Soul Food Read online

  'And you happened to see Eden and another unidentified individual enter the premises?'

  Does he really think he'll catch me out with something so basic? 'No. As you'll see if check any of the previous times I've told you what happened, we went from our position to check the local vagrant camp for information.'

  'Why?' asks Wolfe. Her temper seems reined in again. Yet still aimed in my direction.

  'There were none around the hotel. The vacant, and not heavily barred, hotel. It seemed odd, so I wanted to know why. Could have been because someone had seen something.'

  'Was it?'

  'No, they just seem to think it's haunted.'

  Wolfe snorts.

  'Do you believe that?' asks Sinclair.

  'Belief again,' says Portelli. 'Can we please stick to the facts.'

  'Okay,' says Wolfe, sounding a bit too reasonable. 'The facts. After meeting with Stone, you end up killing an underling with whom he was reputedly unhappy.'

  Was he, or is she making that up? Although that wasn't exactly the kind of job you'd give someone who was in your good books. If there is anything there, though, it'd need to be someone you consider reliable.

  'Am I being accused of stupidity?' I ask.

  Wolfe bites back a comment. This is recorded, and she can't show undue animosity.

  'If I was there to execute him, why would I call it in? There was no reason to admit to killing him, when I could easily have gotten hold of a gun that couldn't be traced to me.'

  'You get to have your partner witness a justified shooting.'

  Portelli looks up at that. 'Thank you for officially declaring it justified. Now if we can get past the spurious allegations.'

  'Intended to look justified,' Wolfe says in a clear and forceful tone, glaring at him.

  Portelli returns to his game.

  'How exactly does having Jake there as a witness help?' I ask. 'You seem to imply my meeting with Stone concerned illegalities. Since Jake was with me, you're by extension saying he's also corrupt. Therefore, since I already knew you knew we'd met with him, what value would he have as an impartial witness to the shooting?'

  'Maybe you were meant to kill both of them, but when one got away you had to improvise.'

  I glance at the ceiling, starting to feel tired.

  'Lot of hypotheticals here,' says Portelli. 'If we're playing that game, maybe this is all a ploy cooked up by IA. There does seem to be a vendetta here.'

  Sinclair tries to head off any outburst. 'Maybe we should suspend the interview until tempers...'

  Wolfe doesn't let him finish. 'Maybe Blake should undergo a full psychiatric evaluation. He has a history of indiscriminate shooting.'

  Sinclair sighs, and sits back.

  'I wouldn't call it indiscriminate,' I say. 'I always hit what I'm aiming for. And Detective Wolfe, could you please stop flirting with me during work hours.'

  Wolfe shoots to her feet. 'Listen here, you piece of shit...'

  The door opens before she can tell me what I'm supposed to listen to. Captain Walters doesn't look too happy, with any of us. 'That'll be enough.'

  Wolfe turns her glare on the captain. 'Captain Walters, we're in the middle of...'

  'No, detective,' says the captain, emphasising Wolfe's rank. 'You're in my house. And it's obvious tempers are interfering with proceedings. So, unless you have any actual evidence to present to Detective Blake, or specific questions for him to answer, the interview is suspended until you do.'

  She dislikes them as much as she does me. But unless there's proof that I'm crooked, she can't allow any of her detectives to be pushed around by IA more than is necessary.

  Sinclair speaks before Wolfe can respond. 'Interview suspended at nineteen forty-three.' He stands, collecting his stuff. 'Captain, internal affairs will oversee the investigation of Eden's killing and Stone's involvement in the case, in conjunction with organised crime division.'

  'Understood,' says Walters. 'We'll still want to see what forensics get from the hotel. What exactly Eden was there to clean up.'

  'Of course. We have to ask that your squad makes no contact with Stone without first clearing it with us.'

  Walters nods, giving nothing away with her expression. She steps aside to let the others leave, then shuts the door behind them and flicks the switch to turn off the room's surveillance.

  She gives a deep sigh when we're alone, and sits opposite me. 'You think Stone is involved in Mortimer's murder?'

