The commissioner nodded. “They’re supposed to report to you when they find anything.”
“We’ve got another lead too,” Kir said. “A mistress.”
“That would be better,” the secretary said.
“Who are we kidding?” the commissioner said.
“We’re keeping track of their distributor,” Laughton said, stretching the truth a little about Jones. “I’ve got people tracking down other hackers, trying to find if anyone knew these people. They were like fucking hermits. And the vic has a sister who lives off-preserve. We’re tracking her too.”
“So we’ve got nothing,” the commissioner said.
“Not nothing,” the secretary said.
“That’s optimistic,” the commissioner said.
“That’s half of my job,” Secretary Pattermann said. She turned her attention to Laughton and Kir. The force of her eyes through the red rims of her glasses inspired the conviction to deliver. “We do not have much time on this,” she said.
“Then let us go do our job,” Kir said.
“For as long as I can,” the secretary said.
The commissioner laced his hands together and ran them over the top of his head, causing the hair to stick up. “The FBI wants in on this case,” he said. “If the sims connection is correct, there’s nothing we’re going to be able to do to stop them.”
“And the Coast Guard,” the secretary said. “Since they police the harbor, they feel they have a say.”
“Anyone else?” Laughton said.
“We knew there would be a murder,” the secretary said. “People kill each other. That happens. But this sims connection…”
Laughton was so beat down that part of him felt like it would be a blessing to let the metals come in and take over, but he thought of Erica growing up in a robot-free environment, where she wouldn’t have to face arrogant metals treating them like animals or worry about hate crimes that the robot world just ignored… The idea that that all rested on him was staggering.
“What more do you need?” the secretary said.
Laughton shook his head. “I don’t know.” He thought of all those books. “They used old paper books. Maybe they had a bookseller.”
“Yeah. The internet,” the commissioner said.
“Something else to look out for,” Laughton said.
“I’m going to keep stalling,” the secretary said. “That’s my job, that’s my life, stall, stall, stall. But we need this tied up, gentlemen.”
“Buy us the time,” Kir said. “Keep us informed. We’ll tie it up.”
“Never-ending energy, never-ending optimism,” Laughton said. Something flashed on the commissioner’s face.
narrowing on the outside edges of the eyes, slight downturn of the corner of upper lip—worry
“What is it?” Laughton said.
“Nothing,” the commissioner said.
Secretary Pattermann said, “It’s good to see you in person, Chief Laughton. Kir speaks of you often. I have utter faith in you both. Just don’t put too much faith in me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Laughton said.
Kir gave his boss a respectful nod.
The commissioner had closed his eyes again and slowed his breathing.
If only, Laughton thought. If only what?
“Get going,” Secretary Pattermann said.
Nancy Enright lived in a twenty-first-century home about a mile and a half outside of Liberty’s downtown. An oversize box, the main impression it made was as an expanse of vinyl siding, remarkably clean. There was no ornamentation, no shrubbery, no porch or shutters; the point had been big, even at the expense of being bland. At one time, it had no doubt replaced an older, smaller home, encroaching on Liberty’s nineteenth-century roots, but it was the anachronism now, the rest of the block occupied by townhomes with plate glass fronts. Those had all been overtaken by vegetation, ivy and tufts of Spanish moss, piles of windswept, dry leaves beside each home’s stairs, no longer fresh or hip. Laughton wondered how the Enright home had survived redevelopment and then survived abandonment. Perhaps it had retained human residents through the years. Maybe the Enrights had always lived there, even before the preserve.
Laughton and Kir left the car in the empty driveway, and peeked through the garage windows for no particular reason outside of occupational nosiness. There were at least five bicycles ranging in size from a beginner bike to adult, the children’s bikes lying willy-nilly on top of one another. The rest of the space was given over to cardboard boxes and plastic totes. No car could fit in there.
“Big family,” Kir said.
“Let’s hope someone’s home.”
When they reached the front door, a blue LED light flashed on a small camera mounted at eye level. Laughton switched his own body cam on, looked square into the house security camera’s lens, and waited for the door to open. He heard a child shout, “I’ll get it,” while another shrieked, the sound coming closer, but before either could respond, the door was opened by a petite Asian woman. She had straight black hair pulled into a loose ponytail draped over one shoulder. Her blue-and-white sweaterdress revealed the subtle bump of early pregnancy. The smaller of the two children Laughton had heard elected to hide behind his mother, and the woman held the older one close, her arm over his shoulder, hand on his chest. A third child appeared in the entryway behind her, and then ran off. The children’s eyes were not as narrow as their mother’s. Their father must have not been of Asian descent.
“Miss Enright?” Laughton said, displaying his badge.
lower eyelid droop, corner of lips flick down for a fraction of a second, then neutral—concealed sadness
“Come in,” she said, resigned.
Laughton stepped into the house, his partner behind him. It smelled of some kind of artificial citrus cleaner. He noticed that several of the floor tiles in the foyer were cracked. Miss Enright led them up a half flight of stairs into the kitchen, which had a vaulted ceiling and glass windows that revealed a small backyard. There was a baby in a high chair wearing a bib with green mush forming a clown’s smile around her mouth. Miss Enright sat down at a chair facing the baby, and picked up a plastic spoon. The older of the children who had come to the door decided that the detectives weren’t about to be interesting, and he ran down another set of stairs, yelling a battle cry. The toddler stood with one hand on his mother’s lap, and watched Laughton with large, distrustful eyes as the chief of police took another of the seats at the table. Kir walked around the table, looking out a window into the backyard.
“It’s about Carl,” Miss Enright said, keeping her eyes on the baby as she offered her another dollop of green on the spoon.
“Yes,” Laughton said.
“I didn’t know him well,” she said. Her manner was regretful more than sad. “I certainly have no idea who might have hurt him.”
Hurt, not kill. “You met him at the Liberty Fertility Clinic?” Laughton said.
“Yes,” she said, still feeding the baby.
“How’d that work?” Kir said, still standing, looking out the window.
Nancy glanced at the robot, and resettled her weight in the chair with a slight rock back and forth. “You fill out a form, and they pair you up. As long as there’s some attraction, you… mate.”