Stefan Petrucha - Dead Mann Walking

Even so, take any two chakz and the odds aren’t crazy that they were both exonerated for some kind of murder, since murder is usually what gets you executed in the first place. Figuring that eighty percent of victims know their killer, pick any two murder convictions at random, and how hard would it be to draw two who’d offed their significant others?

It’s not fifty-fifty, more like getting a full house—unlikely, but not impossible.

I typed in a search string for “murder AND beating AND spouse AND executed” and got 4.8 million hits. Figured.

But that’s convictions . I had a combo here—two people exonerated for killing their spouses. Adding “exonerated” brought it down to under a million. I tried adding “brought back from dead” and “ripped” and “RAR” but got zilch. Again, for that kind of info, I’d need a police database.

Still, it had to be rare. Hiring an attorney, getting a retrial, finding someone to pay for additional DNA testing cost time and money. If the person closest to you in the world is dead, and everyone else is convinced you did it, who exactly is going to spend that time and money?

Oh, it happens. I don’t know how it worked for Wilson, but Boyle said his father paid for retesting the DNA. For me it was dumb luck, some police brutality, and a DA just starting out. I hear he was fired right after they brought me back.

Wait a minute. There weren’t two; there were three, and only one of us still had his head bone connected to his neck bone: me. What were the odds of that? Could it mean I was next on the hit parade?

Son of a bitch.

I sat there cursing like a bagman until the clock wound down and the computer disconnected. Just as well—people were starting to stare. I shoved my hat on and made for the door, rubbing my neck and wincing the whole way.

13

Iwas still rubbing my neck when I got back to the office, trying my damnedest to think things through without dwelling on the obvious.

“Cathy, Kendrick, Lenore. Why spouse killers? Why the head?”

Ashby kept quiet the whole time I was giving Misty the short version, but the second I mentioned Kendrick, he started in with that laugh and wouldn’t stop.

“Heh-heh-heh.”

I glared at him a second, then went back to pacing. “What do they do with them? Do they need them for something?”

“Heh-heh-heh.”

Great. I was making him nervous; he was making me nervous. What a wacky pair.

“Quiet, Ashby! Are they making fucking lamps out of them?”

Misty stood between us. Apparently I looked pretty angry. “Hess, maybe you shouldn’t talk about this in front of . . .”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh.”

I was in no shape to listen to reason. I wasn’t even interested in trying. “I know, I know! But I have to. I’ve got to figure this out. Do they collect them? Is it a cult?”

“Heh-heh-heh.”

“Kid, could you keep it down? Please? It’s my neck we’re talking about.”

“Can’t help it, can’t help it. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.”

“Could you please just shut the fuck . . .”

Before I realized it, I’d raised my fist, ready to punch the wall. Misty grabbed my hand and repeated, “He can’t help it.”

I shrugged off her hand. “Shut up,” I said. But I said it slowly, deliberately. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Calm down!”

“I am calm!” I shouted. I shivered and gave her a smile. “Sorry, Mist. I’m not talking to you or the kid. I’m talking shut up in general. As in, what if they’re taking the heads as a way to shut them up?”

“Heads can’t talk by themselves, Hess. They . . . die.”

“We don’t know that. ChemBet and the government have too many reasons to lie about it. D-capping sounds quick and humane. What if it just makes the ferals less dangerous for shipping? The masses wouldn’t want to hear that crushing or roasting was the only way to really end it.”

Misty gave me a look, walked Ashby into the other room, and shut the door, muffling his voice. Now it almost sounded like a dance beat from a distant party. She came back in and shook her head. “Even if the . . . heads . . . could somehow talk, what would the killers be shutting them up about?”

“You got me there. It’s got to be simple, whatever it is. I know it. Why can’t I get my stupid fucking head to work?” I stormed around, probably looking like I was going to punch something again.

“Hess, Ashby’s gone. You want me to go in the other room, too? Please take a breath.”

I stopped in my tracks and practically smiled. “You want to rephrase that?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Calm down.”

I sat down. “I’ll do what I can. The only obvious thing would be so they couldn’t identify the killers. But so what if they did? No one listens to chakz. Their last words would be to some cop on trash duty before they were carted off to be burned or crushed.”

“Even some garbagemen believe in chak rights.”

“One or two at last count. Anyone who doesn’t live in a shantytown or the Bones thinks the laws on the books are enough to protect us. Maybe they suspect the laws aren’t upheld, but no one’s really asking. If you were the killer, it wouldn’t matter, unless you were . . .” I let the sentence trail off and left my mouth half-open. Maybe if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true.

“What? Unless you were what?”

“Unless you were someone paid to uphold those laws. If word got out, you wouldn’t do time, but you might lose your job.”

“You mean a cop?”

“I’m thinking worse than that. What if it’s Tom Booth?”

“No. Hess, you always said he was a good guy.”

“When it comes to the living. I’ve never seen anyone hate chakz as much as he does. Never met anyone who took an overturned conviction more personally. What if he decided to correct what he thought of as injustices? He started with Colin Wilson; then the hakker attack pretty much handed him Boyle.” I grabbed my neck again. “Funny, you’d think he’d start with me. Maybe he’s saving me for last. What if there are more out there and he’s planning on going after them, too?”

Misty rushed up and buried her head in my shoulder. “Hess, if it is him, what are we going to do?”

I shrugged, absently patting her back. “Move out of the state.”

14

Misty was already packing, but I couldn’t let go just yet. I was too involved. See, if Booth really loved Lenore, this could be his way of working things out. Wish he’d tried talk therapy or medication. But that made the loose ends my responsibility in more ways than one. Not only was I the one who figured it out; I was his motive.

I couldn’t see getting any justice for Boyle and Wilson. As for Turgeon, my best guess was that he was alive, but the hired goons had put the fear of Booth into him. Sure, a fancy lawyer could tackle a chief detective in the courts, but not without the leads I’d gathered. Unless I somehow stumbled on my client as he was walking down the street, trying to find Turgeon was a dead end. Mostly I was thinking that if there were others on the hit list, I had to find and warn them. And since the only way to figure out who else was at risk meant using a police database, that meant one more trip into the lion’s den.

I thought it best not to mention that to Misty, so while she and Ashby were busy sorting what to bring and what to leave behind, I stepped into the hall and made a call to my old partner, Jimmy Hazen. He was with Booth when they followed me back home that day. Last time I saw him, I was covered in my wife’s blood. He didn’t appear in court, but he signed a deposition describing in detail what an asshole I was.