The Quiet Pools

Graham case, so I thought I’d spare myself the repetition. I assume you don’t object?”

“No,” said Alvarez.

“No objection,” said Dryke. He gave Alvarez a sideways glance as he took the free chair along the far wall.

“Fine.” Norwood glanced down at the desktop, which had the muted gleam of a flat tank display. “Recorders on if you’ve got them. Victim, Malena Christine Graham of Great Bridge, Virginia, age twenty. Oh, and she was a crip, restricted to an airchair. According to witnesses, she was picked up by Evan Eric Silverman, twenty-eight, of Houston, at a bar called Magpie’s on Old Spanish Trail about ten forty-five last night.”

“Twenty December,” Alvarez said quietly for the benefit of her recorder.

“Silverman took the girl to a field about three kilometers west of Magnolia, off State Route 1488, where he stripped her and beat her with a dragon’s tail. That’s a club with a pattern of razor edges embedded in the top third. Illegal as a weapon. Silverman had a license for his—apparently he’s a juggler. Cause of death: You’ve got your pick until the coroner wraps up. Most likely the head injuries killed her before she bled to death. Time of death is twelve twenty-one a.m. That’s the twenty-first,” he added. “You want to see the evidence tape?”

“Yes,” said Dryke.

“Is there any point?” asked Alvarez.

Norwood opened his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. “Not for me to say. I don’t know what you’re after.”

“All right,” said Alvarez. “Show it.”

The assault had been savagely cruel, and the body was grossly disfigured. It was the same kind of mindless violence he had seen in the incident at the observation platform, but turned up one notch from brutality to butchery. Looking at the evidence video, Dryke could not even tell if the young victim had been attractive.

“Jesus. Did he do all that?”

“Not quite. When they found her, the fire ants were having their fill. It’s a mercy she was dead.” Norwood shook his head. “At least I hope she was dead.”

When the recording ended, the lights came up. Alvarez was pale, but when Dryke raised an eyebrow in her direction, she shot a withering look back.

“That’s about it at this point,” said Norwood, who had never turned to watch the wallscreen. “Nothing I didn’t have to release to the media, really. Frankly, I’m still not clear on what you’re after. There’s not much here to finesse.”

“What about this ‘Jeremiah’s hands’ business?” asked Dryke.

“He has been talking a lot, that’s a fact,” said Norwood. “You obviously caught his spotlight performances. I can’t let any of his private showings leave the building, but I could set you up with a screen somewhere. Are you interested?”

“Yes. If you could arrange that when we’re done, I’d appreciate it,” Dryke said.

“What else is there to do?”

All that was left was all that there had ever really been—the quest for Jeremiah. “Silverman’s home,” Dryke said.

“Being searched and inventoried now.”

“What about his comlogs, his library, his personals? There could be important information in them— information that could finally give us a chance to take apart the Homeworld network. I have access to technical experts who can disarm any security traps Silverman might have left.”

“What are you suggesting?”

Shrugging, Dryke said, “Mutual cooperation—our expertise in exchange for access to whatever’s dug out.”

Norwood frowned and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see what standing you have to ask for access to criminal evidence. And we have our own hackers and crackers.”

“If Silverman really is working with Jeremiah, I promise you, you’ll need more than a password engine and a wipe mask to get into his file library,” warned Dryke.

“We’re not amateurs, Mr. Dryke. We do this all the time,” Norwood said with evident annoyance. “And again, I don’t see how I can justify making you a partner in our investigation.”

“Can I inject something here?” asked Alvarez.

“Go ahead,” said Norwood.

“I’m looking at a work load of seventy-one open property crimes against Allied facilities—which may or may not involve Jeremiah or members of the Homeworld movement. Total damage and losses runs about fourteen million dollars,” said Alvarez. “Will that earn me a look at Silverman’s personals?”

“Yah,” said Norwood. “We’ll work with you on that.”

“Then you may as well let Mr. Dryke have it as well. We’ve got a co-op agreement with corporate security, and they’ll see anything we see.”

Norwood cocked his head and pursed his lips. “All right, Mr. Dryke,” he said finally. “Bring on your experts.”

“I’ll go make the call.”

“Wait,” said Norwood, turning to face his wallscreen. “V-mail, forward till acknowledged: Norwood to Unit Six. We’re going to get an outside assist on Silverman’s personals. Let’s keep our hands off all data storage media and devices until then. Catalog in place. End.”

“Sending, sir,” said the comsole’s voice.

Reaching out to his left, Norwood touched several desktop sensors, and a list of files came up on the screen. “Unlock fourteen through twenty-two, one viewing, sequenced, then re-lock.”

“Done, sir.”

Finally, Norwood turned back toward the others and rose from his chair. “Okay. You can call from here,” he said, making his way toward the door. “When you’re done, ask for file fourteen.”

“We didn’t mean to chase you out—” Alvarez began.

“You didn’t. I’m due in the tank to testify in another case.” He squinted toward Dryke. “Let me know when you can have your people here.”

“I will. Thank you, Captain.”

As the door closed, Dryke thumbed off his recorder and turned to Alvarez wearing an openly puzzled expression. “What’s going on?”

“I want Silverman’s personals,” she said. “I don’t want blank logs and a brainwashed AIP. Your texperts are insurance.”

“That’s not what I mean. There’s no co-op agreement between us. Or am I missing something?”

“There is now,” she said. “Unless you don’t want it.”

“I’ll take it. But I still don’t understand. You can’t have forgotten about Brian White since you told Norwood about it half an hour ago.”

“I only told him how I knew you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him what I thought of your ethics. And I won’t, unless you try to see Silverman.”

Dryke looked at her wonderingly. “Stand still. I can’t track a moving target.”

“This one’s different than the last one,” Alvarez said quietly. “White was petty stuff, a classic bad boy. We know how to handle his kind. But Silverman’s a hard-wired freakoid. And he scares the pee out of me.”

“He’s in lockup. Norwood’s not going to let him walk.”

“Not that kind of scared. But how many more are out there?” she asked. “You’ve got fifteen hundred employees in the compound and three thousand more outside for the next Silverman to pick from. There’s no way that you can lock them all up safely out of reach.”

“I know,” said Dryke.

She shook her head. “I don’t know how to get inside Silverman’s mind. I don’t even know if I want to.”

“You don’t want to,” said Dryke grimly.

“Is he crazy? Cerebral function deficiency?”

“Was Hitler crazy?” Dryke asked rhetorically. “I don’t know. I’ll bet he doesn’t come up CFD. He’s worse. A bad combination of hate and intelligence.”

“And calculated viciousness.”