  'Not directly. I'm sure he was genuine about his surprise. Given this attempted clean up, I'm leaning towards someone wanting attention brought to the hotel.'

  She nods. 'Preliminary from forensics is that they've found blood. So there might be something. And it might detract from IA's case against you. Provided you don't do anything stupid. And you do what they said about Stone. Anything related to him, you bring it to me, and I take it to them. Okay?'

  I nod.

  'Reilly?' she asks.

  'Using the day off to get his head together. He'll be in tomorrow.' I hope.

  'Good. At least one of you is having a reasonable response to having been in a gunfight. Go home. And don't shoot anybody on the way.'

  18

  I make it to the next morning with not a shot fired. I'm even in irritatingly early, to try and get some work done before the inevitable IA flirting.

  Jake's already there, which is enough to make me double check my watch hasn't broken. He's also focussed on the case with a disturbing degree of attention.

  Maybe he should spend more days in bed. Because I'd prefer it was that that's causing this.

  'Morning,' he says with entirely too much enthusiasm.

  'Morning,' I grunt in response. 'You lost the ability to tell time?'

  'Been researching Tempusonics.'

  'Anything interesting?'

  'A couple of things. Their technology appears to mainly sell to the entertainment industries.'

  'Which they told us.'

  'Yes, but they didn't say how much. And how much of those sales are focussed in certain geographical areas, despite the company having sales offices in most major cities. Mostly they sell to movies and music. And they're high end sellers. I'd expect customers to go looking for them.'

  'So why so many offices?'

  'Exactly,' says Jake. He looks more excited than this information would warrant. But at least he's involved. And he can be a decent detective when his head's in the game. He's just been lulled into complacency by too many stupid criminals. 'Can't get hold of any sales figures broken down by region or office, but I'd be willing to bet some don't do well enough to justify the staff. We won't know without subpoenaing their financial records, and getting an army of accountants to look over them. Which we don't have the evidence for.'

  'Or the inclination,' I say. 'So any idea why they want the offices? Prestige?'

  'Possibly. Or it may be linked to the second interesting thing.'

  'Am I going to have to drag this out of you?' I ask. 'Because it's too early for me to care.'

  'Looking into them triggered an FBI alert.'

  Okay, that may constitute interesting. 'The Feds are interested in them?'

  'Tangentially. Their founder and owner, Ian Carlisle, is also the head of what they've vaguely classified as a cult. They're classed as low risk, and there's limited intel on them. They don't even have a formal name. The agent I spoke to said they believe cult members are given jobs with the company. At least on paper. They think the offices may be covers for regional cult recruitment. Though they haven't had the resources to confirm this.'

  'Mortimer?' I ask.

  'Not directly noted in any report, but it's possible. The cult's primarily based in Boston, where the company has its headquarters.'

  'And where Mortimer moved from.'

  Jake nods with enthusiasm.

  'So we don't know how many among the rest of the staff may be cultists.'

  'No, but I tend to doubt it could be all,' says Jake. 'The Feds
assume most staff must be genuine, in order for the company to remain viable and fund the cult.'

  'Was Mortimer here on behalf of the cult then?' I ask. 'And what interest would they have in a fake medium?'

  'If Mortimer was part of a cult, it does make it more likely she's a nutjob. That she did fabricate the husband on her own.'

  'Yet she's still with the company,' I say. 'Which implies she's still with the cult, and would they want someone with mental issues associated with them? No, it's more likely she was reassigned here on cult business.'

  Jake nods. 'So you want to go ask this Carlisle about her?'

  'He's nearby?'

  'He's on an FBI watch list. Not banned from flying, but they like to keep track of him. He's flying here. With a dozen or so of his followers. Presumably he'll visit his office.'

  'Or not and we waste our time.' But if it keeps Jake occupied, his mind off of what we saw, then it might prevent him having a breakdown. Having him focus on the case is good. I'm just not sure how long it'll last. Or what it's masking. But one step at a time. 'Sure, why not.'

