On Tuttaret Street, the Nicies was the same as any Nicies anywhere in the Core: the same sign shaped like a toon's mustachio, the same baby-blue and mellow-red palette.
The same Kiodd arriving ten minutes to six—the same that had got himself kicked out of Corellia, and out of the Benedis, and out of all he had had.
Ready to get kicked out again. Find where from, motherfuckers.
He took the central table inside and sat facing the doors, his back to the counter. An empty bag of fries lay on the floor to the side, invisible to the cleaner droid rolling around in mocking aimlessness. The tabletop was glossy with long-dried grease. Kiodd took a pinch of napkins from the dispenser and covered the extra egregious parts.
Kiodd theorized. Good old Kiodd: couldn't stop theorizing when he should be thinking about women and couldn't stop thinking about women when he should be theorizing.
If what the preacher had told him this morning about the diamonds was true:
Stovares: where had he gotten them? Really given by his dad?
Hol'Sero: was involved in sex trafficking? A man of his talents could surely find the wherewithal without selling anyone. A man in his position could surely be rotten enough to be involved in sex trafficking.
But why give them to him anyway? Couldn't be sold—not for their real value, not even for one hundredth of it, realistically. If he wanted to take care of his son—why not just send twenty g's his way every once in a while and call it a day?
If—Stovares was Hol'Sero's son to begin with. No proof of that—just a hunch, and fuck hunches.
Hunches or no hunches, things kept not adding up.
The gems: where had they come from? Hol'Sero: a possibility. Gor'Navato: a possibility.
ED stole them from his boss? Made a run for it—right up to his friend's house, dooming him and his mother? Gor'Navato: avenged his pride and made avenging ED a no-go?
But—why steal them? Couldn't sell them—not even for one-hundredth of their value. All the underworld would've been buzzing. Couldn't sell them—not even for one-millionth of your life's value.
And—how was it that the murderers didn't take the stones?
Legitimately didn't know about them? A freak accident.
But—why murder four people in a random house on a random street? Death fiends? Death fiends who know to knock off the generator before breaking in? Death fiends who know to flee through the backyard, and to not cover every square centimeter of the floor with their shit, and not to crash their fucking brown airvan into anything?
Things didn't add up.
Things just kept not adding up.
Forget where the gems came from—for now. What if:
Gor'Navato learned about them, wherever they came from. Sent some drifter boys over. But—didn't say anything about the gems. Just kill everyone.
And then someone—someone Gor'Navato trusted—was supposed to enter the house and collect the gems.
When was "then," then? Must've been after the cops had left.
Didn't expect the Stovareses to put this little effort in hiding them?
Kiodd was ready to call the transport department when she entered through the transparent double doors.
His antennae, some blood spared to them, got up, feeling, sensing, checking. I'm just a man, he told himself, this is how I am. I see a woman—I got to check her out. No crime there.
But he knew it was all bullshit.
It was weakness his feelers were feeling for, his probes were probing for.
Susceptibility to CONTROL.
He rose to shake—more hold than shake—her hand.
"Sergeant," she said. She had large eyes on an otherwise unremarkable face. Antennapalps barely visible over her brown hair.
"Ms. Seihen. Is my coppery really so obvious?"
She giggled again.
Away, away, away.
"You just may be," she said. "But I do have a good eye for that sort of thing, I suppose."
"Good eyes you do have. Please seat down," he told her, confusion barely noticeable on her otherwise unremarkable face.
(It wasn't that he wanted to CONTROL her)
"So what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"
(He just needed to be in CONTROL)
She smiled an uncertain smile.
(For fucking once)
"I'm sure this is not relevant," she said. "But… I am sorry for wasting your time… but I thought, maybe…"
Kiodd waited, his antennae pulsating.
"You see… Someone I know… someone I'm seeing, he's been acting… not like himself."
"Not like himself?"
She bit on her lip. "It's been… I worry for him, you know. When those killings occurred…"
"It started then?"
"It started before, I think. It's hard for me now to remember when exactly…"
"Was your boyfriend with you on the night—"
"Oh," she laughed, "I am sure you have already checked his alibi. It's not like that that I'm worried."
"We have?"
"I believe you have. He won't let it go, you know, talking about how you came to his club…"
It felt like a punch. "You're telling me you're seeing Eddie Gor'Navato?"
"I am. That is why I asked you to meet me here. It's far enough away from—"
Punch? Fuck that. It felt like Corellia's most potent absinthe.
"And he's been acting weird?"
"Just… not like himself, you know. He's not a bad man. I'm sure you hear a lot about him, but he's not a bad man. He just… has a past is all. But now he's different. He's teaching those kids…"
"I saw," Kiodd said, blood pumping in his temples, driving him into vertigo.
"But I won't lie to you, Sergeant," this Sergeant writhing its way down Kiodd's ears, one at a time and both at once, "some people still look up to him who are… in that life. Eddie is trying to help them, trying to get them out of it like he did, but… some of them are still in that life."
"Not an easy thing to do, leave it," Kiodd said, drunk.
"No, of course not. So… I've been worrying. He's just not been himself this past week. Maybe more. I think it was more, but it's hard to…"
"Not like himself—how?" Kiodd said, hard.
