monitoring traffic, which had to be combined with the visual record to give an aggregate of the riverside.
Sid scanned through the midday-Sunday visual image as if he were gliding along the street, looking out across the river, establishing the baseline resolution quality. “Aye, crap on it.” He stopped the replay when he was just east of the venerable swing bridge, leaving him looking out at a nightclub boat moored to the refurbished wooden pier that extended out from the bridge’s southern support. “Anyone know how many party boats are moored along the river these days?”
Ian looked up from his zone console, where he’d been reviewing mesh memories around the King Edward railway bridge. “Five or six, I think,” he said.
“We’re going to need all their surveillance.”
“Dobson already got them,” Eva said.
“Hell, she’s good.”
By ten o’clock Abner and Ari still hadn’t gotten a positive identification on the body. That was starting to bug Sid.
“We’ve got most 2Norths confirmed as alive,” Abner said by way of compensation.
Sid told them to stick with it. He was frontloading a lot of reliance on the autopsy now. Once they found method and estimated immersion time they’d have something to go on. Even so, a name would be a lot better.
Jenson San reappeared just before eleven. “The North family have arranged for an observing coroner at the autopsy,” he told Sid. “And we have the chief coroner himself performing the examination.”
“Thanks.”
“Do we have the victim’s identity yet?”
Sid shook his head, irritated by the one crucial missing item. For a victim of this high profile it really didn’t reflect well on himself and the team. And damnit, they were a good team.
“We need it,” Jenson muttered in a low voice.
“Yeah, I worked that one out for myself. Thanks, man.”
A quarter hour later Sid left for the city morgue, which was housed in a modern annex to the glass-and-steel towers of Arevalo Medical’s Royal Victoria Infirmary.
As he drew into the car park next to the city morgue block Sid saw notices proclaiming that parking would be suspended in two months so footings could be sunk for the new oncology clinic. “So where do we park?” he muttered to himself as he crunched his way over the snow and into the warm lobby.
For all its clean modern lines and well-maintained interior, the morgue always depressed him. He’d lost track years ago of just how many grieving parents, partners, and family members he’d escorted in to identify a body. Thankfully there was no one in the lobby waiting for that grim task, though the little group standing beside the reception counter was almost as off-putting.
Chloe Healy turned from the two men she was talking to. “Detective Hurst, this is Aldred North,” she said.
Aldred shook Sid’s hand, showing a professional smile. “Northumberland Interstellar security director.” He was in his late forties, wearing a suit and coat that must have been in the eight-thousand-euro range, a simple demonstration of exactly how far up the company hierarchy he was, which told everyone he was a 2North. “Sorry, but officially I’m your insurance cover liaison for the case. Hope you don’t mind. I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as I can be.”
Sid gave him a neutral gaze, quite proud he could maintain such perfect composure. Chloe must know. She’s O’Rouke’s creature, there’s no way she can’t. “That’s fine, sir. I’m just sorry this had to happen at all.”
“Thank you. And this is Dr. Fransun, our company’s senior medical officer.”
“Doctor.” Sid shook hands, noticing how nervous the man was. But then as it was his boss’s brother-son who’d been murdered last night, it was understandable enough.
“Do we know who it is yet?” Aldred asked.
From the corner of his eye, Sid caught Chloe’s wince. “Not yet, no, which in itself is interesting.”
“How so?” Aldred asked.
“Whoever committed the
Sid scanned through the midday-Sunday visual image as if he were gliding along the street, looking out across the river, establishing the baseline resolution quality. “Aye, crap on it.” He stopped the replay when he was just east of the venerable swing bridge, leaving him looking out at a nightclub boat moored to the refurbished wooden pier that extended out from the bridge’s southern support. “Anyone know how many party boats are moored along the river these days?”
Ian looked up from his zone console, where he’d been reviewing mesh memories around the King Edward railway bridge. “Five or six, I think,” he said.
“We’re going to need all their surveillance.”
“Dobson already got them,” Eva said.
“Hell, she’s good.”
By ten o’clock Abner and Ari still hadn’t gotten a positive identification on the body. That was starting to bug Sid.
“We’ve got most 2Norths confirmed as alive,” Abner said by way of compensation.
Sid told them to stick with it. He was frontloading a lot of reliance on the autopsy now. Once they found method and estimated immersion time they’d have something to go on. Even so, a name would be a lot better.
Jenson San reappeared just before eleven. “The North family have arranged for an observing coroner at the autopsy,” he told Sid. “And we have the chief coroner himself performing the examination.”
“Thanks.”
“Do we have the victim’s identity yet?”
Sid shook his head, irritated by the one crucial missing item. For a victim of this high profile it really didn’t reflect well on himself and the team. And damnit, they were a good team.
“We need it,” Jenson muttered in a low voice.
“Yeah, I worked that one out for myself. Thanks, man.”
A quarter hour later Sid left for the city morgue, which was housed in a modern annex to the glass-and-steel towers of Arevalo Medical’s Royal Victoria Infirmary.
As he drew into the car park next to the city morgue block Sid saw notices proclaiming that parking would be suspended in two months so footings could be sunk for the new oncology clinic. “So where do we park?” he muttered to himself as he crunched his way over the snow and into the warm lobby.
For all its clean modern lines and well-maintained interior, the morgue always depressed him. He’d lost track years ago of just how many grieving parents, partners, and family members he’d escorted in to identify a body. Thankfully there was no one in the lobby waiting for that grim task, though the little group standing beside the reception counter was almost as off-putting.
Chloe Healy turned from the two men she was talking to. “Detective Hurst, this is Aldred North,” she said.
Aldred shook Sid’s hand, showing a professional smile. “Northumberland Interstellar security director.” He was in his late forties, wearing a suit and coat that must have been in the eight-thousand-euro range, a simple demonstration of exactly how far up the company hierarchy he was, which told everyone he was a 2North. “Sorry, but officially I’m your insurance cover liaison for the case. Hope you don’t mind. I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as I can be.”
Sid gave him a neutral gaze, quite proud he could maintain such perfect composure. Chloe must know. She’s O’Rouke’s creature, there’s no way she can’t. “That’s fine, sir. I’m just sorry this had to happen at all.”
“Thank you. And this is Dr. Fransun, our company’s senior medical officer.”
“Doctor.” Sid shook hands, noticing how nervous the man was. But then as it was his boss’s brother-son who’d been murdered last night, it was understandable enough.
“Do we know who it is yet?” Aldred asked.
From the corner of his eye, Sid caught Chloe’s wince. “Not yet, no, which in itself is interesting.”
“How so?” Aldred asked.
“Whoever committed the
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