Alex and I left Terra Road and went in search of the nearest tram stop. The city was beginning to get brighter, but rain was falling again from the concrete sky. I would never understand why we bothered with the seasons, or why we had a weather simulator. The government insisted that it was important to remember what life had been like above ground, but at school I'd learned about thunder and lightning, ice and snow, hail and hurricanes... Our simulator only did rain or no rain.
Alex snapped his fingers, and the hood on his trench coat drew itself up. I raised my eyebrows.
He smiled. "What? Not a fan of tech-coats?"
"Having your hood up is a bit casual, don't you think? For a sergeant on duty."
"Going by your example, I assumed casual was okay on Socrico's police force."
"This is smart."
"If you say so."
We turned the corner. I stuck to the edge of the road again, and Alex stuck with me.
I cleared my throat. "So, I have to confess, I don't know anything about you. Dixon sent me a file before Christmas, but I couldn't make it open on my tabphone."
Alex's smile grew. "Ah, he warned me about your relationship with electronics. He said I might have to work everything for you."
"I'm not that bad!" I chewed my lip. "But can you work things?"
My old sergeant, Nina Howell, had been able to work my electronics for me when I'd struggled -- although she hadn't managed to solve the recent problem regarding my earpiece's refusal to communicate with the PRBs.
"Yes," Alex said. "I can probably make that file open for you."
"I won't have time to read it now that we're leading a high-profile murder inquiry. Give me the basics while we walk."
"I spent ten years working on Rosek's force before I came here."
"Why did you move?"
He took his time choosing his words. "I wanted to try working in a different city."
Obviously not the full answer, but never mind. He didn't know me from Adam yet.
"How old are you?" I asked instead.
"Twenty-nine. And you?"
"Thirty."
His gaze fastened on my face, taking in the details again. I wasn't very interesting. My eyes were a muddy blue, my hair thick and dark, my face pale and plain. I wondered what age he'd initially pegged me for, then decided I didn't want to know.
Around us, dark buildings spiked into the sky. We joined a road carved with tramlines, dodging around a handful of pedestrians. Their chatter was muted, but the smells of the city assaulted us: pastry, soldering smoke, and beer.
And coffee, I thought bitterly as we paused beside a tram stop.
***
"It's a strange coincidence that Zoe Ackerman was murdered right outside her ex-fiancé's shop," Alex said on the tram.
I curled my lip. "I don't like coincidences."
"And a strange coincidence -- or not-coincidence -- that Ryker James was the first one on the scene."
"I wonder what Zoe was even doing down there," I mused. "That isn't the kind of neighbourhood you wander around in just to clear your head. Especially not with a husband and five-week-old baby waiting at home."
The tram stopped on Maxx Ackerman's street, and we emerged in another world. Cylindrical skyscrapers glistened in the artificial dawn. They were made of glass and marble, the white stone curving in elegant twists around clear walls and windows. The glass stayed blank, hiding its occupants from us with ultra-technology while offering them any view they could imagine. No matter how rich you were, the underground housing problem would not change -- but the privileged would always be privileged, because the artificial reality within their walls would give them anything they desired.
Businessmen and women were already leaving for work, the kind who wore tailored suits and six hundred-quid shoes. I assumed they were off to run their billion-pound empires...or whatever they did.
Maxx lived in the building at the end of the road, and I led the way in a little self-consciously. The lobby was white, white, white; irregular curved walls guiding people around the perimeter like a circular tunnel, with strip lights glowing down the pillars. An enormous desk stood in the centre, manned by five quirky one-eyed robots. I ignored them resolutely and found the nearest lift.
On the highest floor, we rang Maxx's doorbell. A circular screen emerged from the glass panel and displayed us.
"May we come in?" I asked.
The camera scanned us to check that we weren't blocked from requesting access.
"Let me ask Maxx," the doorbell said eventually.
There was no hiding from visitors with these systems. They knew when you were in and when you were out, and they wouldn't lie for you.
The next voice that spoke was like rich velvet. "Who is it?"
"Inspector Rames," I said, "and Sergeant Sullivan. Socrico Police."
