"But we dug deeper and some of the facts aren't adding up."

"Oh?"

Duran replied, "Yes. One of his neighbors reports a very different story about his family's disappearance than we got from his spiritual guide and the psychiatrist who prescribed his meds. A month ago, the same day his spouses supposedly ran off with the kids, his next-door neighbor happened to be walking by and got a glimpse of him in the square near their apartment. He was hugging the kids, acting very emotional."

"Kovak was not an emotional guy," Wilkes said. "That's why she noticed him to begin with."

"She heard one of the kids ask him if he was going to be joining them soon," Duran continued, "and he told them yes, but the neighbor said he was close to tears and she was convinced he was lying."

Sean shook his head. "So?"

Wilkes said, "The official story was that his marriage partners ran off with the kids while he was at work, and that he only discovered they were gone when he got home from work that evening. But clearly, he knew before they left."

Duran added, "The neighbor told us she never bought the official story, but thought he was trying to protect the kids from a custody battle."

"Maybe he was," Sean said.

"Maybe. But there are other oddities," Wilkes said. "We sicced an investigative sapient on his background and turned up some interesting facts. Kovak comes from Vesta, did you know?"

Sean shook his head.

"According to our research," Duran said, "he had some wild years during his youth-got mixed up with a bad crowd, got into vandalism, and so on. He was never arrested but a couple of times he ran errands for a Vestan mob boss. The Vestan mob is closely tied to the Ogilvies."

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Sean felt his temper rising again.

"Kovak was never a made man, though," Duran went on. "At most he was an errand boy. He got himself straightened out, according to the InSap report. His penchant for tagging turned into tube art, and it got him some notice. The attention seemed to be what he needed. He broke his old ties, cleaned up, and started pursuing an art career, while supporting himself with skilled trade work.

"His wife and husband-I guess I should say, his exes," Wilkes said, "are artists, too. They invited him to join their marriage. Since complex marriages are illegal on Vesta they migrated here, about eight years ago. He's had a clean record ever since."

Sean had been brought up in a strict, devoutly Neo-Methodist community, in the Christian Federation of American States. Anything but one-man-one-woman monogamy gave him the jeebs. But he had been through a lot of upheaval during the six decades that he had been in the armed forces. His best commander bar none had been a lesbian, a Colonel Janice Albright. When the citizen Gene Purges started, Albright was too well liked and well placed to be dislodged by the hardliners in the government, but too high profile and successful to ignore. She was like sand in their swimming trunks with her brilliance, savvy, and integrity.

Eventually she became too big a threat. Sean's prior outspokenness against gays probably made him seem like a natural ally to those who opposed her. He had been ordered to falsify evidence and arrest her, and was promised a promotion into a prominent role in the Pentagon in return. Instead, he had tipped her off. She and her wife escaped to Federal Africa, and he had been court-martialed on a trumped-up charge.

One dishonorable discharge and six years in a military prison later, he used the last of their savings to buy tickets for himself and his wife to Phocaea. Good riddance to Earth.

Sean still kept a picture of Colonel Albright in his wallet. He had lost touch with her after getting out of prison, but often thought about her. He took out his wallet now, and rubbed his thumb over the picture. It was a reminder to him. Live and let live. Focus on the actions, not the beliefs.

But Kovak was still a monster.

"What about the spouses? Have they been notified?"

Duran gave him a gallows grin. "And that's another oddity. They boarded a pa.s.senger cruiser about six weeks ago, Cheerful Pomegranate, Cheerful Pomegranate, headed for Mars. We presume they arrived without incident-we found a record of their entering Barsoom in Burroughs's port of entry. But we couldn't find any further record of their whereabouts after that." headed for Mars. We presume they arrived without incident-we found a record of their entering Barsoom in Burroughs's port of entry. But we couldn't find any further record of their whereabouts after that."

"That's strange."

"Yes. Our Barsoomian counterparts are chasing a couple of leads, but the trail's pretty cold." Wilkes shrugged. "We're not holding our breath."

"But Kovak's old mob connections on Vesta," Detective Duran said, "and the fact that his former spouses and children emigrated to Mars-especially Barsoom, where the Ogilvies rule-it's given us pause."

Wilkes had a dubious expression. "It's given you you pause," she told her partner. "I grew up on Mars. There are eight major princ.i.p.alities with several hundred million people living there. It's not all mafia, all channels, streaming media. Besides, the wife was from Barsoom originally-she would have contacts there. Maybe they just left the grid, joined a low-tech co-op out in the wilderness, and are hiding out." pause," she told her partner. "I grew up on Mars. There are eight major princ.i.p.alities with several hundred million people living there. It's not all mafia, all channels, streaming media. Besides, the wife was from Barsoom originally-she would have contacts there. Maybe they just left the grid, joined a low-tech co-op out in the wilderness, and are hiding out."