"Just… I don't know. Irritable. You see, Strugott is his turf—used to be his turf, so he feels responsible…"
"Comes with the turf." Comes with being fucking responsible for the deed.
Seihen laughed a wary laugh. "I suppose it does."
"So Ms. Seihen," Kiodd said, stupid, "what exactly do you want to share with me here? Your boyfriend has been antsy? I'm sorry, but that's not something we can help you with."
"I'm sorry…"
"Unless—unless you have something more concrete."
He read doubt on her face, on her unremarkable other than for its eyes face.
"Come on, Norve. What do you think puts food on the table? Huh? Training kids from poor families martial arts?"
"He's got businesses—"
"He's got them all right. It's a drug business, and we both know it. Difference is, only one of us eats that food."
She rose. "I don't think I should've come—"
"No, I don't think you should have. Yet you did. Sit down. Please."
She obeyed.
"Whatever it is," Kiodd said, drunk, hard, and stupid, "it doesn't sit right with you, does it. Taking drug money does, but this—"
He didn't expect she'd interrupt him, but Seihen did. "It doesn't. You're wrong."
On her vocal cords hung angry tears.
"I wouldn't've guessed so judging by your jewelry and your clothes."
"Reform takes time," she said. "Eddie is a reforming man, but it does take time. An awful lot of it."
"So it's all right since he doesn't shoot anyone personally anymore?"
"Look at the stats," she said, her eyes stuck to the grease on the table. "You have them, don't you? Look at them. South Roat has never been safer in fifteen years. Shootings are down. For fuck's sake, even Tegol'Nari did a sermon last week, and he doesn't go anywhere his hoverfortress can't pass."
"Why don't you tell me what bothers you so much."
She took a ciggie pack out of her purse and a lighter, looked up at the dead light of Nicies, put them back. "He had visitors. Not long before the murders."
Kiodd, getting all sorts of drunker: "Visitors? What kind?"
"Four men." Seihen's voice was firm now. "One ours, the rest Human. All in very expensive suits. From the fabric to the cut… I know that sort of thing," she smiled sadly. "I went to college to be a designer…"
"It was at..?"
"Our apartment."
"They came in?"
"No. Eddie went out." Her hand reached for the phantom cigarette in her mouth and stopped in shame. "I didn't hear anything they were talking about, you understand?"
"I do."
"We live on the fourth floor. I just watched them talk for a bit. Their suits…"
"When was that?"
"Seventeenth or sixteenth. It was late at night."
Two days before the murder.
"Had you ever seen them before?"
"No. That was the only time."
"Why does it strike you as strange? Eddie never get any visitors?"
"Not at our home usually, no. But it wasn't that. When I… when I asked about them, he got angry."
Protect—
"Did he hit you?"
She looked straight in his eyes. "No, and he never does."
"What a gentleman. He say who they were?"
"What do you think?"
"So why do you think those friends of his had anything to do with Strugott? Just because it happened—"
"Eddie hasn't been himself since."
"Since Strugott?"
"Since the visit."
"You said—"
"I know what I said."
Kiodd fell into silence, getting all sorts of harder.
"What does it change," he spoke at last, "if they were related to the killings?"
"What changes it is if Eddie is."
"That's how I meant. You know where the money comes from—"
"This isn't something he would do. Ever. Not the Eddie I know… He's always been saying how women are off-limits. Civilians in general."
"Did you talk to him about that?"
"He hasn't been much for talking lately. Just rambling most of the time."
"About what?"
"No confessions, Sergeant. Just… how the times have changed. How nothing is the same anymore. No-one."
"Say anything about Desiderata gems? Any gems?"
"About what?"
She sounded genuine.
Fuck—
"Did you know Eddie's friend that got killed? ED?"
"I just know they knew each other."
"That ED was in the Gor'Navato gang."
"Your colleagues over at drugs are getting sued for mentioning a Gor'Navato gang."
"To the press. Are you press, Ms. Seihen?"
"No, but I know Eddie's lawyer."
"Sounds to me all Eddie's lawyer knows, Eddie does too. Care to keep our little meeting a secret?"
"I wanted to ask you the same."
"Don't worry about me. I'm not in bed with Eddie."
But maybe I should be seeing as he can afford to leave five million credits at a crime scene, thought Kiodd as he watched Seihen leave, as he was getting all sorts of stupider.
Things didn't really add up, but he wasn't thinking about things.
Not some dumb prost:
Eddie Gor'Navato's girl.
The biggest conscience on the biggest benefactor of Eddie's crimes.
He was thinking back to every pimp he'd threatened, beaten, mock-executed on Corellia. Corellia—where the cops are kings, not the pimps. Not Eddie Gor'Navatos.
It's all Eddie Gor'Navatos, he thought, getting all sorts of drunker, harder, stupider. Everywhere, it's all them.
He was thinking back to every good-time girl he'd defended on Corellia. Never pimped one out—like most afflicted cops would.
Never kept one for himself like some greenhorn might set to. Knew what they were. Knew what he was. Let them do their business knowing Kiodd had their backs.
Let them pay him back for that—just if they felt like that, but of course they did.
Torys Kiodd, the irresistible knight in shining armor.
