Necropolis by Michael Dempsey Page A

am,” I said, without letting too much heat into my voice.
    “I thought you were a detective,” she said, giving me another once-over. “You’re certainly dressed like one.” I was wearing the suit from the processing center. A double-breasted pinstriped affair with lapels a mile wide. Topped off with a suede fedora, wing-tipped shoes. I hadn’t had a chance yet to find something more to my own tastes.
    “Don’t you like my clothes?” I said.
    “ Au contraire . You look yummy.” She shifted gears smoothly from amused to worried. Her lips trembled just the perfect amount. “Since another member of my genetics team has been murdered,” she said, “you can see—”
    “Wait a minute. Who was murdered?”
    “I thought Detective Hennessy briefed you about all this.”
    “Apparently there’s a lot he skipped.”
    “Dr. Smythe. He was also on the Reborn DNA Project with Morris. He was found dead two days before Morris disappeared.”
    “They work in the same lab? How do you know your husband didn’t kill this Doctor Smythe and then flee?”
    A laugh. “Morris, violent? Please. He’s a ninety-pound weakling.”
    “What were they working on?”
    “As I said, reborn DNA. Beyond that, I don’t really know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “Surazal is a multi- trillion dollar operation with fifteen major divisions, Mr. Donner, including research, security, drug manufacturing, Blister construction, and civil administration. My R&D department alone has over fifty-seven active projects. Forgive me if I don’t know the details of every one of them.”
    “No,” I replied. “But certainly the project your very own husband was working on.”
    She just looked at me.
    “What’d you give him for his last birthday?”
    She hesitated. Then a slow smile broke over her face. “Fine,” she said. “He’s not my husband.”
    “Thanks for coming by,” I said.
    She didn’t move. “I’m sorry I lied,” she said, without a flicker of remorse. “But I had to test you.”
    “Thanks for coming by,” I said.
    “You don’t want to pass up this opportunity.”
    “I have to trust my clients.”
    “If you couldn’t sleuth out my true relationship with Morris, you wouldn’t be the man for the job, now would you? But you passed with flying colors.” She gave me a look that made me glad my clothes were fire resistant. “Everything else I told you is true. Oh, please. Can’t we start over? Dr. Crandall’s work is vital to my company.”
    “Why?”
    “Because it’s possible we could cure the Shift!”
    “That would cost you, though, wouldn’t it? All those juicy contracts for magnetic domes and security?”
    “That’s an incredibly cynical statement.”
    I rubbed my face. “Who can give me the details about this DNA project?”
    “Dr. Maurice Gavin oversees the project directly. I can arrange an appointment.”
    “Good.”
    “Then you’ll take the case?”
    I had no patience for liars and game-players. But I needed a stake. And if said no, it might hurt Bart. She had the juice and black widow malice to make things tough for him. So I nodded, already feeling trapped.
    “Do you think he’s still alive?” she said.
    “Might be as simple as he ran off with a woman.”
    Her laughter was musical. “Oh, you can rule out anything as tawdry as that. Morris’s work was his life. Utterly.”
    “Drugs? The ponies?”
    “No, as I said, he was a real straight shooter.”
    I unplastered myself from the wall. “Okay, Ms. Struldbrug. That’ll get me started.”
    I escorted her to the door. She turned and moved in, abruptly too close. Apprehension filled her face. I could feel her heat, smell her cinnamon breath.
    “Two of my people, missing or murdered, Mr. Donner. What if I’m next?”
    “You have security,” I said.
    “The best in the world and worthless. You know that.” She was right. A fanatic could always beat protection, no matter how good. All it cost was his own life.
    She radiated anxiety like a