knows who he was.
The terminals held a list of people who were allegedly in the vault but either they never arrived, or they left soon after. The rumours were obviously true; Vault 114 was unfinished or part of a union scam. The fusion generators were still on-line so we had light, heat and hot running water. Mansfield had the door shut and we settled in for the night.
After a satisfying meal of Blamco Mac and cheese, Mansfield came over and sat with me. I guessed he had things on his mind that he wanted to find out so I waited. It's always good to let the other guy start. That way you get a better chance of finishing.
"So! Is it true that the Institute gave you the memories of an old cop?" He asked finally.
"Pretty much how it is. I woke up in this body and a couple centuries late."
"You know in my kind of work having someone who was actually there before all the bombs dropped. . . ." He trailed off. "It could be so useful."
"Yeah well, I find helping people around Diamond City pretty useful."
"It's just a thought. But if you ever want to make some serious caps you could do worse then come with me." He pulled out his PDA and tapped away on its small keyboard. He showed me a map full of green icons. "See! There is loads of stuff out there. All across the old US of A; and it could be ours for the taking. All I'm asking is that you give it some thought."
I said I would and he wandered back over to his PA while Sandra did that false laugh that some women have as if Watson was the most fascinating man in the vault. Emma was off scouting so I took off to find her. We may be sitting tight in a vault but some of the vermin from outside came in with us.
I found her near the Overseers office with Malone hovering like the piece of shit he is. Obviously Skinny had difficulty distinguishing between protection and groping; his hands were all over the young girl like a swarm of bloatflies over ten day old shit.
"Hey Skinny!" I called out drawing his attention away from the girl. "If your nickname is ironic why'd they not call you Einstein instead?"
I let the insult sink in as I stepped between him and Emma. I mouthed 'go' to her and turned to face Malone as she hurried away.
"Hey! I weren't finished yet." He complained.
"Skinny; you didn't even make it into the ballpark; let alone first base."
"Valentine! Look I don't make it into Diamond City that often so I just leaves you alone; but I'm tellin' you. You don't want me for an enemy."
"Skinny." I wrapped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him tight against my side, almost like we were buddies. "I can call you Skinny can't I? Skinny. The Institute considers me an enemy. Mayor McDonough considers me an enemy. Hell most things with more'n two legs considers me an enemy. You!? Well let me put it this way. Not the icing on my enemy cake but perhaps a raisin?"
He pulled away from me and began to fumble for his gun.
"Okay! Okay! If not a raisin how about a cherry, or an almond. You'd make a great nut Skinny."
I have no idea what his response was going to be because at that second all hell broke loose. There was a scream from the personal quarters and raised voices that almost immediately became shouts. We both ran towards the cries and found everyone else standing around the prone form of Mansfield, his head on Emma's lap. She looked up at me her eyes filled with tears. "He's dead! My father's dead!"
Now this was plain embarrassing. Mansfield had hired me as his 'personal body guard' and he'd indicated back at the office about some vague threat. After tonight's little overture about my memories going back to before the war I figured that the threat was a made up one; all Mansfield had wanted was to get close to me and check me out before hiring – he'd said as much. Now it seems I was wrong!
I knelt over his body. It was still warm but his eyes held less life than my LEDs. Frothy white sputum dribbled from his mouth; poison. A slight alkaline smell mixed with the normal human vomit scent. I recognised it as a quick acting heavy ion tetra-carbon. Even just touching this stuff would kill.
But how? And also who? Quickly I ran through the group. Usually the simple answer would be that the most murderous guy had done it; and I had the worst type right next to me in Skinny Malone; only problem was I was with him when it happened. I'm his alibi. I could rule out his men also. Six were outside the vault and the door makes such a racket on opening that everyone would have heard it. Plus the rest of his men were situated on the other side of the door and the only corridor between there and here was in my sight at all times. They may be trigger-happy but Malone and his crew could not have pulled this off; added to which it just wasn't his style. As I said he's trigger-happy.
That left Mansfield's nearest and dearest. Back in the day 90% of all homicides were by someone who knew the vic; o'course in the wasteland that statistic had changed a little. I picked up his pad and stood up.
"Malone. Tell your men to let no one out. I have a murderer to catch." At least it sounded good and authoritative; so much so that Skinny actually did as he was asked.
Emma reached out for her father's PDA but Martha Simmons jumped up and grabbed it from my hands.
"No!" She looked at her angrily. "His. . . . his work's all on here; everything. His notes and thoughts. Its password protected. Not even I know it. It's of no use to anyone."
