eighteen separate equality enforcement acts in the last hundred years. Very worthwhile acts, too, I might add.”
And what the fuck do you know about our duty rotas, let alone attracting anyone at all—least of all women—to do this job on the piss-poor pay and shit-mountain grief that the government— you —gives us. “If you’re dissatisfied with my team—” Sid started hotly.
“No. I did not express dissatisfaction, Detective, I simply made an observation.”
“I can talk with HR in the morning.”
“HR?”
“Human Resources.”
“In Brussels that kind of department is referred to as the Office for Personkind Enablement. Resources sounds like something you dig out of the ground. It’s offensive to so many people given the historical rare earth mineral conflicts.”
“Right.” Away man, you are a complete bollock-brain .
“But I thank you for the courtesy of accommodating my concerns.”
“Okay, this is what’s happening,” O’Rouke said. “As of now the case is under HDA jurisdiction.”
“The Human Defense Alliance?” Sid asked in astonishment. He’d assumed some kind of Brussels-backed Interpol takeover.
“Yes, Detective,” Elston said. “An agent called Ralph Stevens will be here tomorrow to act as our liaison to your team. As when the Norths were funding you, you will have unlimited budget and resources at your disposal, but we will be the paymasters now. We very much want you to find out exactly where this North was murdered.”
Sid stared back at him in bewilderment. “You want me to carry on? Me?”
For the first time, Elston showed a small smile. “Yes, Sid: you. We’ve all reviewed your file. You’re highly competent; your actual detection rate is impressively high, especially in serious crime cases. Me, I don’t have the first clue how to go about directing a major criminal investigation. Don’t get me wrong, Ralph and I will be breathing fire down your neck the whole time. But we trust you to take point on this.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t dare risk glancing at O’Rouke or Aldred. “So what is really going on here? What’s the HDA’s interest?”
“The HDA is taking over for one simple reason,” Elston said. “The murder method, or to be precise the instrument used to shred the victim’s heart.”
“But … we don’t even know what the hell it is yet,” Sid protested.
“That’s exactly what makes this so special. You see, the murder method has actually been employed once before.”
*
Town Moor was a huge area of parkland to the northeast of Newcastle’s city center, with a single road, the A189, running across the middle. To the western side of the intrusive tarmac strip was the golf course, where membership now cost nineteen thousand eurofrancs a year, and the waiting list was a mere eight years providing you had the right social contacts. To the east, the park was untended, a lush green wilderness amid the harsh urban bustle that surrounded it. In summer it was well used, providing people a pleasant refuge from their hectic lives: families had daylong picnics, runners chased over its rolling grass, lads played football, and kids flew their remote mini bugs and planes and copters, buzzing innocent bystanders and dodging the wardens. In winter visitors fell off dramatically. Now, after weeks of snow and constant subzero temperatures, even the most ardent dog walkers and fell runners were snubbing it until better weather returned.
The lightwave ship came down in the middle of Town Moor, barely a hundred meters from the A189. Anywhere else, at any other time, it would have been a complete impossibility to land an actual real live interplanetary spaceship smack in the center of a human city without anyone noticing. But here it was, a featureless, thirty-meter-high stealth-black bubble cone, with five broad circular rings around its midsection—like curled-up wings—containing sections of the lightwave drive thrusters that lowered it down
And what the fuck do you know about our duty rotas, let alone attracting anyone at all—least of all women—to do this job on the piss-poor pay and shit-mountain grief that the government— you —gives us. “If you’re dissatisfied with my team—” Sid started hotly.
“No. I did not express dissatisfaction, Detective, I simply made an observation.”
“I can talk with HR in the morning.”
“HR?”
“Human Resources.”
“In Brussels that kind of department is referred to as the Office for Personkind Enablement. Resources sounds like something you dig out of the ground. It’s offensive to so many people given the historical rare earth mineral conflicts.”
“Right.” Away man, you are a complete bollock-brain .
“But I thank you for the courtesy of accommodating my concerns.”
“Okay, this is what’s happening,” O’Rouke said. “As of now the case is under HDA jurisdiction.”
“The Human Defense Alliance?” Sid asked in astonishment. He’d assumed some kind of Brussels-backed Interpol takeover.
“Yes, Detective,” Elston said. “An agent called Ralph Stevens will be here tomorrow to act as our liaison to your team. As when the Norths were funding you, you will have unlimited budget and resources at your disposal, but we will be the paymasters now. We very much want you to find out exactly where this North was murdered.”
Sid stared back at him in bewilderment. “You want me to carry on? Me?”
For the first time, Elston showed a small smile. “Yes, Sid: you. We’ve all reviewed your file. You’re highly competent; your actual detection rate is impressively high, especially in serious crime cases. Me, I don’t have the first clue how to go about directing a major criminal investigation. Don’t get me wrong, Ralph and I will be breathing fire down your neck the whole time. But we trust you to take point on this.”
“Thank you.” He didn’t dare risk glancing at O’Rouke or Aldred. “So what is really going on here? What’s the HDA’s interest?”
“The HDA is taking over for one simple reason,” Elston said. “The murder method, or to be precise the instrument used to shred the victim’s heart.”
“But … we don’t even know what the hell it is yet,” Sid protested.
“That’s exactly what makes this so special. You see, the murder method has actually been employed once before.”
*
Town Moor was a huge area of parkland to the northeast of Newcastle’s city center, with a single road, the A189, running across the middle. To the western side of the intrusive tarmac strip was the golf course, where membership now cost nineteen thousand eurofrancs a year, and the waiting list was a mere eight years providing you had the right social contacts. To the east, the park was untended, a lush green wilderness amid the harsh urban bustle that surrounded it. In summer it was well used, providing people a pleasant refuge from their hectic lives: families had daylong picnics, runners chased over its rolling grass, lads played football, and kids flew their remote mini bugs and planes and copters, buzzing innocent bystanders and dodging the wardens. In winter visitors fell off dramatically. Now, after weeks of snow and constant subzero temperatures, even the most ardent dog walkers and fell runners were snubbing it until better weather returned.
The lightwave ship came down in the middle of Town Moor, barely a hundred meters from the A189. Anywhere else, at any other time, it would have been a complete impossibility to land an actual real live interplanetary spaceship smack in the center of a human city without anyone noticing. But here it was, a featureless, thirty-meter-high stealth-black bubble cone, with five broad circular rings around its midsection—like curled-up wings—containing sections of the lightwave drive thrusters that lowered it down
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