We held our warrant cards up to the camera, and a long silence followed. Everyone knew something bad had happened when the police came for a visit at dawn.
"Come in."
The door opened. We crossed the threshold into a minimalist hallway of cutting edge design. Glass walls gave the illusion of it being open-plan, exposing a living room being cleaned by a white-shelled robot, a kitchen of chrome counters, and a dining room with a hover-table that I knew would be capable of laying itself. Further down the hallway, the glass changed to opaque walls that concealed private rooms. The wail of a baby drifted from the back of the flat.
Maxx Ackerman emerged from a nearer doorway. He looked more like a model than a businessman, with black hair that curled over his forehead, blue eyes, and bronzed skin. His cheekbones were high and his jawline chiselled, and his dark suit clung to him in a way that suggested the rest of his body had been sculptured with equal finesse. But dark circles ringed his eyes, and when he saw us, the colour washed out of his face.
"Is it Zoe?" he asked. "She hasn't come home."
That morning, I'd looked at a young mother with a slit throat. I'd stared at violent death more times than I could count, risked my life to confront criminals or act as bait, and even risked -- and broken -- relationships in my line of duty.
But this was the worst part of my job by miles.
"I'm sorry, sir," I said. "Zoe died last night."
***
Maxx refused to call anyone to stay with him. He reasoned that his family were all at work, and anyway, the babysitter was elsewhere in the house with his daughter. And he had the robot.
The robot was bringing a tray of coffee into the living room, unasked. It set the mugs down on the glass table before us, and my mouth watered. I tried not to reach for one with too much enthusiasm, but I still managed to clash hands with Alex, who was obviously just as desperate. I snatched mine back.
He picked up a mug and handed it to me, one corner of his mouth curving up in a glimmer of a smile. It fell again as he took his own mug and turned towards Maxx Ackerman, who was sitting on the sofa opposite us.
I asked my first question before I allowed myself the luxury of caffeine. "You said Zoe hadn't come home. When did you last see her?"
"Last night." Maxx's voice was dull, but he met my eyes. "We were having Boxing Day dinner at the family flat. Zoe left before me, perhaps at eight."
"You and your wife were intending to travel home separately?"
His gaze slid away. "We'd had an argument. She stormed out. I came home afterwards with Harley, our daughter."
"And Zoe wasn't here?"
"That's correct."
"She didn't come home all night."
His jaw clenched. "I went to bed early, thinking that she would come in while I was asleep. I only realised something was wrong when I woke up half an hour ago and she wasn't here." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I shouldn't have let her leave alone."
"What time did you come home last night?"
"I left straight after Zoe -- we'd had an audience, so the atmosphere was uncomfortable. I got in, settled Harley, and went to bed myself."
"Can anyone testify to that?" I glanced at the one-eyed servant that was now standing at the back of the room. "Your robot?"
"It was being serviced at Ackerman Electronics, and it didn't come back until this morning."
"So you were alone?"
"Yes." His gaze sharpened as he understood what I was getting at. "I was."
"Zoe was murdered in an alleyway on Terra Road," Alex said. "Have you ever been there?"
"No."
"Do you know why she would have been there?"
Maxx frowned. "Her ex-fiancé owns a gadget repair workshop on that road. Although I can't imagine he would have been in at that time."
I polished off my coffee. "She jilted Ryker James just months before she married you. Surely they weren't friends?"
"No. As far as I was aware, she'd never been back to that shop after our marriage." Maxx glowered at the untouched mug in front of him. "And you should know that she never loved him during the short course of their relationship. She was just trying to convince herself that she didn't love me."
"I assume she was attracted to him, though. Did she ever cheat on you during your marriage?"
Maxx turned puce. "No! We've loved each other for as long as I can remember."
"But you argued. It was a serious argument -- one that you couldn't save for later when you were in private. She was upset enough to leave her baby daughter with you and venture out alone to find Ryker." I leaned forward. "What did you argue about?"
He jumped up as if he'd been electrocuted. "That's a private matter which bears no relevance. I want to deal with my loss alone. You can find the door yourselves."
