“Right, got it,” came the responses, as they all dropped out of the VR channel and went about securing the ‘crime scene.’
As the sun came up, Rassmussen checked the time in VR.
“Ah, there we go,” he murmured, as he sent a message to Adrian Mott.
To: Det. A. Mott
Subject: ‘Enforcers’
GO.
Det. P. Rassmussen
Several miles away, standing in the lobby of an apartment building, Adrian Mott checked his messages in VR, then looked up at the ICPD police officers around him.
“They’re in there,” he said, indicating a particular apartment within the building, on a map in VR; the others saw it in the lower part of their vision. “Go get ‘em. We have them, dead to rights, on security footage. Consider them armed and dangerous, because they probably are. If they resist, feel free to take ‘em out, if you have to.”
The beat cops flooded up the stairs and elevators.
Moments later, Peter Brandt’s body was carted out on a stretcher. Close behind, and escorted by no less than four beat cops, was Joseph Hennig in handcuffs, pale and shocked, thoroughly smeared and spattered in Brandt’s blood and babbling like a child.
“But it was orders!” he claimed. “You know how that works! Orders! From higher up!”
“We’ll need to interrogate him,” Mott noted to the lieutenant at his elbow, as Hennig passed. “But somehow, I don’t think it’ll be too hard, the way he’s yammering on.”
“No, sir, I don’t think so, either,” came the response.
The next morning in IPD Temporary New Headquarters, Director Carter did not arrive.
Nor did Investigations Lead Detective Ashton.
This was the subject of much concerned discussion… until the large vid screen in the corner of the beat-cop bullpen, kept muted but with scrolling captions, depicted a gigantic fireball in the night as viewed from a distance, with the huge, emblazoned caption, ‘IPD DIRECTOR AND HEAD OF INVESTIGATIONS BOTH KILLED IN EXPLOSION.’ This was accompanied by nighttime scenes of fire and medical response, with uniformed but unrecognizable police officers interspersed throughout, as they swiftly raised screens and crime scene tape around a fenced estate.
The bullpen fell silent, and the investigators drifted over in twos and threes, as – almost – everyone watched in shock and dismay.
“Damn. What the hell do we do now?” Jim Hackett wondered.
“Where’s Winston Peabody?” Carl Hogun wanted to know. “He’s probably the next most experienced person on the force.”
“Haven’t they reported on that yet?” Ted Bradly said then. “He got attacked this morning on the way to work. Old perp ambushed him. Died en route to the hospital.”
“Damn!” several more exclaimed.
“Shit, Ted,” Hogun noted. “That makes you the most experienced person in the place.”
“It would seem so,” Bradly said with a shrug. “That was why I was called about Peabody.”
“What shall we do, Director, sir?” Hackett asked.
“Let’s see. I’ll want Carr, Holland, Warner, Seeger, Williams, Wang, and Lowe – those are the most experienced officers we have, right? Good – you seven meet me in the Chief’s office in five minutes.”
“Don’t you mean the Director’s office, sir?” Hackett wondered.
“No, I mean the Chief’s office,” Bradly said, blunt. “Let’s get a few things straight, gentlemen. Whatever kind of half-assed, cock-eyed structure Carter and Ashton were trying to bring in here, we experienced sorts all knew it wouldn’t work. We know what does work, and that’s bloody damn well what we’re going to use.”
“But the Emperor–”
“I’ll deal with him later,” Bradly said, dismissive. “Some young guy from a backwater planet? He doesn’t know how something like the IPD should be run, and he needs to let those of us who do, run it. Now, gentlemen, five minutes, my office.”
And Bradly headed into the Director’s office.
Moments later, he was followed by Lowe, Carr, Seeger, Williams, Holland, Wang, and Warner.
Warner closed the door behind them.
“Well, that worked nicely,” Bradly said from the Director’s chair, once the others were seated in the visitors’ chairs.
“What happened to Peabody?” Seeger wondered.
“None of your damn business, Seeger,” Bradly snapped. “He’s gone, and he’s not coming back, any more than Carter or Ashton, and that’s the end of it. Unless you’d like to join them.”
“Um, no, sir.”
“Good. Now, we have control of things again. So now it’s our turn to plan. How do we want to re-establish the IPD?”
At the request of Director Carter to ICPD’s Chief Harold Quan, Joseph Hennig was interrogated by Inspector Eugene Demetrius in the special interrogation room in ICPD headquarters. Inspector Stefan Gorski sat in the observation room with Doctor Peter McCray, who happened to be the staff physician on duty at the time, though Dr. James Martin usually handled interrogations. Together the two men would record the interrogation and monitor the accused’s bodily functions to ascertain if he were telling the truth or not.
Hennig was brought into the interrogation room by two burly police officers and seated in a chair that was bolted to the floor, on the far side of a table with two more chairs, only those were free-standing. His wrists and ankles were handcuffed to the chair, and the officers left. Seconds later, his attorney arrived, which settled an agitated Hennig a little. The attorney, Harcourt Chase, took one of the free chairs and moved it beside his client before sitting.
After several minutes, an older man in a tweed jacket, tie, and trousers entered the room.
