Warren Hammond - Kop

“He rigged the guns?” I was dumbfounded.

“He sure as shit did. Now I can understand him doin’ somethin’ like that to Kapasi for takin’ the POWs and makin’ him look bad. But sendin’ all ten of us in to die? That shit ain’t right.”

We had our killer’s motive. I asked, “When did this happen?”

“Couple weeks ago. We was left out in the middle of the fucking jungle. We marched south for half a day and got lucky meeting up with the Two-Six. We hitched a ride back to the base. The day after we got there, in came Lieutenant Vlotsky ridin’ that truck. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he saw us standin’ there. He was shocked; there was no doubt about that. Then he acted all happy to see us. He made up some story about bein’ attacked by the enemy, and he had to run for it. He even showed us the scorch marks on the truck. You believe that shit? He left us for dead and shot up the truck hisself. He told us how he came back for us when it was safe, but we was already gone. He thought we was dead.

“We was due to go back out to the jungle a week later, but Lieutenant Vlotsky got us this leave time instead. He knew he couldn’t go back out to the jungle without payin’ for what he did to us. He told Central Command how we was involved in all this heavy combat, and we needed some time off. I heard he even asked for a transfer. Central Command came through with the time off, and here I am.”

“Do you think Kapasi killed Vlotsky?”

“Kapasi might have killed him. Shit, we all wanted to kill him after what he did to us.”

“You say you were here last night. Can anybody back that up?”

“Yeah. Do you want to talk to them now?”

We headed back to the party. The music pulsed. Mudspattered dancers glistened with sweat. I lost a shoe suctioned into the mud. Maggie and I proceeded barefoot.

Jimmy took his cup and refilled, scooping up a cupful of white mash from a bucket. “You want some?”

We declined.

He took careful sips, letting only the alcohol through by using his upper lip to filter out the mash. We asked around to make sure Jimmy was telling us the truth about being here last night. Everybody we talked to backed him up-another all-nighter party last night. We cleared Jimmy Bushong off the suspect list.

I spotted two Army uniforms looking lost on the far side. They stopped to ask for directions. I pulled Jimmy aside. “You want that filing job with KOP?”

Jimmy’s metal eyes reflected the lamplight. “Shit yeah! I’m gonna need a job.”

I pointed to the two mils coming this way. “You don’t tell them anything.”

“You got it, Juno.”

We walked down to the canal’s edge, startling a pair of monitors into a scramble for the water. We rinsed our feet in canal water that was slick with algae. We slipped our shoes on and found another skiff.

There was no point in trying to get to the other members of Vlotsky’s unit. The mils would have them all under wraps by now. They could be efficient when they wanted to be.

The skiff took us out of Tenttown and we grabbed a cab to Vlotsky’s neighborhood-one of the nicer parts of town. No drug dealing or prostitution permitted here; this was one of the city’s safe zones-people around here voted. We rode with the windows down. The night air ran through my hair, drying the sweat on the back of my neck as well-to-do houses with manicured gardens ticked by.

The driver pulled into a driveway. I told him to wait for us. We ambled up the stone path, which had been freshly torched and was still dusty with blackened moss. Vlotsky’s house had carved wood columns on either side of the door and a glassed-in porch with a rooftop cooling unit to the left. A plaque by the door read “Neimenans.” I remembered how Rose had told us he’d just bought a new house. He must not have gotten around to changing out the plaque.

The door was opened by a heavy man in a freshly starched suit with bulk-minimizing vertical stripes. His face was a blank mask.

Maggie held up her badge. “Hello, I’m Detective Maggie Orzo, and this is Detective Juno Mozambe.”

“Yes, we’ve been expecting you. Please come this way.”

We trailed sooty footprints into the sitting room. Offworld artwork hung on the walls-pasty-skinned nude women lying on settees and prim horsemen surrounded by hunting dogs. One of the paintings shifted from a group of Victorian women on a garden stroll to a foo-foo picnic scene with dainty ladies and jaunty chaps. The Vlotskys had expensive tastes-digital art wasn’t cheap. It worked off the same premise as Maggie’s digital paper, but added color and texture. Very expensive indeed.

Peter Vlotsky dropped his mass into an armchair and took up a sweaty drink in his meaty hand. Jelka Vlotsky sat with her legs crossed and didn’t get up to greet us. Her hair was pulled back, so taut that when you looked at her dead on, you couldn’t see her hair at all.

“We are so sorry for your loss,” I opened.

Mrs. Vlotsky met my eyes with an icy glare. “Where have you been? Our son was murdered this morning, and you waited until now to come?”

“Didn’t you get a call from the chief of detectives, Diego Banks?”

“Yes. He called to tell us our son was dead.”

“I know it’s hard to hear that kind of news over the phone. We’re sorry we couldn’t be here earlier, but we needed to wrap up the crime scene first. We have to gather the physical evidence while we can.”

“Are you telling me that the two of you are the only police officers in the entire Office of Police? Surely that must be the case, or you would have assigned other officers to that task while you came to tell me my son was dead.”

“I understand how you must feel at a time like this, but I want you to know that the Office of Police is giving your son’s case the highest priority. Chief Chang has taken a personal interest in this case, and he won’t rest until it’s solved.”

Mrs. Vlotsky turned away from me; she made no attempt to hide her contempt.

Mr. Vlotsky spun the ice around the inside of his glass and took a quick sip. “Please, Jelka. I’m sure they are doing the best they can.” Focusing his attention on us, he said, “What can we do for you?”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“Ask us anything if it will help you catch this savage.”

“When was the last time you saw your son?”

Mrs. Vlotsky answered with a tone clipped as tightly as her hair. “Yesterday afternoon.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No.”

“Does your son have a girlfriend?”

“No, not currently.”

“Has he received any threats?”

“No.”

“Can you think of anybody who might want to hurt your son?”

“No, of course not.”

“Did he tell you about the other members of his unit?”

“No.”

“Did he tell you about the operations he’s been involved in?”

“No, that’s classified. He couldn’t talk about it.”

“Did he seem nervous or agitated yesterday?”

“No.”

“How about you, Mr. Vlotsky? Do you have anything to add?”

Peter Vlotsky looked lost in thought until my question brought him back to the conversation. “No, I’m afraid not. I wish I could be of more help.”

“I understand you work for the city?”

“Yes, I do.”

“What do you do?”

“I chair the board that issues business licenses.”

“And you, Mrs. Vlotsky?”

“I don’t work.”

“Does your son have a room here?”

“Yes. It’s upstairs.”

“Can we take a look around?”

“Yes, but I don’t think you’ll find anything.”

“Why’s that?”