  'I can check hotels for bookings in the car.' His level of enthusiasm is actually starting to disturb me.

  But at least this is one area of the case we can investigate. We'd better see what we can find before the feds warn us to back off.

  19

  Daytime surveillance at least offers distractions to keep you awake. Which of course has the danger that you'll be distracted at inopportune moments.

  Tempusonics shares the building with other companies, and it's situated in a relatively busy business district. Not so busy that we can't find a convenient spot from which to watch the front entrance, but not so quiet that there's a danger of being spotted unless someone's really paranoid.

  So there's that going for us. Not that it makes waiting any easier. Their flight time means we should have gotten here before they left the airport.

  Jake gets a picture of Carlisle from the company's website. Prematurely grey at the temples, but that could be dyed for effect. He kind of has that determination in the eyes that you expect from corporate types or religious fanatics. Now I think about it, I'm not sure there's much difference between the two.

  You'd expect a cult leader to be noticeable anyway.

  'Captain's forwarded the forensics report from the hotel,' says Jake, staring at his phone. 'More blood stains. Cleaned up, but not with the industrial stuff they had. It'll be a few days before any blood analysis is back, but they think some samples may be viable. Do we think it was an execution spot for Stone?'

  At least that may ease the IA pressure, but it still leaves questions. 'Why? He's the obvious choice, and they were his guys cleaning it up. But why there? Why not the dump site?'

  'Unless we just haven't found the bodies yet.'

  'I imagine forensics will be sent back in to do a full sweep, so we should know for sure.'

  'Temporary dump site,' says Jake. Putting his phone away, he glances around at random pedestrians. 'Leave them there till they dry out, then chop them up.'

  'The climb would discourage random passers-by, but still be too conspicuous. And they'd have to carry the parts back down again.' I sigh. We're going to have to discuss it. 'They must know about the thing.'

  Jake's gaze fixes on someone, but I'm sure it's mainly to avoid looking at me. 'Makes sense that Stone'd know about it, I suppose. That's why he lets a place like that do nothing.'

  'This'd all be a hell of a coincidence if nobody knows about the thing.'

  Jake finally looks at me, an unreadable concern in his gaze. 'So do they take them up there because the... apparition is limited to that floor. Does that make sense?'

  'Sense left the building a while back. We really need a vocabulary to discuss this stuff. And someone who knows about it. Other than Stone. Even if we were allowed to talk to him, I doubt he'd be helpful.'

  'You did shoot one of his guys. That might make him reticent.'

  'That too,' I say. 'Though probably not much.'

  'Be interesting to know what IA know about him,' says Jake.

  I give him a stare. 'Don't even think of trying to sneak a look at their files.'

  'No danger of that.'

  'Good.' I say. We're silent a while. 'Although I wonder if they or OC knew about the hotel. It's likely someone did. And if that someone left the body there, they wanted to draw attention to what was done. Even if they didn't know Stone was behind it.'

  'That's a lot of ifs.'

  He isn't wrong. So much of this case is conjecture. I want solid facts. Instead, things I thought I knew for definite are crumbling under me. The entire foundation of how I see the world just vanishes, leaving me in freefall.

  For a moment I come close to what may be panic. It passes, but I worry that it'll recur sometime inconvenient.

  A glance shows Jake didn't seem to notice, and there's no reason to share. He needs me to be confident. We can't both lose our minds together. If we do it separately, we can cover for one another.

  My weakness thankfully dissipates as a limo pulls up outside the building. Timing's about right, and it's ostentatious enough for a cult leader.

  Half a dozen suits emerge from the limo and form a kind of protective phalanx. They're a variety of builds, maybe one of whom looks right for a professional bodyguard. More likely they're the amateurish, fanatical kind.

  Carlisle emerges from the car, and they escort him alertly towards the building. Presumably the rest of his entourage is securing his hotel suite, which Jake found on the way here.

  'Are they afraid aliens will try and take him home?' asks Jake.

  'There may be some around who mean him ill,' I say, spotting a familiar scowling face.

