The Reporter (The Galactic Football League Novellas) Page 5

  Not that much intimidated her, but if she were the easily intimidated sort, the uniformed and armed Warrior would have done the trick.

  “Thank you for your time, Chief. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  They couldn’t even do that, as both Warrior cops walked them out of the office, to the elevator, down to the ground floor and out the building’s front doors. Yolanda stared after them as they walked back inside.

  “Well, that didn’t work,” she said.

  “It was less than efficient,” Whykor said. “If I may, Miss Davenport, I have not exhausted my options for obtaining that report. I have contacts in the morgue.”

  “You have contacts in the Madderch morgue?”

  “I do,” he said. “In fact, I have contacts at many morgues throughout the galaxy.”

  She caught the hint. “Ah, the end result of dealing with players who have illegal mods?”

  “No comment,” Whykor said.

  She let out a cheek-puffing breath. “Well, you’re not the only one with contacts. It’s time we had a talk with the two detectives who were on the scene at McDermot’s murder.”

  “Joey Clark and Regat the Smooth,” Whykor said. “Shall I make an appointment with them?”

  She shook her head. “No. If I know cops, Gilliland is already sending instructions that no one involved with the case is allowed to talk to me. I think it’s better if this is unannounced. Be a dear and fetch us a cab, Whykor — we’re going to pop by the precinct and get some answers.”

  • • •

  The smooth, gleaming red tower of police headquarters stayed smooth and gleaming due to constant maintenance. The funds for such dedicated care apparently didn’t trickle down to the actual precincts where cops did the real work of law enforcement.

  Madderch Seventeenth Precinct was made of the same blue crystal composition as most of the city’s other buildings. The walls weren’t groomed very often, to say the least — they looked more like frozen water than actual walls, all wavy and warped and dotted with lumps and bumps. A few spots showed blurry cracks, the result of bullet holes since filled in by the natural expanding crystal.

  “This appears to be a dangerous part of the city,” Whykor said.

  Yolanda nodded. “That’s what I hear. It straddles the line between the high-rent downtown area and one of the slums, so cops here can handle cases for the rich and famous and the dirt poor in the same day.”

  They sat in a cab across the street from the Seventeenth. Seven lanes and two layers of traffic whizzed by on their left, the grav-cabs, hovercars, wheel-trucks and one-sentient vehicles that flowed through the flat, blue streets at all hours of the day and night. One lane was reserved for the six-legged yellow crawlers that had to flow everywhere traffic flowed in order to do their constant maintenance work. Some of the machines were antigrav-enabled, but most got by on legs alone.

  There was an accepted way to deal with cop sources — you were supposed to call to set up a meeting, but that just gave them a chance to duck you. Shift change had already passed; any moment now her guys would come out for an end to their workday.

  Minutes later, the well dressed HeavyG Joey Clark walked out the door with an equally well-dressed blue-furred Quyth Leader by his side.

  “That’s not Regat,” Yolanda said. “I wonder who it is. Pay the cabby, and let’s go.”

  She stepped out as Whykor tapped the holoicons floating behind the driver’s seat.

  Joey wore a tweed jacket that fit his long arms. His hands hung well past the knees of his short legs, fingertips almost brushing against the ground. The Leader wore clothes that would be considered professional for a Leader — not fancy or fine, but neat and clean, the Leader equivalent of a Human’s sport coat.

  Yolanda waited for a lull in traffic, then jogged through the seven lanes, Whykor right behind her. Hovercars hummed above them as they crossed and reached the far sidewalk. She kept jogging, quietly coming up behind Clark and his friend.

  “Evening, Joey,” she said. “Difficult day protecting the city from ne’er-do-wells?”

  The big cop turned and smiled. “Miss Davenport,” he said, grinning broadly. “Always a pleasure.”

  The Leader turned as well. His softball-sized eye swirled with the dark orange of betrayal. Unlike Workers and Warriors, Leaders could hide their emotions almost at will — the orange was on his cornea because he wanted Yolanda to know he was angry.