Norve Seihen, Eddie Gor'Navato's girl.
CONTROL—
He stood up, threw some of the napkins in front of the droid, and left the joint—
Away, away, away.
.
.
.
Five men in the room: Kiodd, Otten'Tove, Etherby, Willow.
And Vilondri.
The Strugott Squad.
"All right, gentlemen," said Kiodd. "It's been a week. What have we got?"
A cold case.
Otten'Tove spoke: "Remember how their screen was on when we came in? Even though the shooter had killed the power?"
"We've been over this," Kiodd frowned. "Solar panels on the roof and in the backyard. A battery kicked in when the generator went out."
"Lots of sun those poor cunts must've been getting," Vilondri murmured.
"Weird how it went into the screen and not the lights and the locks, isn't it?"
"Liked their midnight holly."
"Well, I checked," said Otten'Tove, getting up. "Asked around. Some energy technicians. Shouldn't work like that. It's a standard system, and it should give power to the most necessary devices. Namely locks."
"Must've rewired it."
"Somebody sure did. I went there with a tech guy. Took a gander. It's been rewired all right: to keep the screen going."
"A stupid decision. Cost them their lives. What's your point?"
"A screen doesn't need that much electricity. Could've had the locks plugged in as well, at least. But they didn't. It was only for the screen."
"So the fuck what? You figure the assailants rewired the system?"
"Must've been done from the inside."
"Could be there was someone on the inside," said Etherby. "Nobody saw the two guys coming to the house, right?"
"Possibly," Kiodd admitted. "Prints on the wiring or the tools? DNA?"
"No new prints. It's the damn uniforms. Have their paws all over the place."
"Well, then a lot of good it fucking does us, doesn't it?"
"Well, Sarge," said Willow, "what do you think?"
"We need to find that fucking van. I've been calling the department—"
"I mean, as the big picture?"
Kiodd sighed. "Feels like Hol'Sero's involved, doesn't it?"
"You can't be serious!" Etherby moaned.
"I don't know. Maybe the mother knew something about him. Maybe told it to Elan. Maybe Elan tried to blackmail him."
"So Hol'Sero decided to whack him?" said Vilondri, laughing.
"Exactly, boss, it's a load of bull," said Etherby. "The man's the only thing keeping the planet's shit together."
"Whack? Probably not. But threaten? That's possible."
"Strongarming gone wrong," Willow nodded.
Kiodd remembered the well-dressed Balosar near the EUC building. Add three humans, and you get Gor'Navato's night visitors. Could they be messengers? Could they not be the same well-dressed Balosars—after all, how many well-dressed Balosars were there on Balosar.
Not a fucking ton.
"I don't know," he said. "Anyhow, I shouldn't be spewing theories at you, clouding your judgment and all. Find us that fucking van, will you?"
Not fucking likely Nochel'll get me another interview after what this rat fuck Vilondri did.
.
.
.
Dubb's sandwich stank up the entire floor.
"Word is, he's gonna be stepping down pretty soon," Dubb was saying through the mouthful of stink.
"Who?" Atengo asked him from her cubicle.
Kiodd was at his table, half-listening, until Dubb replied: "Big Rahvalod."
"He's retiring?" he asked, drowning whatever Atengo was saying. With a voice like that, she'd never make a teacher.
"That's the word," Dubb smiled as he bit more of the stench off the nasty-looking bundle of wrappings edible and not-supposed-to-be in his hand.
"Good fucking riddance," Etherby said.
Atengo, leaning back on her chair out of the cubicle: "Why's that?"
"Didn't like the guy up-close." Etherby looked at Kiodd: "Am I right, Sergeant?"
"What happened to 'the last man keeping our shit together on this planet?'"
"Not saying he ain't. Just don't like the guy."
"Just say it as you feel it: you don't like our planet," said Vilondri, entering the cubicle area with a plastech cup of caff. "And honestly, we don't like you either, Etherby."
"The planet's fine. Hell, I'd even go as far as say some of you people are. But look at the shit they pull. No fucking jobs anywhere—just so the CSA can't get their quota. Can't buy them two-thousand-worker enterprises if there ain't any left."
Dubb, with a weary smile: "Doesn't work like that."
"Of course it does. All we're hearing is thirty percent this, thirty-five percent that…"
"Thirty-three," Atengo corrected.
"Whatever. I say, let it be over with."
"Yeah, sure. Good luck getting any benefits when you work under the corporates."
"Oh, please! As if we're getting any right now. All the unions care about anymore is staying in power, which won't last when the Authority finally takes over."
"So when is he retiring?" Kiodd asked. Maybe—he wouldn't need Nochel for another interview then.
"No word on that," Dubb shrugged.
"Hey, Sergeant," said Etherby, "what do you reckon—maybe it was us who made him go?"
"Wouldn't surprise me at the slightest with you two," said Vilondri. "Who else to doom—"
Kiodd's comlink rang.
"Sergeant Kiodd," he said, thinking of brown hair and unremarkable faces.
But it was a transport department schmuck.
"I am told by my, uh, superiors that you've asked to be informed should we find an Eqiolti airvan, model X-64 or X-64c…"
"Well?"
"We have found one that, uh, fits the description—"
Kiodd, trying to keep his hopes in check: "Is it brown?"