"Yeah, maybe," Duran said. "But from what?"

Sean looked from one to the other. "Where does this leave us?"

"Well, it's at least suggestive that Ogilvie could have bribed or blackmailed him in some way to gain his cooperation," Wilkes replied.

"You mean he sacrificed himself to save his family?"

Wilkes looked at her partner, who shrugged. "It fits the facts."

Sean did not like the idea of extenuating circ.u.mstances. Maybe Commissioner Navio had a point. Maybe he did need Kovak to be a villain.

"Let us give you a rundown on some other things we've found. Ramirez," Wilkes said, "play the video again, slow motion, from right before the crash. Zoom in on the cab."

They all watched the crash unfold. At this zoom, Sean caught a glimpse of Kovak's pale and determined face. Sean's fists flexed, despite his earlier reflection. I'd kill you all over again if I could, you selfish p.r.i.c.k. I'd kill you all over again if I could, you selfish p.r.i.c.k.

"I want you to notice a couple things," Wilkes said. "Fidel, go back thirty clicks before impact," she told the tech, "and zoom in on the right cab window. There. Now, take it forward in stop-motion. Stay on the window."

The images hopped forward. Sean noticed nothing unusual, only that glimpse of Kovak's face, and then his forearm.

She pointed. "See how his right arm is on the controls in front of him. It disappears for a moment, here. See? Then as the cab starts to fall, his arm reappears. You can't see the fingers here, but you can see how the arm goes forward to the cab windshield as the crane plunges into the chute.

"OK, freeze it. See how the cab is crushed. At that point, his arm would have to have been shoved into his chest." She pulled herself into a nearby chair and modeled the impact, pushing herself forward into the workstation's edge, folding her arm to her chest. "Now, hold that thought and come with me."

She led them down the tube to the med lab, a brightly lit room with autopsy tables and trays of instruments. The preservatives and cleaning solutions could not mask the faint stench of decay.

Wilkes introduced Sean to the coroner, Dr. George Ba.s.singer, a very tall, serious-looking man in a lab coat.

"Show them what you told me this morning, George," she said.

Ba.s.singer shared a waves.p.a.ce with Sean and the others. In the center was an enlarged 3D image of two severed fingers. Ba.s.singer gestured at the fingers with a steel pointer. "The first thing I found was that these were cleanly severed at the distal phalangeal joints. I found traces of MDHRA in them."

"Groupmind," Wilkes translated.

"The most obvious implication here is that the fingers were severed during the impact, and somehow avoided exposure to the disa.s.semblers. But let me show you something interesting about the nature of the trauma." He set the severed fingers down, pulled himself onto a lab saddle, linked Sean into a shared waves.p.a.ce, and called up a set of slides labeled "Kovak-Tissue Sample" followed by numbers and dates.

"These are micrographs of the trauma site. First, note how cleanly the joints were severed." He pointed. "It's a surgical cut. Note the cellular structures, the capillaries and bones. There's no torn or crushed tissue or shattered bone here."

Wilkes said, "The manufacturer's specifications for the crane show that nothing in the cab could have made such a clean cut."

"What about the windshield?" Sean asked. "Safety gla.s.s, I take it? No way a fragment could have done this?"

"Nope," Ba.s.singer said. "Shatters into fuzz b.a.l.l.s. Like cotton candy."

"And the impact with the vat was dead-on," Duran pointed out. "His hands were on the controls at that time. Or at least his right hand was, as we saw. The fingers should have been crushed, not severed. And even if they had had been severed, they would have been torn off, not cut off." been severed, they would have been torn off, not cut off."

"And they ended up far from the impact site," Wilkes said, "as if they'd been flung there. On the right side of the crane." She mimed the impact with her arm as she had done while they had watched the video, by bringing it to her chest. She wiggled her fingers, positioned against her left shoulder. "Based on the video evidence, we can't come up with any way for those fingers to be flung out the they ended up far from the impact site," Wilkes said, "as if they'd been flung there. On the right side of the crane." She mimed the impact with her arm as she had done while they had watched the video, by bringing it to her chest. She wiggled her fingers, positioned against her left shoulder. "Based on the video evidence, we can't come up with any way for those fingers to be flung out the right right cab window. They should have ended up on the cab window. They should have ended up on the left left."

"And there's more," Dr. Ba.s.singer said. "I mentioned we found MDHRA. But not in a distribution pattern that we would expect."

"What do you mean?"

"There was less of the drug in the capillaries than at the point of severance. Far less. The concentration drops off precipitously within a millimeter or so of the plane of the cut. And we found significant quant.i.ties on the skin and nails as well."

Sean frowned, still confused. "What are you saying?"

Ba.s.singer said, "The only explanation that fits the facts is that he sliced off his own fingers with some kind of surgical instrument"-he mimed slicing off his fingertips-"and then sprayed the tissues with the drug and tossed them out the window."