  “Talking to a reporter is a pleasure?” he asked. “It’s a pleasure to speak to the press and have our careers on the line as she prints whatever she likes? It’s a pleasure to be misquoted and lied to?”

  Yolanda smiled. “Wow, Joey, who is Mister Fun Bags here? He must be a ball at parties.”

  Joey winced and looked away. “Yolanda, this is my new partner, Parmot the Insane.”

  Ouch, girl, you walked into that one.

  Parmot’s right pedipalp pulled his coat a bit to the side so Yolanda could see the badge gleaming from the holster of the pistol strapped in the middle of his narrow chest. At least it seemed he was showing the badge — she had a hunch he really wanted her to see the gun.

  “That’s Detective Parmot,” he said.

  The Leader did not look amused. Yolanda sensed Whykor shifting nervously beside her. Parmot glanced at Joey and then back at Yolanda.

  “Clark, are you going to talk to her?”

  Joey shrugged. “Probably. Yolanda and I go way back.”

  “Oh, I understand. You Humans make extra time to accommodate each other, is that it?”

  Joey’s big jaw twitched. “I’m not Human, Parmot. I’m HeavyG.”

  Parmot’s eye swirled with dark green — the color of embarrassment. And this time, it was a natural reaction, not a calculated showing of emotion.

  “Yes, Joey, you have told me this before,” Parmot said. “I apologize.”

  Joey shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Come on, Yolanda, let’s go.”

  He walked down the sidewalk. Yolanda and Whykor followed.

  “Clark!” Parmot called. “It is a simple mistake! You should not speak to the media without your partner present.”

  Joey raised a hand and waved without turning around. “See you tomorrow, partner.”

  Yolanda fell in on Joey’s left. “You know how it is, Joey. We all look alike.”

  He rolled his eyes. “There is no we, Yolanda — don’t let your efforts at humor make you just as racist as he is.”

  She nodded. HeavyG could see racism anywhere. “Yeah, Joey, you’re right. I’ll put my stand-up on hold while we get some coffee, okay?”

  “Coffee? Lady, I’m off duty. I need a beer.”

  “Sure,” she said. “What’s close?”

  “A new place I like,” he said. “It was just opened up by the Death’s leading receiver, Brazilia. It’s kind of low key, just what we need.”

  “Sounds good to me, big guy.”

  Joey nodded, then looked down at Whykor, who scurried along on Joey’s right. “Wow, Yolanda, you merit a private Worker now? Moving up in the world, I see.”

  “He’s not mine,” Yolanda said. “Whykor the Aware here is my assistant for the piece I’m working on, but he’s his own sentient.”

  Joey laughed dismissively. “His own sentient? Yeah, like that’s possible.”

  Yolanda glanced at Whykor in time to see a touch of black swirl across his cornea. Too much irony to deal with in one moment — Joey being racist while still smarting from a racist comment and Whykor being indignant about being owned when he slavishly followed the commands of Rob Froese.

  Joey moved to the left, to the edge of the sidewalk. The traffic of Madderch whizzed by on their left, the blue skyscrapers passed by on their right. Joey walking nearest the road was a kind of polite respect — if any of the crazy drivers careened off the street and onto the sidewalk, they’d hit him before they hit her. That meant Yolanda had to step over the bums and mesh addicts sitting against the building walls, but she didn’t m
ind.

  Joey rubbed the back of his head and grimaced. “Working with Parmot is a pain, lemme tell you. No sense of humor. I swear, he nearly went for his gun earlier today when I made a joke that he had a crush on that To Pirate Ciudad Juarez.”

  Yolanda winced. The kid should know that Leaders didn’t respond well to teasing. Accusing a Quyth of wanting to be with another species was highly offensive.

  Joey walked into a bar, aptly named Brazilia’s. It wasn’t surprising that she had enough money to open a business. Since Ju Tweedy had left and Condor Adrienne had taken over as quarterback, the Death had changed from a running team to a passing one. Brazilia had gone from a decent, underutilized Tier Two receiver to one of the leading receivers in Tier One. She had yardage incentives in her contract, so she was cleaning up in the credit department.