"Not brown, strictly speaking—"
Kiodd, closing his eyes: "Then why are you calling me?"
"Well, you see, I've been told by my superiors to call you if any—"
"Sergeant, sir"—coming through the brown van noise.
Kiodd raised his eyes at a uniform standing in front of his desk. "What is it?"
"Yeah, hello—"
"There's a man in the lobby says he's the one who did the murders."
"The—what?!"
"Hello—"
"Says he's turning himself in."
"The Strugott murders?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hel—"
Kiodd disconnected. "Well, get him in the fucking room, will you?"
"He's on the way, sir."
The uniform half-walked, half-ran back to the elevators.
Dubb, coming closer to Kiodd's desk: "Buuuuuuuullshieeet. Get ready for a fame-seeker."
"Exactly," said Etherby, panting. "Fucked in the head, this guy. Wants to fuck with us now."
"What," said Dubb, "his conscience got the better of him the better part of two weeks later? Buuullshieet."
"Don't you have a hospital to visit, Urmak?" Kiodd asked Dubb.
"Oh, I'll visit it all right—all the while you're having fun with Mr. Pretender here."
"Exactly, Sergeant," said Etherby, panting.
But when the uniforms brought the man in, they fell silent and they fell back in line and they watched him with the rest.
He was a Balosar in his mid to late twenties, black hair, black jacket, black pants and boots. Is it really our guy? Kiodd thought, trying to get a good look of the man's face, but the only one he did get he did not like.
A look of determination.
"This is what he had on him," said a uniform cop who followed the three leading the guy.
Two evidence cylinders:
Number one: a blaster, a DL-derivative, possibly an unauthorized clone. "Send it to the lab for spectrometry." No, screw that. "No, we'll get them to come here to our lab. Willow, you're on it."
Number two: a rainbow-colored cube about half a hand in length, width, and height. "What the hell is this?"
"He had it on him, sir."
To the monitor room. Monitor one: the guy cuffed to the table in room 1.
"He had any ID—" Kiodd began before noticing there were only other detectives in the room with him. "Hey," he shouted, "he had any ID?"
A uniform's face in the door: "No, sir. Just these."
Can it really be our guy?
"Wait, wait, wait, wait," Vilondri was saying, as if somebody in the room did anything but. "Let him stew."
"What did he say?" Kiodd asked the cop.
"Just that he was turning himself in, that's it."
"Nobody else down there?"
"No, sir. Not that I seen."
"What is…" Kiodd squeezed through his Strugott Squad towards the door. "What ride did he come in?"
"He walked, sir."
Kiodd stopped. Can it really be our guy? Monitor 1: the guy sitting still—but for the fidget of his leg, barely visible on Monitor 1.
Bullshit—
Dubb could be right—
Could be Gor'Navato's ploy—
Fucking Eddie.
"Sergeant," said Etherby, "do you need me tonight?"
Kiodd turned to him—
Fucking Etherby.
"Fuck you mean? Of course I need you tonight. Get some stim if you're feeling sleepy."
"Thing is, I just need to be—"
"The team stays. No ifs or buts or I-just-need-tos."
Etherby: licking his lips, thinking his thoughts. Thinking about Kiodd.
You fucking baller—
Kiodd walked out.
"Wait!" Vilondri screamed after him. "Let him fucking stew. Look at him. He's already going."
"Going to question me again, Vilondri?"
Vilondri stood up from his chair. "For the last fucking time—"
"Sit down. I don't care what you did—"
"Seems to me you care plenty—"
"Tonight I need you there. In room 1. On top of your game. Wanna fight me—fine, but you'll have to wait until we make sense of this. That good with you?"
Vilondri's head jerked downward. A nod. "But Sergeant, I don't think going in right now is a good idea."
"Then you'll have one more thing to fight me on tomorrow."
Kiodd walked to the interrogation room, opened the lock, entered.
"You doing good here?" he asked.
"You the Sergeant Kiodd?"
"That'd be me. Get you anything?"
"Your ass in the chair."
"We'll get to that."
Kiodd exited. Locked the door.
Back to the monitor room—
Vilondri: "Deprive him of any contact, there's no point—"
Willow: "He knows what he's doing. You think he didn't see his share of two-bit two guys… tough guys on Corellia?"
Etherby: "Sergeant, I really need to—"
Kiodd, sitting down: "Not unless your mother's on her deathbed."
Etherby: "This is bullshit! I've been on OT since the fucking day it happened, unpaid—"
Vilondri: "We all have. Shut up, Etherby."
Etherby: "This is bullshit. Otten'Tove isn't even here."
Silence.
Etherby: "Fuckssakes. Not a nice fucking word—for weeks. Not a well fucking done, Donnen."
Silence.
Etherby: "Wouldn't fucking now I was on this case, the way you all treat me."
Silence.
The guy in room 1:
Sitting—
Fidgeting—
Glancing up at the camera once every fifteen seconds—
Fidgeting—
Sitting.
Forty minutes in, Kiodd got up. "Come on, Terry."
Willow got up.
"You kids sit tight."
Them kids:
Etherby, reeling.
Vilondri, firaxa eyes on monitor 1.
