She briefly looked through the glamour photos and recognized Myki in several of the artier shots and short films. Next she moved on to the social images, largely taken at expensive, exclusive events, seeking anyone she recognized. Both Francis Mellon and Vincent Calabri were absent. She moved onto the next frame which seemed to focus on shots taken at various clubs in the city. She saw a whole lot of beautiful people, neon lights and expensive drinks.
A new image appeared showing three young, attractive and scantily clad women. They stood in a nightclub somewhere, raising exotic cocktails and seemingly having the time of their lives as they flashed their blindingly white teeth. In the corner of the image, pink neon text had been added: Dancing On The Ceiling!
“Looks like he did a lot of work at clubs in the city,” Salvi said. “His specialty seems to be capturing the beautiful people,” she added.
Beggs engaged his lenses and his eyes took on the silver sheen. “Riverton? Request a list of clubs Barker worked for. See if there’s any link to Mellon. End request.”
Salvi looked back to see the image had changed to a couple at a different club. She suddenly noticed a ‘play’ icon at the bottom of the screen. She reached out and touched the icon and watched as the couple smiled and kissed, before the short clip began to loop. She touched the screen again, pausing the clip, and saw a menu appear in the top corner. She tapped the back button to show the three women again. That image also had a play icon, so she pressed it and watched.
Laughter and music sounded. The three women raised their glasses as they tossed their hair about and pouted for the camera. A glint above the ear of one woman as she flicked her hair back caught Salvi’s eye. She wondered what it was and watched the footage loop over again. Though the woman’s hair was long on top, the area above and around her ears had been shaved, and that was where the glint was coming from. On the fourth loop, Salvi paused on the glint, moving her face closer until she figured it out.
When she realized what it might be, she paused.
She let the footage play again to be sure, and when she was, she felt an uneasy feeling slide over her.
It was a neural device of some kind.
Similar to the ones the Subjugates at the Solme Complex wore, this was much smaller and she could only see it on one side of the woman’s head.
“Beggs,” she said, the tone of her voice drawing his attention. He moved to her and she played him the footage.
“Does that look like a neural implant to you?”
Beggs leaned closer, tapped his lenses to focus. He nodded. “Could be.”
“But they’re illegal outside of the Solme Complex.”
Beggs nodded. “Most people had ‘em removed after The Crash, but every now and then you see someone who’s still got ‘em. Some people hold hope they’ll become legal again.”
“That’s not going to happen any time soon.”
“Where is this?” he motioned to the image.
Salvi shrugged, staring at the glinting silver device curving from the woman’s temple, back behind her ear.
“Somewhere they’re dancing on the ceiling.”
It was late afternoon by the time they got back to the hub. Hernandez, Bronte and Mitch were there, but no Caine.
“Hey,” Beggs greeted Hernandez and Bronte. “What’d you get behind the dumpster?”
“Looks like some guy got beaten to death over a parking spot.”
“No shit?” Beggs asked.
“No shit,” Bronte said. “Apparently the vic stole some guy’s spot earlier in the evening, they had a screaming match and the vic hit our suspect. The suspect walked off licking his wounds, then came back, waited for the guy, and beat him to a pulp.”
“So how does the guy go from running away and licking his wounds to cold-blooded killer?” Salvi asked.
Bronte shrugged. “I guess he stewed himself into a rage.”
“There seems to be a lot of that happening lately,” Beggs said.
“As soon as we ID the guy we’ll bring him in,” Hernandez said. “Then he can stew in a prison cell.”
Caine entered then and Mitch straightened. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling.”
“I couldn’t take the call at the time,” Caine said.
“So where you been?”
“Working,” Caine told him.
“On what?” Mitch said. “We’re supposed to working together here.”
“I’ll have Riverton put my notes in the file soon.”
Before Mitch could respond, Ford came out of her office and cut him off. “Brentt and Beggs, we gotta reopen the Kelto’s Diner case.”
“You’re shitting me?” Beggs said.
“Tell me about it,” Ford said. “Narcotics want a toxicology report on Williams. Get it done.”
“What the hell is going on with Narcotics?” Beggs asked. “They’re ordering us around, sticking their noses in our cases, locking our toxicology reports and telling us nothing.”
“They locked your toxicology report?” Ford asked, brow creasing with annoyance.
“Yeah,” Beggs said. “The one on Myki Natashi, our dead photographer’s girlfriend. We can’t see the results.”
“Is that right?” Ford said coldly, her mind turning over. “Reopen the Kelto’s Diner case, get the toxicology report done. I’ll speak to Sorensen about the Barker case. The hell they’re going to keep us out of our own cases.” Ford stepped back inside her office and closed the door behind her.
“Hey!” Mitch called, watching Caine leave the bullpen again.
Beggs chuckled and looked at Mitch. “Trouble with your new partner, bud? Wanna swap back?”
Mitch looked at Beggs, then glanced at Salvi, then looked back to his console again.
“Come on,” Salvi said to Beggs, “let’s get this case reopened.”
With the Kelto’s Diner case open again and the toxicology request issued, Salvi turned her mind back to the Barker case and began reviewing Chuck Swaggert’s crime scene photos and 4D modelling. She knew how important it was to continually look over the images, as things could be missed the