  Yolanda looked around. Yeah, it was decent, but she’d wished Joey had told her the staff was male Sklornos. The little puffballs scurried around the floor and back and forth across the bar top, full drinks and empty glasses in their strong little tentacles. Male Sklorno gave her the creeps, but Joey had picked the place, and she wasn’t about to offend him in any way, not when she needed more info.

  They sat at a table. Yolanda waved at the bed bug waiter and ordered a round of beer.

  “And a sandwich,” Joey called out. “Anything with protein. And two orders of fries. And a banana cream pie.” He looked at Yolanda. “You don’t mind if I have a pre-dinner snack, do you?”

  She laughed. “Good to see you, Joey,” she said.

  “You, too.”

  “So, new partner, huh? Where’s Regat these days?”

  “Dead,” Joey said.

  Yolanda leaned back. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear about that in the news.”

  He shrugged. “That’s because it wasn’t in the line of duty. He wanted to retire. He said he’d done all he could and wanted to have kids, so he took that gibbel juice crap to turn female.”

  Whykor suddenly slapped the table. “It is gibbeljuwance, and it is not crap. It is a key hormone in my species’ reproductive cycle.”

  Joey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  Whykor’s eye swirled with black. He leaned away from the table and crossed his pedipalp arms under his chin, a very Human gesture of annoyance.

  “Anyway,” Joey said, “he took that stuff to try and turn female. He got a bad batch or whatever, and he died. No one cares about a cop’s death unless he goes out in a blaze of bullets.”

  Yolanda nodded. “I’m still sorry to hear it. He was a good cop.”

  Joey sighed and nodded. He was clearly still taking it rough. Yolanda could imagine why — to go from a seasoned, level-headed partner like Regat to what seemed to be a hot-headed, racially insensitive sentient like Parmot had to be a challenge.

  The bed bug waiter crawled onto the table with the food and drinks. Yolanda stopped herself from making a disgusted face when he placed the mag cans and Joey’s dishes, then slithered his furry little body back to the floor.

  She popped hers and felt the can immediately frost up. Joey did the same, but Whykor left his on the table.

  “Whykor,” she said, “you don’t drink?”

  “Not while I am performing a task of employment,” he said.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure Joey’s got your back.”

  The young detective grinned. He drained his beer in one chug and popped open Whykor’s. “So, Yolanda,” he said, “what’s this piece you’re working on?”

  He started eating.

  “Here’s the deal, Joey,” Yolanda said, dropping the polite manner and leaning in. “I am not going to quote you. I am not going to tell anyone we talked. But I need to know some things about the Grace McDermot murder.”

  Joey looked nervous. “Ah, so you’re why we at the department got a message from the chief not to discuss the case.” He looked around the bar, probably checking to see if anyone was watching them.

  “Things were left off of Regat’s report.”

  He shrugged. “He told you what he could, Yolanda. I gave my input, but he ran the show. If he kept info off the official report, there was a reason for it.”

  “McDermot’s body,” she said. “What condition was it in?”

  “The dead condition,” Joey said. “She was a real mess. It was only my second homicide, but I’m not going to forget it, not ever.”

  “I’d love to see the autopsy report.”

  Joey smiled and waggled a finger. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’d only say that if you couldn’t get your hands on it. That means if I get it for you, my job is at risk. Sorry, but no.”

  She fought down a wave of frustration. Oh-for-two in the autopsy department. Time to try a different angle.

  “Did Anna have any trouble identifying the body? I mean as bad as it was and all.”

  Joey shook his head. “No, she identified McDermot right away.”

  Yolanda’s stomach churned with the excitement of that little victory — she’d just confirmed Villani had been at the crime scene, consistent with Miriam’s story.

  “Did it strike you odd that Villani was there?”

  Joey shrugged. “She lives in the building. She owns the building, so it’s not surprising or suspicious she was there. Not to mention the fact that she was romantically involved with the deceased.”

  “Who discovered the body, Joey?”

  He looked at her, looked hard. “Why do I get the impression you already know the answer to that question?”

  Yolanda looked away. Had she just put Miriam in danger? No, not unless Joey dug into the case himself and wanted to interview Miriam again. “It’s a basic question,” she said. “I know the neighbors saw Ju fleeing the scene, so which one of them discovered the body?”