Kiodd and Willow—into room 1. Moving chairs that can be moved. Sitting down.
"I am Sergeant Kiodd with homicide department, this is Detective Willow. We are on the Strugott murders case. You want anything? Caff? A sandwich?"
"Yeah, caff."
Kiodd, nodding to Willow. Willow, sighing and getting up.
"Double sugar," the Balosar in black told him before Willow was out.
"So, son," said Kiodd, "you know who I am. What's your name?"
"Piater Sumwali."
His antennapalps were half-hidden, both pierced with nasty-looking metal.
"Okay, Piater. So I'm told you turned yourself in? For Strugott?"
"That's right. I did it."
"The shootings?"
"Yes."
Kiodd gazed at him for a while, silent.
Then he asked: "Why did you do it, son?"
The door opened—Willow with three cups. Smell of cheap caffstim filling the interrogation room.
"Why did you do it?" Kiodd repeated.
Sumwali, stirring his caff. "I'm not telling before I get an attorney. An Imperial attorney."
A look between Kiodd and Willow, couldn't be avoided.
"You realize you confessed to a quadruple murder, right? With no lawyer?"
"I did. Now get me one, and I'll talk."
"You do have a right to that. But an Imperial one? That's not happening unless it's an Imperial investigation."
Sumwali: a shrug. "Well? Make it one."
"We can't. "
"Didn't get enough people for that," Willow chuckled.
"Oh," Sumwali leaned on the table, "there's enough of them people, believe you me."
Silence.
Silence—
Kiodd, breaking it: "Where's your friend?"
"Not talking until there's an Imperial attorney in the room."
"Well, Piater, that's just not happening."
"Well, make it happen, then."
"We can't. It's impossible."
Silence.
Silence—
Silence—
Silence—
Silence—
Kiodd, breaking it: "You want to hear what I'm thinking, Piater?"
Piater, silent.
Kiodd, all the same: "I'm thinking someone's making you take a fall. I'm thinking you didn't kill anybody—at least not on Strugott on the eighteenth of this month."
"That's what you're thinking?"
"It is. I'm thinking maybe the blaster you've got is the one from the scene, fine. Or maybe they didn't even bother to get the right one. I'm thinking you're here just to throw us off the right track."
"That's what you're thinking?"
"That's what I'm thinking."
Willow, all bad cop: "We're wasting time, Skip. Let's take him to the cells and forget about him for a night or two until he forgets about his act."
Sumwali, to Kiodd and Kiodd alone: "Why are you thinking that?"
"Because you're not saying anything."
"I'm saying, get me an Imperial attorney."
"And I'm telling you it's not going to happen."
Silence.
Silence—
Silence—
Sile—
Kiodd, rising up. "Okay. I'm gonna interpret it as you wanting a lawyer. We'll get you—"
"Wanna know who put them diamonds there under the boards?"
Kiodd, freezing. "You want to tell us?"
"I did. I knew there was a cache down under there. Moved the table outta the way, picked up the board, put them inside, placed the board back in its place, moved the table back where it was."
Pause.
"And why did you do that?"
"Get me an Imp lawyer, and I'll tell."
Kiodd, with his hand on the door panel: "I'll see what we can do."
Outside:
"Well, fuck that, Skip. You know we can't—"
"Of course I know."
"The commissioner will have our asses if we—"
"I said I know."
They stood in the hallway, arms crossed, wordless.
"So do we get him a lawyer?" Willow asked.
"He never asked for one, did he?"
"I missed when he did anything but."
"Imperial lawyer, but we can't do that, and we told him so."
"All right then. Do we press him?"
"Somebody say press?"
Vilondri, looking out of the monitor room.
"Not yet," Kiodd said, fighting the urge to push his head back in, to sucker punch him, to spit in his face.
Into the monitor room. Etherby, reeling. Vilondri, pacing: two steps, turn, two steps, eyes on the monitor 1.
Piater Sumwali: sitting.
Not fidgeting anymore.
"What the hell did I—" Kiodd mused, looking at the smear of pixels on the screen.
Seven minutes in:
Willow, a datapad in hand. "Sumwali, Piater Cotto, 2/10/14 BrS, Oshkhun 78-2-2-800. No priors—"
"You've got to be shitting me!"
"—but pointed at by some pushers in Quad 5 as the leader of a stick-up crew that done robbed them. No charges pressed, as you can imagine. You think it's really him, Skip?"
Looking into the pixel mess: "He knows about the gems."
"I mean, so he would if, you know, Eddie sent him."
"If Eddie knew about them—and had a reason to send a fall guy in—we would've never even got a glimpse of the bloody things."
Vilondri, not pacing anymore, leaning on the wall with the small of his back, arms crossed: "Or it's something worse than just a murder."
Kiodd looked at him, the spot of pixels that was Piater Cotto Sumwali, born on 2/10/14-before, sat in the next room, still in the corner of his eye.
"Could be he know about them now—now that we do," said Vilondri.
"You're saying someone on the force leaks info to Gor'Navato?"
It got him a disbelieving look. "You can't be serious."
"Possible," Kiodd had to admit. "How can we eliminate this?"
"A special task force after the corrupt motherfuckers."
"The possibility he's lying and he's never been to Strugott on the night of the killings."
