ARC: The Buried Life by Carrie Patel Page A

your desk, and keep your mouth shut.”
    Ashen white, the researcher mumbled a vague formality and retreated. The furious man returned his attention to the inspectors, his eyes popping.
    “This is all quite unnecessary. I’m Dr Rodriguez and this is my colleague, Roane,” Sundar said. “We’re here from South Haven to meet with Dr Hask.”
    “Not a chance.” The words came before the angry man could open his mouth again. The speaker, a woman with a melodious but controlled voice, had materialized in the midst of the confusion, and she regarded the two detectives with a gaze every bit as unflinching as Malone’s. “But I shall be eager to learn how you managed to get down here in the first place, as poor liars as you both are,” she said. Sundar looked offended.
    Malone shrugged. “Then as inspectors of the city, we demand to speak with Dr Charley Hask.” She presented her seal.
    The woman gave it a cursory glance. “I’ll have someone see you out.”
    Malone took a step forward. “I’d hate to make the kind of exit that would upset your researchers. I’d really hate to tell them about my current theory regarding their colleague’s death. Perhaps Dr Hask could clear things up for me. We won’t take much of his time.”
    The woman looked as if she had bitten into a lemon. “I am Charley Hask. Follow me to my office and we can sit down.”
    Charley Hask looked young, particularly with her petite stature and short blond coif, but Malone estimated that she couldn’t be a day under fifty. From her perfectly linear stride to her serene expression, Dr Hask radiated confidence and calculation. She also looked like the type of woman who could deliver a withering insult with a pleasant word and a smile.
    When they reached her office against the back wall, Dr Hask opened the door and motioned them inside. “VERITAS” was inscribed above it, the recessed letters filled with gold paint. Malone looked at Hask.
    “What is ‘veritas’?”
    She smiled. “Our directorate’s motto. It means ‘truth’, Inspector.”
    Sundar peered at her. “With a big ‘T’ or a little one?”
    Hask gave him a languorous head-to-toe twice over. “You’re clever for eye candy.”
    The office was organized and well-lit. A gaunt, older man was already standing inside, now gazing at the newcomers in puzzlement. In his arms he carried long, bundled rolls of paper like baguettes. Seeing the inspectors, he clutched his papers a little more tightly against his chest. Hask turned to him.
    “I apologize, but we’ll have to continue our discussion at a later date. Dominguez, please escort Mr Fitzhugh to the surface,” she said to the mustachioed man.
    Fitzhugh and Dominguez brushed past the two inspectors, the latter with a final contemptuous glance over his shoulder.
    “Now,” Hask said, sitting behind her desk, “I take it you have a few questions for me.”
    Malone took Fitzhugh’s empty chair. “We’re investigating the death of Dr Werner Cahill.”
    “Of course. Yes, Cahill worked under my direction until his untimely death. We were all much grieved to hear of it,” Hask said, her placid eyes unblinking.
    “Then he worked here, on this floor?” Sundar asked.
    “Typically, yes.”
    “And the rest of the time?”
    “Cahill was one of our senior researchers. His work occasionally called for light travel,” Hask said.
    “What did he do here?” Malone said.
    “Why, he did what we all do in this directorate,” said Hask, her palms open. “We reconstruct the past, using clues from what texts we have managed to recover.”
    “The state of Dr Cahill’s study suggests that he was working on something just before he died.” Malone said. “What was it?”
    She crossed her legs. “Only he could have told us that.”
    “Why would he have been working so late and away from the office?”
    Hask said, “I think I will have to give you the same answer.”
    “You’re not answering me at all.”
    Hask’s eyes narrowed.