I figured it was of no use to her either but I let it lie. I needed to keep them all happy and on-board while I interrogated all five. Give the perps a little façade of order, of control and let them relax. A happy perp is a loose lipped perp; I hoped.
I set up in one of the side rooms and asked Emma in first. I'd gotten to know her better than the rest and was hoping she would open up a little more about the other four; of course that was dependent upon her not been the killer!
"Emma. When we spoke the other night you didn't seem that happy about your father's choice of occupation. You seemed angry even!"
She turned her sad eyes on me but I tried to imagine what Ellie would be saying right about now – 'Even the pretty ones can kill Nick' and 'don't fall for every nice face you see; it'll be the death of you.
"Of course I'm angry. I've spent the best part of my life either digging underground or hurrying from place to place; often hurrying away from someone."
"So your dad had a lot of enemy's?" I asked.
"He desecrated vaults for a living and he took things for money. Once, in the Capital Wasteland, he found this huge statue of some old president, Lucas or Lincoln, and he cut its head off to sell to the highest bidder. That's how he made caps. But unless any of his former acquaintances followed us?"
She let the sentence remain open. We both knew what that meant.
"So; yeah. I am. . . was angry. He wasn't much of a dad; and mom. . . . well she made an even shittier parent. But I didn't kill him. He was training me to take over the 'family business' at some point and I have to admit the amount of caps he brought in was good. I mean I disliked his methods but the money was good. I would probably change how we do business but I still want to make caps. Who doesn't? But to kill him now leaves me only halfway through my education. Most of what he knows is on that pad of his and as Martha said; it's encrypted up to the hilt."
I let her return to the group and pondered over what she'd told me. Losing Mansfield without the means to take over was a pretty dumb thing to do; but then murder was, I considered, pretty dumb at best.
Sandra Mansfield came next. She looked brighter than I had seen her all trip. There was a new found fire in her eyes and she no longer appeared cowed. She curled herself into the chair opposite me like a cat and drummed perfectly lacquered nails of bright scarlet on the table top.
"Let me make one thing perfectly clear Mr Valentine. I did not kill Danny but god knows I've thought about it over the years. Did I dislike him? Obviously. Am I glad he's dead? Ecstatic! But that doesn't mean I'd kill the father of my only child." She smiled, her eyes a perfect match for Emma's but without the sadness; instead they held defiance. "After all he was my ticket across the wasteland. He kept me in caps and a life style I've definitely grown used to."
"Your daughter told me that Mansfield was planning on turning the company over to her eventually."
"Too true; and I'm not sure the girl will want her mother trailing after her so I'd be out of a. . . . . vocation. But Daniel hadn't fully trained her, and there's the matter of his PDA. Martha thought that she could open it but she only knew about the first level of encryption. Danny could be a total shithead at times."
I almost imagined her with a cigarette in a long handled holder blowing smoke up to the ceiling whilst shifting her long legs over and over to distract me.
"If you weren't as close to your husband as you say, why did you stay? Emma's a grown woman and the two of you don't appear any closer than you and your husband."
Sandra Mansfield just shrugged enigmatically. I weighed up my options and decided to try something out of the left field.
"Did you know the Institute was getting close to deciphering brain waves?" She looked at me puzzled, the change in topic throwing her. I tapped the side of my head, where all the innards seep out around the frayed skin that constitutes my face. "With this old encephala scope built into my dome I can 'read' your thoughts."
I pretended to concentrate hoping that the soft hum of my usual array of mechanisms would suddenly sound loud in the silence.
"I read a man. Not your husband. He's. . ."
"Okay! Okay! Jeez you synths have no sense of decorum. I'm seeing Tommy, Tommy Watson."
So I had picked up on a connection between the partner and the boss's wife. I tapped the side of my head again and the woman continued angrily.
"We've been seeing each other for about two years now."
"Seeing as in sleeping?" I asked sarcastically.
"Danny knew all about it. He practically encouraged it. Thomas had some money saved and Danny needed funding to move out of D.C. and the Capital Wasteland. I sweetened the deal." She shifted again and I could imagine those long legs crossing over my body and pinning me down for some 'sweetening'. I was glad that a few of the circuits around the skin on my face had become detached; there's nothing worse than blushing in the presence of someone you're interviewing.
"You're sleeping with Watson just to keep him on as a partner?"
"I like the doofus; and besides Danny has no use for me anymore. It was like we had a partner each. Kept everything balanced."
I was about to define words such as prostitution and immoral when something she said hit me.
"You both had a partner?"
"Sure Danny and Billy Rutherford. They've been sleeping together since Billy came on board eighteen months ago.