"Catch the other one," said Willow.
"Suppose we can wait until he turns himself in as well." Kiodd picked up the cylinders of the desk: the blaster and the rainbow box. "All right, let's get in again."
"Let me do it," said Vilondri.
"Willow and I are going to continue."
"You're still mad about that? I didn't tell on you, Sergeant."
"I don't care if you did or not. Willow and I are going in."
They went in.
Piater Sumwali's eyes on them: "Called the Imps?"
"We told you it's not possible."
"I told you I ain't talking to you until you make it possible."
Kiodd sat down. "Walking into the station and confessing was probably not the best idea then, huh?"
A spasm rolled across Sumwali's face. "Had to," he whispered.
"I know how it is." Kiodd set the cylinders on the table, between Sumwali and himself. "You do a bad thing, then it gets into your head, and you just can't believe it was you who did it."
A smirk instead of another spasm. "Bad thing? Maybe to you it is."
"Trust me, I know how it is," Kiodd said, trying to keep annoyance out of his tone. "I've done bad things. Hell, I've got punished for it worse than you probably can—they sent me here from Corellia."
Willow was ready to laugh.
Sumwali just said, looking into Kiodd's eyes: "Yeah, I know you were Corellia."
"You knew my name too. Before I told you."
"I knew you were from Corellia. That's why I came to you."
Kiodd fought the urge to swallow. "Think we Corellian Balosar are better folk? Well, let me—"
"You just fresh is all." Staring him right in the eyes. "Not so many hooks in you."
"So," Kiodd said as softly as he could, "what did you want to tell me about then?"
"Nothing I'm telling you without an Imp sitting right. Here." A tap on the table with the cuffed hand—where a vacant chair stood close by.
"Why not go to the Imperial authorities in the first place?"
"Like you fucking can. Well, no, you cops actually can. Us? We can't even send a fucking parcel to the administration. No post droid is gonna accept it. Gotta have the blessing first."
"Well, like I said, you can forget about Imperial representation. Not with the situation you're in. Now," Kiodd leaned closer, "if you actually told me something that I could give them—"
"Just give them this," Sumwali nodded at the box within the cylinder. "Just make sure they get to it post fucking haste."
Kiodd, lifting the cylinder off the table: "What is this knick-knack anyway?"
"It's a holocron."
Kiodd, his stomach being sucked into vacuum: "A holocron? What, a Jedi thing?"
Willow: "You're telling us you're a Jedi now?"
"It's a Jedi thing all right. I just know how to operate them. It's for storing data. And there's everything in it."
Kiodd didn't like the sound of it because it sounded less like a quadruple homicide by the minute and more like a lot of headache he'd done nothing to deserve. "Everything?"
"The whole thing. I was recording. They didn't know, but I was."
"The murder?"
"Not the fucking murder. Just get it to the Imps."
Kiodd got up. Picked up the cylinders. Willow unlocked the door for him.
"I'm sensing bullshit," in the monitor room, Vilondri said. "Let me go in."
"No."
"This is going to be all night," said Etherby. "Come on, Sergeant, I don't need much time. Just half an hour, tops."
"What the fuck is your deal?" Kiodd asked him, putting the evidence on the desk. "You need to take a shit, you go now—before we return to the room."
"Fuck, nah. I need to get out of the station."
"The fuck for?"
"What do you care? To get something not out of the canteen."
Vilondri, laughing: "What else do you require, princess?"
"Oh, fuck off. You get an ulcer, I'll see how you talk."
Kiodd, not laughing: "You daft? Send a uniform if you're hungry."
"What do you even need me for? Otten'Tove—"
Kiodd, not laughing at all: "I need you here because you're a detective on this case. I need you to watch the interrogation, and to watch it fucking closely and not do your woe-is-me number. Is this understood?"
"Sure."
Kiodd, having let a pause push Etherby's head down. "All right. I'll go see what can be done about this." He picked up the holocron cylinder. "You boys play nice now. Nobody goes into the room till I'm back, and nobody sure as hell leaves the monitor room. Let alone the fucking station, Donnen."
Donnen Etherby: hands up—yeah, yeah.
Out of the room, through the hallway, into the turbolift—45th floor.
Into the commissioner's office—
The door slid to the side as soon as he put his hand to the bell panel.
"Yeah, son, come in."
The major was already there.
"We've heard congratulations are due," the commissioner of ops smiled the most predatory smile Kiodd had seen.
"Too early to say, sir. The interrogation is in progress."
"We believe in you, Torys."
Rising the evidence cylinder: "Sir—"
"What is this in there?"
"It's a holocron, sir. The suspect claims it contains recordings… that are pertinent to the case."
The major: "What recordings?"
"Hard to tell, sir. The suspect won't—"
The commissioner, eyes bulging, antennae bulging, veins bulging: "Wait a minute, wait a minute. A holocron? One of them Jedi ones?"
"The suspect claims so, sir."
The commissioner, eyes bulging, antennae bulging, veins bulging: "You promised me it wasn't a shitshow, Gavin."
The major, defensive: "Let's not jump to—"
The commissioner, eyes bulging, antennae bulging, veins bulging: "Come on, Sergeant, talk to me. What's this all about? How the everliving fuck did we go from 'the perp walks in to surrender' to 'there's a Jedi fucking artifact in the building' in less than two fucking hours?"
