Alex Archer - The Mortality Principle

“A little before three.”

“And where were you when you heard this altercation?”

She pointed in the direction of her hotel room, and her window, which didn’t really overlook the street by more than a few degrees, the laws of physics explaining why she hadn’t been able to see anything. The expression on his face changed. She couldn’t read him. He looked tired, and the stubble on his chin suggested a long night on duty was about to turn into an even longer day on duty. He made a note of her name and the room number, and offered cursory thanks as he moved on to the next face in the crowd, repeating his questions.

A man tried to enter the alleyway, but the policeman stopped him. The newcomer wouldn’t be deterred. He was determined to cut through the narrow passageway, and no dead body was going to stop him. The officer prodded him in the chest with a stubby finger. He might as well have hit the man with a Taser gun; the effect was just about the same. Annja turned toward the hotel and walked away as the disgruntled man started threatening to have the policeman’s badge. At least, that was what she chose to imagine his rant entailed. He could have been asking for alternative directions or if the good officer fancied a nice game of global thermonuclear war, for all she knew.

Annja still had no appetite.

She made her way into the dining room for breakfast, though she wasn’t sure she could face much more than a cup of strong black coffee. The stronger, the better, given it was going to have to mask the taste of death that had been cloying at the back of her throat since she stood in the alleyway.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked as she topped up her cup with a third refill in half an hour.

“I’m good, thanks,” Annja replied, picking up the cup without even thinking about it. She was no stranger to death, which wasn’t something she would have ever thought she’d find herself thinking a few years ago, but things had changed since Roux and Garin had walked into her life. What should have been the most horrific thing imaginable had almost become a fact of life, and of course there were those harrowing times when it had been her doing, a matter of kill or be killed.

But this was different.

She couldn’t shift the guilt. She could have done something. She’d heard it happening, had known instinctively something was wrong, but hadn’t gone down to check it out. She’d simply lain there telling herself there was nothing she could do. And even now, knowing that she was right—at least academically—emotionally she couldn’t banish the self-loathing that came with not even trying.

Someone had torn that vagrant open.

“Is something wrong?” the waitress whispered, her voice so quiet that none of the other diners would be able to hear what she said.

“Nothing that another cup of coffee won’t put right if I know you,” a familiar voice said, the man joining her at the table.

Annja didn’t need to look up to know who her visitor was.

“Garin,” she said. “I’m not even going to ask how you found me.”

“Shall I get another cup?” the waitress asked, smiling at Garin.

“That would be great.” Garin Braden tilted his head and offered a killer smile. “And I think maybe eggs Benedict.”

“Of course.”

At times it almost felt like he was stalking her. Wherever she was, he had the unnerving ability to find her without calling first.

“I really need to change my cell phone number,” she said.

“Wouldn’t help, I’ve had you tagged.” Garin grinned, and she wasn’t entirely sure he was joking.

“What do you want?”

“Why so hostile?”

“I’m not, I’m just exhausted,” Annja said, which was partially true.

Garin nodded. “To be honest, I was just bored, and I hate being bored. I thought about taking a trip, but you know how it is. The thrill of white-water rafting and wing suits and bungee jumping and all that just pales into insignificance against everything else we do, so I thought, ‘I know, I’ll go see Annja. She’s normally up to her neck in something .’ And here I am. I took the liberty of checking into the room next to yours. No adjoining door, alas.”

“I don’t have time to amuse you, Garin. I’m working.”

“Actually, you’re having a cup of coffee.”

It had been a long time since Annja had worried about hurting his feelings; as far as she could tell he had no feelings to hurt. It didn’t stop him pulling a face as if she had mortally wounded him.

“I’d hate to have come all this way and not be able to at least share breakfast with my favorite television star.”

“Stop it, Garin. I’m not in the mood.”

“In the mood for what?”

“You.”

“Harsh, woman. Harsh.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you. Hard to believe, I know, but someone’s got to tell you the truth.”

“And that, my dear, is why I love you most.”

“Shut up.”

Garin grinned.

“Anyway, I’m not sure I can sit around wasting more time today. I’ve already lost an hour this morning thanks to the police.”

“Oh, see, now I knew you’d be up to your neck in something interesting. The police? Do tell.” Garin leaned forward, elbows on the tabletop, all smiles and full of interest.

She knew that he was only sucking her in, a spider smiling at a vain fly, but she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t that she was fooled by his easy charm; that only worked for so long. She needed to talk. If she didn’t, the guilt would only fester. She knew that. She knew herself. The sooner she gave voice to her thoughts, the sooner she would be able to leave it behind. It wouldn’t be the first time Garin had played Father Confessor to her. “There was a murder,” she said.

“Next time we sit down for breakfast I suggest you starting with that. ‘Hello, Garin, there was a murder.’ That’s so much more interesting than ‘What do you want?’ Did you see it?”

“No, but I am ninety-nine percent sure I heard it. I just didn’t realize that’s what it was at the time. I went out for a run this morning, and found people gathered around the body. I gave a statement to a policeman, but I’m pretty sure he was just humoring me by then. After all, it was just some homeless guy,” she said bitterly. “It’s not like the cops will lose sleep over it.”

“Oh, so cynical for one so young,” Garin said, with no hint of laughter even though his smile was still firmly in place, predatory now. “Sadly I think you’re right. The system doesn’t care about the poor bastards who slip between the cracks.”

“I care,” Annja said.

“I’m sure you do. So, what have you got?”

“Nothing, really. Time of death. That’s it. At 3:00 a.m.”

“I once heard that more people die at three in the morning than at any other time of day.”

“Not really very helpful.”

“No, but interesting. So, an argument over shelter? Or a bottle?”

She didn’t have time to answer him. The waitress returned and placed a cup in front of Garin, filling it with rich black coffee. Annja pushed the cream in his direction, but he waved it away. “Watching my figure,” he said.

The waitress laughed, no doubt another willing victim of Garin’s charms should he decide to stick around. And judging by his appreciative expression as he watched her retreat toward the kitchen, he’d decided to do just that.

“You know what else is interesting? I read about a dead vagrant in this morning’s newspaper.”

“Not a chance. There’s no way it was in the morning paper. They only found the body an hour ago.”

“I didn’t say your dead vagrant.”