  I nod towards the corner of a nearby building, where Marcy Lyons is staring daggers after Carlisle.

  'Madame Anastasia knows our cult leader?' asks Jake.

  'Possible reason for Mortimer spying on her. So either her confusion was faked, or she genuinely didn't know of Mortimer's connection to Carlisle. Which would make sense if Mortimer was a spy.'

  'But it'd also give Lyons a motive if she found out.'

  'If it was worth killing for,' I say. 'Let's see how they know each other before leaping ahead.'

  Jake nods. 'I'll look into their histories, see what I can find.'

  'We'll ask him, as well. But I'd rather have independent confirmation. It could have been our asking about it that brought Lyons here.' Am I being too defensive on her behalf? Why? It's not as though I've discarded her as a suspect. But that explanation doesn't really work.

  She turns away, and is soon lost from sight.

  'She's not going to confront him?' asks Jake.

  'Doesn't look like it.'

  'Are we?'

  'You know many others involved in this case we're allowed to talk to?' I ask.

  'It's a shrinking group. You think he'll agree to see us?'

  'You think I'll take no for an answer?' I ask.

  It's an answer we get a few times. I ignore it. Politely, of course. With the implication of growing impolite should the situation continue. The threat of the bad publicity that swarming the place with uniforms will bring inevitably wears away their defences.

  Our audience is granted in a conference room on the floor above the worker drones. We're escorted up by a glowering acolyte, who looks like he wants to demand our weapons. Even among the zealotry and stupidity in his head, there seems to be some spark of a survival instinct that convinces him not to ask for mine. Unless someone outranks me, I won't give up more than my bullets. He can try catching one of those if he likes.

  Another cultist is on guard outside the doors. She isn't as outwardly hostile, and opens the door to announce us as we approach. Coming back out, she waves us sharply in.

  Ian Carlisle is standing by the window looking out when we enter. Bit of a dramatic pose, to be honest. 'Thank you,' he says without turning. 'Please leave us.'

  There's a moment's cold silence fro
m his flunkies. Then some movement, and the door shuts.

  Carlisle turns, smiling, and crosses the room to offer his hand.

  I take it and shake it. The smile looks a bit forced close up. He has all the sincerity of a used car salesman caressing a trigger.

  Maybe it's just me, but I get the impression of someone who calculates the impact on his agenda of everything he encounters. And wouldn't hesitate to do away with those that could prove problematic.

  'Ian Carlisle,' he introduces himself. 'A pleasure to meet you.'

  'Detectives Blake and Reilly,' I say.

  'Yes. You're investigating the unfortunate fate of poor Ms. Mortimer.' He gestures us towards the table, taking the head seat for himself. 'It was such a shock.'

  'Did you know her personally?'

  'Casually. She used to work at our head office. I didn't have much to do with her day to day, but we'd spoken a few times.'

  'Do you know why she relocated?'

  'I believe she wanted a change. Though I don't know the specifics.' A careful response. He must know the fake husband thing wouldn't stand up to any scrutiny, but can't be sure we know the truth. 'Have you any suspects?' Maybe a bit pushy, but understandably so.

  'A few. Whom we can't discuss.' Especially with you being among them, even if only by proxy.

  'Of course, of course.' He smiles again, in what may be a disarming way to someone of a less suspicious nature. I can't bring myself to trust him.

  He's possessed of a calmness only the truly demented can attain. Most of us have conflicting voices in our heads. I get the feeling he has only the one, which he obeys implicitly.

  Time to go fishing. 'Did you know she was married?'

  'Not to my knowledge.' A carefully meaningless response. The look of concern for a bereaved husband is a nice touch. 'I don't believe there's a next of kin in her file.'

  Now to change course, see how he responds. 'Do you know a Marcy Lyons?'

  A blink is as much of a reaction as I get, his face freezing for a moment. 'I used to. Haven't seen her in years.' Obviously a link he expects us to be able to find, so he doesn't want to be caught in a lie. 'Is she somehow involved?'