Kiodd, defensive: "Sir, this is data storage. We need to get a specialist who can find a backdoor or somethi—"
The major, in denial: "Are you out of your damn mind?"
The commissioner, eyes bulging, antennae bulging, veins ready to burst: "A spe— a specialist? A specialist?"
"Sir—"
"I swear they gave us this boy on purpose. On the purpose of piling explosives under my ass and pushing the detonator button."
"Sir, I—"
"Major, will you—"
The major, rising: "I refuse to believe you can be this stupid, Kiodd. We cannot bring in a specialist in Jedi backdoors because all of those specialists are ISB or worse, Inquisitorius, and we cannot—I repeat, cannot—let the ISB or worse, the Inquisitorius catch the slightest whiff of trouble."
"Thank you, Major."
"And we cannot let it look like we are outmatched."
"No, sir."
The commissioner, eyes closed, antennae limp, veins in retreat: "So, Torys, go get the password or however the damn thing works, out of the suspect, but more importantly, get the confession out of him."
"He is not denying he did it, sir—"
"Then what's the fucking matter with you, Torys? Get it on holo and get him to sign it!"
"Yes, sir. We're working on it, sir, won't leave the station until it's done. Just need to get the full picture out of him first."
The commissioner and the major exchanged a look.
"Corellia," the major grinned.
"Too many credit sleuth books in his youth," said the commissioner. "Go, Sergeant. You've got till morning, eight hundred hours sharp."
"Yes, sir."
"And if you want the full picture, you connect a plus to his left nut and the minus to his right. Do I need to teach you the basics?"
"Corellia."
"Yes, sir. No, sir."
"And Torys," said the major when Kiodd was in the doorway.
"Sir?"
"Not a fucking peep about that." A finger pointed at the evidence cylinder.
"No, sir."
Through the hallway, back into the turbolift. Going back down to eleventh. In his head—
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck
The doors opened. Through the hallway. The doors opened—too—on the other elevator. Otten'Tove coming out, running into Kiodd.
"Sorry, Sergeant. Good news—"
"Not so sure about that."
"How d'you mean?"
"We ain't getting any slicers for this."
The evidence jar hoisted with all the lost fervor of an apostate.
"The hell's this? A holocron?"
"You got that right."
"What the hell—"
"You didn't hear?" They'd reached the interrogation rooms, and Kiodd nodded at number one. "Guy turned himself in. Says he did it. Says there's data on the holocron."
Otten'Tove: "Shieeet. Just when I go out."
"Right. Now go in." Kiodd nodded at the monitor room. I'll be damned if we didn't need you there.
"First thing after I take a piss."
"Don't be long."
"Won't."
"Hey Gerry."
"Yes, Sarge?"
"What's your news?"
"Nothing so important, it seems, after all. Just noticed some irregularities in old woman Stovares's finances. Ran them by the tax girl I get with sorta on and off."
Kiodd, disappointed against himself: "Yeah, all right. Right now I need you to focus on this Sumwali fellow."
"Will do, Sarge, just let me piss."
Back into the monitor room: "How's he doing?"
Vilondri: "Hasn't said a word since you left."
Etherby: "I could've been back by now."
Kiodd placed the cylinder on the desk. "Okay. We're going back in. We need to get him to sign his confession before eight in the morning. Poivett's orders."
Vilondri, under his breath: "Cocksucker."
"We'll manage. He's confessed already. But we also must find out why the hell he put the gems there. Why the hell he killed those people. And we better do it before eight, 'cause I don't think we'll have an opportunity once I get the commissioner his confession."
"The publicity they're gonna do," said Otten'Tove, coming in. "The guy's gonna become the most recognized face on Balosar in a day."
"All right. Etherby, Vilondri—you fill Gerry in."
Back into the interrogation room 1.
Sumwali—sitting, fidgeting again.
"Can I get some water?"
A nod to Willow. The door opened and closed.
"Why did you do it, Piater?" Kiodd said, aware that he needed to be getting him to sign the confession, pluses and minuses and left nuts and right nuts if it meant success before eight fucking AM.
"I'll tell that to an Imperial."
"Why don't you tell me that? You sought me out, didn't you?"
"Only so you would notify the Imps."
"There's nothing to notify them about. You killed four people. It's not the ISB jurisdiction. They'll laugh me out of their office if I bring it up to them, you realize this? You realize this, Piater?"
A spasm rolling across his face. "You gotta tell them."
"There's nothing to tell them. You realize that? You've given me nothing, just, just your fancy cube and some vague promises of what we'll find on it."
"You do that. You send it to them. They'll listen if you do it."
"Help me unlock it."
"No. Nuh-uh. Not in this fucking place."
"Do you fear that some police officers in here are compromised, Piater?"
"Motherfu— I fear that you are compromised at this point, Sergeant Kiodd. That you ain't so fresh after all."
"You killed four people—two women among them—and you're telling me I'm not fresh enough?"
No answer.
"Four—people. What did they do to deserve it? There must've been a reason. You're not a senseless murderer. That's what I can't reconcile, Piater—"
Sumwali, not looking at him, not looking at the camera, not looking anywhere besides the table. "One of them deserved it all right."
