Dues of Mortality by Jason Austin

Kelmer.
I...I don’t mean to disturb you...but I’ve been doing
some...very special work here at Millenitech lately and I uh...uh,
well l...let’s just say your name came up and...Oh, dear, this
is difficult to discuss over the phone. I really wish you were there.
I really need to speak with you. I’m sorry I can’t leave
a number. I...I’ll try to get in touch with you again later,
when we can talk in person, some place safe. It’s important.”
    Wallace
ground his teeth. This was the second time Gabriel had played the
recording for him, the first being via comwatch. Wallace still
couldn't believe it. “Are you sure the police haven’t
listened to this?”
    “ No,
they never had the opportunity, but she may have told them about it
if she thinks it was significant.”
    Wallace’s
eyes squeezed closed like fists. “Well, at least he didn’t
mention the project.” Wallace thought twice about it and asked,
“Did he?”
    “ Dragonfly?
No.”
    “ Did
he mention the customer to her at all?”
    “ No.”
    “ Maybe
he doesn’t know...or hasn’t completely
put it together yet? Was that all you were able to get?”
    “ If
there were any other messages, they were wiped before we got them.
Block may have heard something else. We’ll have to ask him.”
    “ Play
it again.”
    Gabriel
thumbed the Nanopod once more. “Ms. Jameson, hello. This is
Richard Kelmer. Ms. Jameson, I...I don’t mean to disturb
you...”
    “ Hold
it,” Wallace said abruptly. “Go back.”
    Gabriel
tapped it again and the message played from the beginning. “Ms.
Jameson, hello. This is Richard Kelmer.”
    “ Stop!”
Wallace said quickly.
    Gabriel
stopped the recording.
    “ Did
you hear that?”
    Gabriel
was blank.
    “ There
was something about the way he said his name. He didn’t say,
‘My name is Richard Kelmer.’ He said ‘This is. ’ And the inflection was...”
    Wallace
relaxed and parted his lips. “Son-of-a-bitch. He
knows her . That wormy little nerd knows her.”

Chapter 7

    Glenda
finally gave up on getting comfortable in the police station's
unfriendly little chair. The adrenaline rush-and-flush had left her a
drained husk and every muscle was now registering the slightest
pressure as inescapable torture. She fingered the pits of her eyes.
Thought of the job interview she had tomorrow morning. She would make
it come hell or high water, but likely pay for her diligence later
with a splitting headache.
    A
hint of Old Spice glided beneath Glenda's nose and she looked up to
see Detective Andrew Roberts on his way over. A paternal looking
sort, Roberts was probably no more than fifty with stern eyes and a
moderate head of graying hair. He somewhat reminded Glenda of her
father: tall, unassuming, with a face that looked more experienced
and weather-beaten rather than middle-aged. He carried two sheets of
paper in his right hand. He pressed his lips together, looking at
Glenda—probably a modest attempt not to smile that stupid cop’s
smile that never reassures anyone—and promptly took the chair
behind his desk. He placed the papers on the desk’s digital
blotter and began jostling its drawers.
    “ Where
are my pens for Pete’s sake?” he said under his breath.
“And who's been using my desk? It's never this neat.”
    Andrew
Roberts had had cop in his blood from day one—always with a
natural talent for discerning personalities and analyzing facts. He
was adept at making both suspects and victims feel as if talking to
him was like sharing a story with their favorite uncle—someone
who never based his love on a good grade or refusal to clean one’s
room. The general take in the department was that Roberts was next to
unflappable, except when it came to crimes against women and
children, office politics and, most of all, his personal workspace.
    “ Who
the hell’s been using my desk?” he shouted out. “I
can’t find a damn thing!”
    After
muddling through a few more papers, he found a plastic ballpoint