"But then how did he-"

"Remember how his arm disappeared for a moment," Wilkes asked, "just before the dumpster fell? He must have severed his own fingers and tossed them out for us to find."

Sean shuddered. "My G.o.d. But why?"

Wilkes shrugged. "To place himself at the crash? To make us think he did it because he was drugged up, and hide the real reason, perhaps?"

"I just don't get it," Sean said. "Why go to all that trouble?"

"It seems clear to me," Wilkes said, "that he was trying to mask the fact that this wasn't just the desperate impulse of a man in pain. That this was overt and deliberate sabotage."

"Then... with that and the link to the mob in his past, we have the evidence we need!"

"Well, yes and no," Duran said. "It's solid evidence that Kovak's motives weren't what he tried to make us believe they were. But his bank account shows no unusual activity. And his spouses and children are well out of reach."

Wilkes told him, "We still have nothing that directly links his actions to the Ogilvies."

The precinct bullpen was even more chaotic when Sean returned than when he had first arrived. The din was overwhelming. Jerry invited him into his office for a quick discussion, and closed the door.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on out there?"

"We're processing the people picked up in the riot," Jerry told him, "trying to ID the looters and rioters. G.o.d, I love my job." He ran his fingers through his thinning hair with a sigh.

"I need more, Jerry. I need firm proof that Ogilvie is behind this."

"We'll keep on it. I promise you."

They dealt with the deputizing. Jerry gave him a badge, swore him in, and a.s.signed him the rank of captain. He also gave him a police radio earpiece, and offered him a gun, but Sean turned it down and opened his jacket to display his own holster. "I'm covered," he said.

Jerry raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

As he was pushing his way toward the exit, someone yelled "Sir! Sir!" and tried to grab his arm. He looked around and was startled to see one of the ice-slinging bikers who had discovered Carl's body. Sean gave a nod to the police officer escorting the boy. The officer paused.

"Sir." The young man was panting. "Tell them I'm not a criminal. I was just in the bank to report a sugar rock and help my friends-no one believes me. I think they may be in trouble-you have to help us-"

"Easy there," Sean said. "Officer, I happen to know this young man. He's one of the biker heroes who stopped the runaway reaction up on the surface and saved our ice stores. I seriously doubt he's a troublemaker."

The police officer glanced at Sean's badge. "All right, sir. We're done with him, anyway. Stay away from riots in the future, young man."

Outside in the traffic tubes, Sean turned to the kid. "What's your name?"

"Kamal. Kamal Kurupath. My friends call me Kam. Thanks so much. I couldn't get them to listen. All they cared about was the riot."

"Tell me what's going on. How are your friends in trouble?"

Kamal's story came out in disjointed chunks, with frequent backtrackings, but gradually Sean got the gist. "You're telling me your friend Geoff has several metric tons of ice?"

"Yes."

"And the black marketers got wind of its existence."

"Yes. And now he and Amaya and Ian may be in danger. Please. We have to help them. Right away!"

Sean sensed there was more to the story. "We will. But I'm hazy on the details. How did the black marketers find out about this ice of yours?"

Kamal averted his gaze with a shrug. "I don't know, sir."

"Geoff went to them, didn't he? And got in over his head."

Sweat beaded on Kamal's upper lip. "Geoff would never do that!"

Sean gave him a searching look. "I want to help you, but I have to know what's going on. You said yourself, your friends are already in trouble. The best way to help them is to tell me everything."

"All right." Kamal blew out an explosive breath. "Ian thought we could get more money than if we went to the banks. It wasn't Geoff, honest-he said no. They fought, and Ian went off on his own. Geoff and Amaya went to stop him before he got to the black marketers."

Sean rubbed his face. I I so so don't have time for this. don't have time for this. "Where is this deal going down? When?" "Where is this deal going down? When?"

"Bottomsville. On the Promenade. Near Halloway Industrial Park. I left them over an hour ago. Almost two. I'm afraid we're too late."

"All right. Wait here and I'll go talk to the police chief. They'll send a patrol down with you to check it out."

"They're so busy. Won't you come?" Kamal pointed at Sean's badge. "You're authorized. And you're in charge of ice stores anyway, aren't you?"

Sean sighed. Chasing sugar rocks wasn't his idea of time well spent. But he was here now, he knew the kids involved, Jerry's precinct was swamped.

And h.e.l.l; he owed these kids. The whole cl.u.s.ter did. "All right. Let's go."

13.

When Jane got back to her office, a false sense of busy normalcy had settled over the warrens where her Zekeston staff worked. First, she needed to check her messages-without Marty to screen them, she might miss something important. She called up her comm app and found hundreds of calls and messages from friends, acquaintances, and coworkers cramming her inbox, forwarding rumors about the supposed infection in their life-support area and asking if it were true.