  Joey drained his beer and signaled for a third. “Look, I don’t know what angle you’re pursuing, but it’s an open and shut case. Ju Tweedy had motive, he was dating her and she was still seeing Villani, so motive is a crime of passion. He had opportunity because he was basically living there when the murder occurred — he had the door codes and came and went as he pleased. He had means, as she was beat to death.”

  “But beaten how badly?” Yolanda said. “Ju’s strong, but was he strong enough for that?”

  Joey stared at her again. “I saw the body, you didn’t. Sure, he was strong enough. Have you ever seen Ju Tweedy in person? He’s huge. He’s a Human, sure, but he’s almost as big as I am. If he got mad at you, Yolanda, you couldn’t outrun him and you couldn’t outfight him — you’d just be dead.”

  Yolanda felt that excitement in her belly growing because someone was lying — either Miriam or Joey Clark. That put Miriam firmly back on the list of those who could have killed Grace McDermot, along with Ju Tweedy or some thug hired by Anna. Or, Joey was lying about the condition of the body … to obey his chief and quietly throw Yolanda off the trail.

  Whykor touched Yolanda’s knee under the table, and she nearly jumped. She looked in the direction his eye was pointing and saw Parmot entering the bar, scanning for them. The blue-furred Leader saw them and started over.

  “Great,” Joey said quietly. “My partner the psychopath is back.”

  Parmot reached the table.

  Yolanda reached over and pushed out a chair for him. “Detective, you decided to join us after all?”

  Parmot sat. Whykor seemed to shrink into himself. Joey just looked annoyed and maybe a little bit … afraid?

  The Leader tapped his pedipalps on the table. “I have been a detective much longer than Detective Clark here. I know how to deal with reporters. I have dealt with many.”

  Was dealt with a threat?

  “Okay, I can take a hint,” Yolanda said. She had to grab at whatever she could, and right now, because the dynamic between Parmot and Joey told her that Parmot would do whatever he could to keep Joey from any further meetings.

  “I just had one more question, Joey,” Yolanda said. “Did the coroner say death
came from the crushed skull or from the twisted spine?”

  Joey opened his mouth, but Parmot rapped smartly on the table. “This is over. We have nothing more for you, Miss Davenport. If you missed details in your first article about Ju Tweedy and Grace McDermot, that is not the department’s concern. What do you hope to gain by asking the same questions a second time?”

  Yolanda couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “A detective is asking me why I would repeat a question? You cops invented the technique. What are you afraid of, Parmot?”

  His cornea instantly swirled with a wash of colors, the black of rage combined with the dark red of surprise.

  “Miss Davenport, do not contact my partner again. Clark, let’s go.”

  Joey got off his chair. Without another word, the two cops left. What an odd sight: the 6-foot-5, wide-shouldered, long-armed Clark walking next to a 3-foot-6, blue-furred Quyth Leader, yet it was clear which of them was in charge.

  Yolanda drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “Dammit, Whykor. I think we were close until Fun Bag the Hilarious showed up. I wonder why they call him Insane, though.”

  Whykor lifted a pedipalp, activating his palm-up display. “I can look up his service record, if you like, Miss Davenport.”

  “You can access restricted police files?”

  “Bob has given me limited access,” he said. “When police are assigned to protect specific players or league personnel, we prefer to do our own background checks.”

  “So can you access the autopsy report?”

  Whykor paused. He looked from the palm-up display to stare at her. “Miss Davenport, I do not mean to sound offensive, but if I could call up the autopsy report, is it not common sense that I would have done so?”

  “Ah,” she said. “Sorry I asked.”

  His sparse fur ruffled once, then again fell flat against his carapace. He turned his attention back to the icons.

  “Ah, here we are. Parmot the Insane. Oh … perhaps, Miss Davenport, you should have been nicer to him.”

  “Nicer? To that little dictator? Why would I be nice to him?”

  Whykor held his palm farther out and turned the floating display so she could read it. “Check the bottom section,” he said.