I wasn't sure whether to ask how such a bizarre arrangement worked or why each man had been reduced to such childish names as Billy, Danny and Tommy. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism on Sandra's part or perhaps they really were just little boys off on a great adventure.
"How did Emma fit into all of this?" I reluctantly asked.
"Well thank god she doesn't have her dads taste in men, nor mine really. We were hoping that you and her might. . . ."
This time I did blush! Sandra Mansfield just laughed.
"Oh come on! Did you not think we saw the way you looked at her? Danny was pleased." She suddenly stopped a look of quiet revere on her face. "They say that the Institute ensures each model is. . . . anatomically correct."
I tried to deflect the attention back onto the case in hand.
"I had assumed that your husband had asked me along purely for that reason; except that circumstances appear to show otherwise."
"We did approach you specifically because of the rumour that you have the memories of some pre-war cop from Chicago; but Daniel wanted to find out if you would be a good fit for our group. With all of our. . . . different associations we probably needed someone who wouldn't need. . . ."
"Sexual favours?" I queried.
Sandra nodded silently.
"Is that the reason you left D.C.?"
"Not completely, no. Word's out that someone is looking for Vault 111 and Danny hoped to grab any and all info on the Vault. Information is caps he used to say." She suddenly looked drawn, understanding fully what her husband's death meant. "We've been a trio of explorers for god knows how long. Even when Emma came along it still felt like the three of us."
"Three?" I asked.
"Danny, Martha and myself. We were his post doctorates; or as he called us his post Daniels."
"Martha Simmons?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes. He began to teach us about archaeology and vaultology. That was back when he stuck with just one sex."
"But not one person." It was a leap but from what I'd heard of the good Dr Mansfield not a large one.
"We were both his lovers at one time and another." She replied indignantly.
"But he choose you."
"I guess Mother Nature choose me; I caught with Emma and then that was that. We became husband and wife."
I let her return to the outer room. Like everyone else stuck in here she had motive and opportunity but again the consequences of her actions hurt her more than helped her.
Martha Simmons came in next. She was short but exuded a statuesque pose that belied her height. Trim clothes still looking fresh despite her trek across the wasteland she appeared controlled and organised; probably what a budding CEO needs in his PA.
"Mr Valentine." She extended a hand and as we shook the squeak of leather on synthetic skin made the hairs on the back of neck stand on end – or would have if I still had skin around the back of my neck to hold the hairs. "I'm so sorry."
That puzzled me. "You're sorry?"
"Mr Mansfield, Daniel, was about to offer you the chance of a lifetime; and now that his PDA, his pad, is all but useless. . . . . I'm unsure Miss Mansfield is up to the task."
"There's always Mrs Mansfield.!" I replied.
A very unladylike snort emanated from Martha. "Sandy was never really an aficionado of Daniels work. Although she did love a pretty face." She added almost as an afterthought.
"But you understood Daniel; supported him through all these years?"
A sly smile, almost hidden, crossed her thin lips. "His was a once in a lifetime brilliance; a unique genius. I did have some part in his ascendance."
"You were lovers; all three of you. Daniel, Sandra and yourself."
Her face hardened. "If that bitch hadn't gotten herself pregnant!" She snapped harshly.
"So you were angry?" I asked.
"Of course I was; who wouldn't have been?" She stopped suddenly and her face subtly changed, her pale eyes fixing on my own. "But that was a long time ago Mr Valentine. Water under the bridge as they say."
She had a point but then I could also see the fire that still burnt within her for Daniel Mansfield. His dalliance with both her and Sandra might well have been over decades ago but for Simmons it was as fresh as a Slocum Joes doughnut.
"It must have hurt when they unofficially split and Mrs Mansfield took Watson as a lover and Daniel Mansfield took Rutherford; especially after waiting all those years. You've been the faithful PA through all off their ups and downs then you saw hope as Sandra starts an affair with Watson. Without her around you had a chance at last. And then BAM! Daniel drops his bombshell; he's bi-sexual. I mean to be turned down for a woman like Sandra; well you could just about bear that but a man? A man like Rutherford? What is wrong with you?"
"NOTHING! Nothing is wrong with me." There were tears in her eyes either from shame or anger; it was hard to tell. "I could've given him all that he wanted and more. A son a daughter. Anything he wanted I would have done; I should've done."
She sobbed.
"Except grow a penis." I added, trying to push her as far as she would go; hoping something would come out of this mess.
