reputation for being arrogant. Can you believe it?”
“We should do something about that,” Andre agreed. I will scatter your cremated remains to the four winds.
Sofia looked between them with a small twitch of the lips. “Thank you for the escort, Lieutenant. Your homicide department is bigger than I thought it would be.”
Andre rolled his eyes. Just what an outburb cop would think. Detroit either had the lowest murder rate in the country or one of the highest, depending on how you ran the numbers—with or without the zone.
“I appreciate it,” Sofia told Danny.
“No mention. If you need help finding your way out again—”
“I’ll find my way,” Sofia said.
Danny finally levered himself off the wall. “Then it’s back to work.”
Andre waited until Danny left, then waved a hand to show off his miniscule cubicle. “I’d offer you a chair, but this one is mine.”
“No problem. Since I’m taking everything else from you, the least I can do is let you keep your chair.”
Again? What was wrong with this woman? He admired her tenacity, but enough was enough. “You can’t take anything I don’t give.”
Sofia consulted her datapad. “I sent you a file. My dead guys? Homer Carcassi and Douglas Ming? Both newly arrived from Chicago. Both here for just a few weeks before they were killed.”
Andre deliberately kept his pad shut. “Half the fourths I know are from Chicago. The other half are from Toledo. So unless you’ve got something better—”
“They knew each other.”
Andre’s eyebrows shot up. “Here, or in Chicago?”
“Both.”
“Do you have anything to connect them with my two guys?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Andre was beginning to regret not giving Sofia the chair. Standing, he’d have a height advantage. Now, she loomed over him, making her arguments seem better, even when they weren’t. “You mean I will,” he said. “These are still my cases.”
Sofia pointed at his datapad. “Are you going to read that or not?”
“Not.”
“I found another one.”
“What?”
“I ran the recent homicides again, revising my search with your parameters. Russell van Slater turned up floating in a Sycamore Hills pond six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?” Andre flipped open his pad and stabbed at it until he found her file. “Don’t tell me. The VanGlitch.”
“We always call it the McError.”
“Doesn’t matter. They should have caught it.” I should have caught it. It had happened to him more than once, in reverse, as people insisted on adding a space between the two syllables of his surname. With Russell van Slater, the cops on the case had mashed the prefix and the surname together, and it had taken the AI this long to figure out van Slater was a fourth.
He paged through the details. The body had been floating less than a hundred meters from a country club bar wearing only garish boxers. Tagged a John Doe, van Slater was thought to have drowned, with alcohol a contributing factor. But the coroner’s report said that Mr. Doe hadn’t gone swimming voluntarily and he sure as hell hadn’t forgotten to come up for air on his own. Finger and retinal prints had given van Slater back his identity, however misspelled, but the investigators had pretty much dismissed it as an off-kilter mugging.
“Lazy,” Andre muttered.
“Tell me about it,” Sofia answered. “The detective who caught the case is ten years past caring and ten years early for retirement. When I told him I wanted this, he offered to kiss me.”
“Declined?”
“Declined with ewww. Once I sorted out that van Slater was a fourth, I realized he was probably the first of the set.”
“Highly collectible,” Andre agreed. He rubbed a hand across his chin. “For once, I wish conspiracy theories weren’t total bullshit.”
“Come again?”
“You know the stories; that cops are spying on fourths by tracking our badges.”
Sofia scoffed. “Wouldn’t that be nice. All of my cases—”
“All of
“We should do something about that,” Andre agreed. I will scatter your cremated remains to the four winds.
Sofia looked between them with a small twitch of the lips. “Thank you for the escort, Lieutenant. Your homicide department is bigger than I thought it would be.”
Andre rolled his eyes. Just what an outburb cop would think. Detroit either had the lowest murder rate in the country or one of the highest, depending on how you ran the numbers—with or without the zone.
“I appreciate it,” Sofia told Danny.
“No mention. If you need help finding your way out again—”
“I’ll find my way,” Sofia said.
Danny finally levered himself off the wall. “Then it’s back to work.”
Andre waited until Danny left, then waved a hand to show off his miniscule cubicle. “I’d offer you a chair, but this one is mine.”
“No problem. Since I’m taking everything else from you, the least I can do is let you keep your chair.”
Again? What was wrong with this woman? He admired her tenacity, but enough was enough. “You can’t take anything I don’t give.”
Sofia consulted her datapad. “I sent you a file. My dead guys? Homer Carcassi and Douglas Ming? Both newly arrived from Chicago. Both here for just a few weeks before they were killed.”
Andre deliberately kept his pad shut. “Half the fourths I know are from Chicago. The other half are from Toledo. So unless you’ve got something better—”
“They knew each other.”
Andre’s eyebrows shot up. “Here, or in Chicago?”
“Both.”
“Do you have anything to connect them with my two guys?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
Andre was beginning to regret not giving Sofia the chair. Standing, he’d have a height advantage. Now, she loomed over him, making her arguments seem better, even when they weren’t. “You mean I will,” he said. “These are still my cases.”
Sofia pointed at his datapad. “Are you going to read that or not?”
“Not.”
“I found another one.”
“What?”
“I ran the recent homicides again, revising my search with your parameters. Russell van Slater turned up floating in a Sycamore Hills pond six weeks ago.”
“Six weeks?” Andre flipped open his pad and stabbed at it until he found her file. “Don’t tell me. The VanGlitch.”
“We always call it the McError.”
“Doesn’t matter. They should have caught it.” I should have caught it. It had happened to him more than once, in reverse, as people insisted on adding a space between the two syllables of his surname. With Russell van Slater, the cops on the case had mashed the prefix and the surname together, and it had taken the AI this long to figure out van Slater was a fourth.
He paged through the details. The body had been floating less than a hundred meters from a country club bar wearing only garish boxers. Tagged a John Doe, van Slater was thought to have drowned, with alcohol a contributing factor. But the coroner’s report said that Mr. Doe hadn’t gone swimming voluntarily and he sure as hell hadn’t forgotten to come up for air on his own. Finger and retinal prints had given van Slater back his identity, however misspelled, but the investigators had pretty much dismissed it as an off-kilter mugging.
“Lazy,” Andre muttered.
“Tell me about it,” Sofia answered. “The detective who caught the case is ten years past caring and ten years early for retirement. When I told him I wanted this, he offered to kiss me.”
“Declined?”
“Declined with ewww. Once I sorted out that van Slater was a fourth, I realized he was probably the first of the set.”
“Highly collectible,” Andre agreed. He rubbed a hand across his chin. “For once, I wish conspiracy theories weren’t total bullshit.”
“Come again?”
“You know the stories; that cops are spying on fourths by tracking our badges.”
Sofia scoffed. “Wouldn’t that be nice. All of my cases—”
“All of
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