***
Practically propelled outside by Maxx's anger, we left the flat and journeyed to our home base. Socrico Police Station was located near the high street, where neon shop lights flashed and people wearing electrode earphones wandered. Body-hackers -- known colloquially as grinders -- compared their cybernetic implants. Students clutched paper coffee cups with animated designs, most of them branded by Coffee Glitch.
Coffee Glitch was based on the ground floor of a skyscraper next to the police station's turn-off. It was furnished in a retro style, with booths by the windows, and manned by human baristas. The line was spilling out the door. I wished I could join it, but we had work to do.
The police station stood at the end of the next turning: a squat, black box sheltered by the skyscrapers. PRBs guarded the entrance with rifles, and more were perched on the roof like sci-fi gargoyles. We stopped in front of the steel door, where we were observed by two full facial-recognition scanners.
The screens flashed green, and the door rose upwards. I didn't wait for it to stop, just for it to be high enough to duck under. Alex had to stay still until it finished moving.
We entered a long, wide hall filled with bullet-proof glass cubes that served as offices, separated from us by a touchglass floor-to-ceiling divider. Members of the public could use the touchglass to raise a concern, lodge a complaint, or make a request to speak with a police officer. A few people were standing before it now, having been assessed and allowed inside by the PRBs on guard. A push-pull door and another scanner stood in the middle of the partition.
Detective Chief Superintendent Ky Dixon would be itching for an update on the investigation, so we scanned ourselves into the main section of the building and found his office. Through the glass walls, I could see him sitting at a curved desk near the back of his cube, typing on a tablet. Two others hovered in the air beside it.
I reached the door and knocked. Dixon looked up and glanced between us. He was Black, harsh-faced but intelligent-eyed, big and burly but not out of place behind a desk. He commanded it, holding himself in such a way that told you he was in control and you could trust him. Everyone did trust him, me especially. No one else had been my governor since I'd become a detective inspector.
He beckoned. We strode inside and stopped before him. I tucked my hands into the pockets of my jacket. "Morning, sir."
"Morning," he said gruffly. "The PRBs have been keeping me in the loop -- the victim was Zoe Ackerman of the Castle-Ackerman billionaires?"
"Yes, sir. Her throat was slit between about eight and ten last night, right next to her ex-fiancé's repairs shop."
"Who's the ex-fiancé?"
"Ryker James. We've spoken to him and Maxx Ackerman."
"Do you have alibis?"
"Nothing solid, sir," Alex said. "We're still waiting for Ryker's robot to testify what time he left the shop, but if it was before ten then it means nothing."
Dixon frowned. "Do we know what Zoe was doing by his shop?"
"Not yet, sir," I said. "We're working on it. But Maxx told us that he didn't think Ryker and Zoe had interacted since she'd jilted him."
Dixon read my face. "You don't believe him?"
"I don't know, sir. Something doesn't smell right. Maxx was more angry than upset."
Dixon watched me a moment longer, then nodded. "All right. Keep digging."
"Yes, sir." I turned to go.
"One more thing. I thought you agreed to dress smarter for your sergeant's first day? You're supposed to be setting an example."
Alex grinned at me.
I scowled, tugging the collar of my light-up blouse. "This is new. I thought tech-clothes were very smart these days?"
Dixon shook his head. "That's not quite what I meant. But I'll let Alex go now. I have something else to discuss with you."
Alex glanced at me curiously as he left the office. I hoped he could find where our cube was.
Dixon sat back in his chair. "What do you think of him?"
"He's not Nina, but he seems to know what he's doing." I shrugged. "I don't think I'll find him wanting as a sergeant."
"Good. As soon as I met him, I thought you'd work well together."
"Are you trying to employ friends for me, sir?"
Dixon smiled. "Possibly."
"Why?"
"Nina was the only person you ever opened up to." His smile vanished. "After what happened before Christmas, I'm worried about you."
My mouth dried. "I have other friends. I go out for drinks with Sebastian and Otto."
"You don't see them enough. And this thing with Clyde Edwards -- "
"It's all under control, sir." I backed away. "And the longer I spend standing around here, the colder my case is getting."
With that point made, I turned and fled to my office.