“Flying robots are illegal here,” Laughton said.
“All robots are illegal here,” a voice said from some hidden speaker.
Kir put down his window and reached for the copter, but it flew out of his reach. “It’s not a robot,” he said.
“But you are,” the voice from the drone said.
“Crisper?” Laughton called, leaning over Kir.
“What’s with the metal?” the voice said. “Talk fast.”
“He’s assisting me in the murder investigation,” Laughton said. “We were partners in Baltimore.”
There was a pause. It could have been simply that Crisper was thinking, but it was more likely he was running them through facial recognition software. “Metal gets out here,” he said at last.
Kir pushed the button to release the door, but Laughton put his hand on the robot’s shoulder, stopping him from getting out. He called across his partner, “You said on the television you weren’t afraid, and I thought, there’s a reasonable man.”
There was a pause. The whir of the quadcopter’s rotors evoked the summer sound of a flitting bee.
“Or we could just have the conversation like this,” Laughton said.
“Okay,” the voice said. “Follow.”
Kir pulled his door shut as Laughton resumed manual controls, crawling along behind the hovering vehicle.
“Smart,” Kir said.
“Something,” Laughton answered.
The drone led them back to the cemetery’s main entrance. Across the street, there was another small plot with much older gravestones of various shapes and sizes. Standing in the shadow of a tree in the midst of the graves was a white-haired woman, bone thin, collarbone showing over her argyle-patterned strapless sundress. She wore lightweight virtual reality goggles, and held a phone in one hand out in front of her, no doubt using it as a remote control for the drone. As it reached her, she took off the goggles, and plucked the copter from the air.
Laughton pulled the truck to the curb, and the partners got out.
“Excellent voice modulator,” Kir said as they approached the woman.
“Thank you,” she said. Her real voice was light and warm, suffused with amusement that showed at the corners of her eyes. She turned her attention to the chief. “Jesse Laughton,” she said, as though taking stock of him. It made Laughton long for his mother, which was not the best place from which to start an interview. He wondered why he hadn’t heard from Betty about her mother.
Crisper looked back at Kir, her eyebrows lower, her jaw set forward. “I don’t like having this one here.”
“You don’t mind,” Kir said.
“Don’t presume to tell me my own mind, robot.” She was stern, but the light in her eyes belied any real anger. Still, Laughton was worried she might take off without stating her business.
“He’s only here to assist,” Laughton said. “He wants the same thing we do, to catch a murderer and get the robots off the preserve.”
Crisper glared at Kir another moment, and then her features softened again as she turned back to Laughton, a hint of her initial amusement settling in. “Okay, you share first,” she said.
“I’m sorry?” Laughton said, taken aback.
“You first,” Crisper said. “Then we’ll see.”
“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” Laughton said, at the same time Kir said, “What do you want to know?” Laughton bristled at being undermined, but swallowed his annoyance.
“Everything. Suspects. Motives. Whatever you’ve got.”
“I’m sorry, Miss…,” Laughton said.
“Crisper will do.”
“Miss Crisper, we’re here because you said you had information for us.”
“Patience,” she said, which left Laughton anything but.
Kir took over again. He had further to go to earn her trust. “Carl Smythe was a sims hacker. Death by Taser. Cybernetic arm and leg cut open. No suspects, no witnesses. Partner Sam McCardy missing. Distributor Carter Jones missing.”
“You know nothing,” Crisper said.
“We know very little,” Laughton said.
“So not only was the press conference a show, but it was a blind.”
“We had nothing to do with that.”
“That’s clear,” she said. “Even if your record didn’t speak for itself, you show sense.” She thought for a moment. “Carter’s my distributor too. I’m sure he’s not far. He lacks the courage to leave the preserve.”
“So you write sims?” Laughton said, confirming it.
“I assume that’s of no concern here,” she said.
“Of course,” Kir said.
“You don’t have any say here,” Crisper said to the robot.
“You said on the television,” Laughton said, “you weren’t worried for your own safety. Why?”
“Because it was the least I could do to reduce people’s panic. You people weren’t doing that.”
“So you do fear for your safety?” Laughton said.
“I’ll say I’m concerned by the whole thing.”
“Well, if you’re looking for reassurance here—”
She shook her head and clicked her tongue to stop him.
Laughton waited. Kir was silent.
“I never met Smythe. Did I say that already? But I know his work. You think Killer App is his,” she said.
“That’s the theory,” Kir said. Somehow, despite the initial combativeness, the robot and the hacker had found an easier rapport than Laughton had managed.
“Mine too,” Crisper said.
“The rest of the theory,” Kir said, “is that that’s what got him killed.”
“It might seem like the only apparent motive.”
“That or the cyborg angle,” Laughton said.
She tutted again, chastising Laughton. “It’s good I went against my better judgment here,” she said.
Laughton, smarting at being swatted like a boy reaching for a fresh cookie from a still-hot baking sheet, said, “Titanium.”
“Okay, big man,” Crisper said. “Okay.” She looked at her phone and held the drone open on her palm. Selecting something on the phone, the drone took off. Laughton and Kir both followed its path with their eyes as it disappeared between two trees. “Auto,” Crisper said by way of explanation.
The police turned their attention back to her.
“I notice a few weeks ago that my sims were leaving the preserve in a new pattern.”
“How,” Laughton said.
“Tracker,” Kir said.
“Ding, ding, ding. I put a tracker in anything I ever write. Lets me know exactly the impact I’m having.”
“Don’t the end-user robots see them?”
“Why should they care?” Crisper said. Then with a sly smile, “They don’t find them anyway. They’re not looking, and they’d be hard pressed to find them if they were.” She paused to allow them to admire her skill, then continued, “Carter works for the Sisters. Did before the preserve—we all know each other going back—”
How far back, Laughton wondered. She was at least twice Carter’s age, and he still didn’t know who the Sisters were.