"He would have been happy, instead of looking for love. . . . . there. And now look at us. I thought he trusted me enough to give me his passwords but his pad is useless. I can't." She suddenly looked up at me. "I didn't. . . . I couldn't. . . kill him. I'm sorry." She was the only one who cried for Mansfield; his daughter and his wife seemed to feel less than this poor woman sitting here.
I let her return to the group. Well three down and two to go and still no solid leads. What made things worse were the two business partners. Watson was a muscle bound clod with the majority of said muscles found between his ears; Mrs Mansfield obviously went for something a little less intellectually challenging. It quickly became clear that he had neither the expertise nor the brains to pull off something like this – I really doubted that he had the expertise to pull off his pants if I'm honest; I guess really good sniper skills don't need high intelligence after all.
Rutherford was little better. Smart, he had made his caps by a series of lucky forays into the Capital Wasteland and his investment in Mansfield was paying dividends. In fact Daniel Mansfield was so successful that everyone in his team would make a loss now he was dead. No one had a solid motive, which just made my case harder; but not impossible. Anyway Rutherford came over as someone who'd lost a beloved pet, but who knew that life would go on and was actively searching for the next Mr Right. I personally saw him hit on three of Malone's stooges while we were at the vault! Still being promiscuous did not make you a killer; if that was the case humanity was even more doomed if that was even possible!
I had to ask about the other night though. "I heard a very heated discussion between you and Daniel Mansfield the night before last. Care to elaborate?"
He went a deep red. "We were just discussing personal things. Nothing important."
"You don't think sleeping with the victim is important?"
He looked at me startled. "How? . . . Watson, Simmons?"
"Does it matter how I know? What's important is you tell me why you had an argument a day before Daniel was found dead."
He slumped in the seat, deflated and distraught. "It was personnel, not personal. We were discussing that Simmons woman and I was encouraging Daniel to fire her or something. Just get rid of her."
"And did he?"
"He just laughed and said he could handle any lovesick puppy. Besides she was an integral part of the team, although not irreplaceable." He looked down at the floor and muttered. "No one was irreplaceable."
"So he didn't listen to you?" I said.
"Christ! Do you think I killed him because he didn't listen to one of my recommendations? If that was the case he would have died about ten minutes after he made me a business partner. Daniel was a law unto himself. He actively encouraged feedback but rarely acted on it unless he could see the benefit of it. He was his own man." Rutherford bowed his head and cried. "He was a stubborn man; but dazzling."
I didn't like either man for the murder; so that left the women, and poison is supposed to be a lady's preferred method of death. After Rutherford left I settled back to ponder. Ellie swears I ponder just to save on my battery life but I keep on informing her that sitting and thinking is one of the major strands in a detective's life. That and bourbon, straight.
I still had no real motive which meant that the how became more important. Only problem was the how bit also eluded me. Mansfield had been poisoned that much was clear; but a quick look over his body showed no needle marks. I didn't think it would go down well if I stripped his corpse there and then for any unseen needle marks, and how was I to know if he used injectables? The killer, or killers, could just obscure it all with a hint that he injected cram or some such.
That left food. Only thing was that everyone had the same meal. There was no pattern to who took what, so anyone could have ingested the poison. I was sure that Mansfield had been the target, just as I was sure the killer was one of the women; but all I had was my gut and that had vaporised in the war over two hundred years ago.
I examined the body again, taking another sniff of his mouth. Bitter/sweet; definitely poison but how? How did it end up in him? This type of poison could be easily absorbed through the skin but then whoever placed it on whatever it was placed on would have to believe that Mansfield and only Mansfield would touch it. We all helped search the vault; we all touched doors and key pads and. . . . .
I sniffed his right hand. Bitter/sweet. And yet. . . . ? Suddenly it was blindingly obvious.
I called the group together ensuring that Skinny had a couple of his goons on hand; just in case. I've waited two centuries to do this, all the way back to reading Christie as a kid and I felt about as excited as a kid could be; if Christmas, birthdays, summer holidays and Halloween were all rolled into one.
"Right then ladies and gentlemen." I said; wondering how to fit in 'little grey cells' when I don't actually have any. "To understand how Daniel Mansfield was murdered is to understand WHO murdered him and why. That was the thing that baffled me at first; all of you would lose out in some form or another with Daniels death. Emma was barely halfway through her training; Sandra has no desire to run the group; Martha cannot unlock his pad so all of his secrets remain just that; and Watson and Rutherford are more than happy with their long term arrangements. So why kill him?"
"Let's start with how. And from the start that puzzled me. Apart from me you all choose the meals at random. There was no way the killer could be sure that Daniel would pick a certain meal; it was Blamco Mac and cheese or fast. And if the poison was placed somewhere in the vault for Daniel to touch, what was there to stop anyone else touching it before or afterwards? No the killer had to be sure that the one thing they used would only be touched by Daniel."