"One? Was it Yeklek? ED? Or was it Elan Stovares?"
No answer.
"Come on, Piater," Kiodd nudged him, painfully aware that he needed to be getting him to sign the confession, painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes watching him from the monitor room, painfully aware of the pluses and the minuses and the left nuts and the right nuts. "You keep alluding to some conspiracy which involves, to listen to you, BPD officers, but all you're giving me is this too-cool-for-school attitude. Well, this ain't school, Piater. This ain't no school. And you've gotta tell me—"
No answer.
"Come on, Piater," Kiodd nudged him, painfully aware that he needed to be getting him to sign the confession, painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes watching him from the monitor room, painfully aware of the pluses and the minuses and the left nuts and the right nuts. "Who else is in it? Gor'Navato? He is, right?"
No answer.
"Hol'Sero?"
Painfully aware—
Sumwali looked up. Met Kiodd's stare. "They fucking told me I would put an end to it. To it all. But it was all bullshit."
Gently as he could, painfully aware: "Who did?"
The tremble of the upper lip—words trying to spill out. The fear, the panic, the desperation in the air—making the palps itch.
And—
"I ain't talking without an Imperial attorney," the tremble resolved. "And I sure as hell ain't talking till I get my water."
Kiodd, gently as he could, painfully aware: "Detective Willow will bring it to you soon."
Where is he?
Are we getting there?
Where is he?
Are we—
The door opened. Willow stood in it, no water.
"Hey Skip," he said, "it's the lieut."
"What?"
"He demands you. All of us—"
Kiodd—rapidly as he could, painfully confused. Out of the room—
Nochel, standing in front of the monitor room entrance. Vilondri, Etherby, and Otten'Tove standing in front of Nochel.
"Now, with all respect, Lieutenant, this is bullshit," said Otten'Tove.
Kiodd, as painfully as he could: "What the hell's going on?"
"You're needed elsewhere," said Nochel.
"Are you kidding? We just got the—"
"I know. But Derek needs assistance."
"So the fuck what, we're not spec ops!"
Nochel, hands in the air. "He's got enough of those there as it is. But it's your case. They got the second perp cornered."
"The fuck—"
"Together with Eddie Gor'Navato right in his artificial shroom caves. Derek's snitch says there are Desiderata stones inside."
"How the fuck— Who—"
"Well, I wouldn't know—it's his snitch, isn't it? But he needs you there right now."
"What, all five—" Willow started.
"You grab some uniforms from the rec area. And I don't want no pissing contests either—Derek's boys know what they're doing. Don't you try to one-up them."
Vilondri, flapping his arms on his sides: "Unbelievable."
"Lieutenant," Kiodd said, "I've got a suspect in the quadruple homicide there in the room and the commissioner's order to get him to confess before eight in the morning."
"He's already confessed, hasn't he?" Nochel's brows quizzical. "That's what Willow told me, anyways. You've got more than twelve hours. This won't take more than two. And if it comes to that, I'll put a word in with the commissioner."
.
.
.
Vilondri, in the car, still: "Unbelievable."
Don't you like cracking skulls? Kiodd wanted to ask him.
The aircar descended into a dark gulley framed by three two-story houses: one on the one side, two on the other. Kiodd got out, his force following: four detectives and three uniforms, all wearing armor.
Drugs Lieutenant Derek Miles was waiting for them, armored head to toe, a heavy repeater's barrel resting on the bend of his elbow, twelve men flanking him.
There were no flashers and no lights.
"Thanks for coming," said Miles. "We'd've done it on our own, but I got word your Strugott boys are inside." He pointed into the black entrance in the depth of the gulley with his gun.
"Boys?" said Vilondri.
"The ones who did the family."
"We've got one of them already at the station," said Kiodd.
The lieutenant's visor dead, watching. "My guy tells me there are stones you're after down there. They're making a trade right as we speak."
"What you need us for?"
"See these tunnels? They're making artificial death there. Our protocol is to collapse any such tunnels as soon as all the suspects and all the evidence have been extracted. I got two tons of Y15 and an egghead from the Mines & Construction here with me. Figured you'd like to take a peek before we blow this place up."
"Fine. Hope you don't take too long."
The lieutenant, stepping closer to Kiodd: "Nuh-uh. I ain't leaving any of you behind my back. Every man on my team has a price on his head—Gor-fucking-Navato's courtesy. Hey, Kellih, what's yours?"
The man raised four fingers.
"Mine's a tad bigger," Miles said.
"We on Gor'Navato's payroll? That what you saying?"
"I ain't saying anything. I'm not risking my men's lives, full stop. Not any more than I must. You're going in."
"You're fucking insane."
The lieutenant, stepping closer to Kiodd: "Wasn't me paying a social call at Way, was it? Wasn't me eating Nicies with Gor-fucking-Navato's shortie either, was it?"
Kiodd, wordless.
The lieutenant, walking in a half-circle, visor dark, visor dead, visor watching: "All right, girls. Six of us take point, then we do the alternating pattern: one after one after one, all right? I don't want no bullshit from you. Stay put, and we all make it."