I lifted up his pad.
"The PTC5 is pretty robust. It'd stay on his pad for half an hour, perhaps more. This is the only think that Daniel used." I sniffed dramatically at the minute keyboard. There was nothing there but of course I lied. A good detective uses the 'truth' to his advantage. "Bitter/sweet. The same scent on Daniels fingertip, remember he only ever used one finger; the same scent from his mouth as he vomited. The undeniable presence of poison."
"But Dad never allowed anyone else to touch the damn thing." Emma said.
"Not quite." I turned to Martha. "You had first level access to his pad; you told me yourself. You were even led to believe that this was actually full access; that's why you choose this moment to murder your former lover."
"No! I loved Daniel why should I kill him? I knew that I only had first level access; it's a lie." She shouted her face red and blotchy. I could tell she was lying.
"Is it? You've endured a lifetime of cruelty just seeing the man you love waste it on another woman; and just when you thought you had a chance he goes and chooses a man over you. So when Daniel confided in you the first code for his pad you began to consider ways of removing him. With him out of the way and Emma so unprepared you could sweep in and take over the business. Sandra wanted nothing else and the two business 'partners' were little more than cash cows. With Mansfield out of the way you could run it all using his secrets."
"No! No! I….. I….." She collapsed, face in her hands. She balled her fists. "I just wanted what was mine. What I was owed after all those years of shit. I thought that I had all the codes that I needed; I didn't realise that even after all of this time Daniel didn't trust me."
"Well!" I replied. "You did repay what trust he had in you by murdering him."
Malone's men took her away.
"How did you guess?" Emma asked.
"Well obviously she was the only other person who accessed the pad but remember when you reached out for it from my hands. Martha almost screamed at you and snatched it out of my hands." I raised the metal phalanges that made up my fingers. "She didn't mind me holding the thing, I couldn't get poisoned but you could have."
"So what do we do with her?" Sandra asked. That was a question that had prayed on my mind since I had seen Mansfield's body. My memories are from a time when justice meant locking up the perp but what could we do here in the wasteland? I suppose only one thing.
The following morning we opened the vault door and pushed Martha Simmons out into the tunnels, unarmed and wearing only a vault suit someone had found. She shivered in the blue and yellow suit, a large 114 emblazoned on the back. We left her with nothing, no food, no weapon, only hope. With some luck she may be able to make it back to the surface and from there Diamond City is only a mile or so away. Of course there are super mutants enclaves and raiders have set up in a lot of places but she could possibly make it. That's wasteland justice I suppose. Let someone else pull the trigger.
Emma and the team decided to stay on at Vault 114 for the time being. I'd managed to decrypt Mansfield's pad, it was simple; his second password was Emma, and they were considering their options. Watson and Rutherford were on board and Skinny Malone was waiting for his payday. Me? I just wanted to get back to the crazed normality that's Diamond City; even with McDonough as Mayor. We said our goodbyes and Emma kissed me on the cheek. Despite the thick plastic nature of my skin it felt warm and wonderful.
Ten days later I was sharing noodles at Takahashi's noodle stand at the market place in Diamond City. Takahashi may be able to say only one phrase in Japanese but he's pretty talkative in binary so him an' me have a chow occasionally and laugh at the silly meat puppets. He also serves a mean bowl of noodles and I may not need to eat but I can appreciate the taste and texture along with the best. Besides he lets me eat for free an' I never could pass up on a free meal.
"VALENTINE!"
I recognised Malone's dulcet tones. I turned slowly around, hand on pistol, aware that the market always has a handful of Security guards stationed in case of trouble. If Skinny was foolish enough to start something they would be on my side and a well-aimed shot would cause me no loss of sleep.
"You cost me Valentine. You told 'em that I'd stolen stock an' materials."
"Skinny! How nice to see you, and still running off at the mouth. Say where are your boys, you know the ones; they have trigger-happy fingers those men of yours."
"What did you say to Mansfield's lot?"
"Absolutely nothing but the truth Skinny, I mean it wasn't I who pilfered stock. I just happened to mention that I'd seen your boys unloading ten cases from a storage unit that had once held fifteen such cases. I let them do the math."
"This isn't over Valentine. If I ever see you outside of Diamond City. . . ."
"Now Skinny." I wrapped an arm around him and walked him back over to the exit ramp out of the City. "I can't say that this has been a pleasure but I can definitely say that Skinny, I don't think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."
Nick Valentine