Alex managed to beat me to the station the next morning, even though I didn't have a cat to feed and I didn't stop at Coffee Glitch. He was sitting behind his desk, frowning at his tabphone. A tall flask and two mugs stood beside him.
He looked up when I pushed the door open, but he waited until I'd shut it behind me before he spoke. "Happy Valentine's Day."
"Happy Valentine's Day." I smiled. "I never thought I'd hear myself say that."
He raised a dark eyebrow. "Have you never said it to anyone else?"
"No. It's kind of soppy, isn't it? But I'm looking forward to our celebrations."
"So am I."
Something sparked in the air between us. Because a glass-walled office was not the best place to be indulging in anything intimate, I moved my gaze to the flask. "Is some of that for me?"
"Yes, I didn't think you'd go to Coffee Glitch. Help yourself."
I crossed the room and poured coffee into the mug that was empty.
"By the way," he added, "what were you doing last night?"
I shrugged. "Relaxing."
"Pull the other one."
"Okay, I thought about work a bit. But we weren't at it for any longer than an hour. Then we gave up and watched a film."
"We? Cassia and Gem were supposed to be keeping you out of trouble."
"They did. Largely. We just had a small brainstorming session first. I'll show you."
I'd taken a picture of the work we'd done on my wall, and now I loaded it on my tabphone. Alex leaned over my shoulder. "Yes, that looks like a very small brainstorming session. You've got more notes there than we've made here together."
"Only because I turned all our evidence into paper so that I could stick up. Did you think of anywhere else we could look?"
"No." His gaze drifted across the office, and he frowned into space.
"Then why the face?"
"What face?"
"Your deep-thinking face."
A rueful smile tugged his lips. "It's Ripley. Do you still have her tablet?"
"In my bag." I backed away to retrieve it. Then I changed my mind and stopped. "Alex, what are you not telling me?"
His smile fell. "What do you mean?"
"You're like a dog with a bone over Ripley, convinced there's a mystery to solve. Why?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and turned away. "Lola. I didn't think her murderer would ever be caught. It was as cold a case as you can get them."
"But it was closed eventually?"
"After ten years."
I did the maths, and the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "By you. That was one of the last investigations you worked before you came here. That's why you came."
He leaned against his desk and met my eyes. "Yes. The killer surfaced again out of the blue, strangling teenage girls like her. I knew it had to be the same person. I was the detective sergeant to the senior investigating officer on the case, and I became so obsessed with it that it nearly drove me mad. When we finally caught him, I thought that it would close the door on that part of my life forever. But it all went the other way -- meeting Lola's killer sent me spiralling into an even darker place. I couldn't stay on Rosek's force after that. I couldn't stay in Rosek after that. I needed a fresh start."
"So once it had been through court and you'd testified, you transferred here," I said. Finally, I understood. But now that I knew the full story, I was concerned, too. "And this time, you want justice for Ripley."
"I just have to be sure it was suicide. If Kristina did kill her, there's no justice to be had. We can't lock her away. But at least her family would get the truth. I know how hard it is when the truth's missing."
The sad look in his eyes was too much to hold out against. "Fine, I'll fetch that tablet. But don't pull yourself apart over this, okay? The truth could just be what everyone already believes."
"I know."
"Good." I went back to my desk.
There was a knock on the door, and Dixon pushed it open. "Morning, you two. Are you planning on interviewing Ronan again today?"
I straightened up. "Yes, sir. We were just going over our notes."
"I have a feeling you'll be postponing that when I tell you the news I've just received." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But before I give it to you, I want to make this clear: our murderer is in the custody suite."
Now he'd piqued my curiosity. "Have you received evidence against someone else?"
"It's hardly evidence. Early this morning, a man was cautioned for running towards an oncoming tram near Bright Light University. He's a member of staff there, and you might have even spoken with him: Professor Lars Stephenson."
That was Ripley's old music teacher. I exchanged a confused look with Alex. "Yes, sir. But what has that got to do with -- "
Dixon held up his hand. "Let me finish. While he was explaining himself to the officers -- and missing his tram -- he said that he was in a rush to get to the hospital because his daughter had been taken in with pneumonia. His daughter is Mary Daniels."
Shocked silence settled over the office.
"But it doesn't say that on her national profile," I said. "Her father is -- well, a Daniels."
"It seems her mother recorded the man she married as Mary's father. Professor Stephenson left her before the birth."
"That's interesting." I pressed my lips together. "Fathers can feel protective over their biological children even if they've previously had little to do with them. He wanted to see her in hospital. What if he wanted to punish Kristina and Zed for what they put her through at university?" I grabbed my jacket. "We need to find him."
Dixon stood aside with a sigh, and we hurried out of the office. When we reached the station doors, Alex stopped. "Pneumonia? That's a bit sudden."
"Yes," I said. "But we haven't seen her since Zed was shot a few days ago." Deciding the door was high enough, I ducked under it. "That's time enough, and her depression has probably weakened her immune system, which makes her more susceptible."
The door slammed to a stop in the air behind me, and Alex's shoes clicked over the concrete as he caught up. "Did you learn that from Cassia?"
"I am capable of acquiring my own knowledge."
"But did you?"
I scowled. "Fine, yes. I did."
We reached the top of the road and turned onto the high street, towards the nearest tram stop. The flower boys were out in force again, trying to sell bouquets of roses. Some were even giving free blooms to passing women. One appeared in my hands.
Alex shot it an offended look. "I've got you flowers. They're waiting for you in my flat."
I had to jog to keep up with him. "You've -- got me flowers?"
We reached the tram stop just as the last person was getting on board, so Alex spent his breath leaping after them. I scrambled on, and the doors slammed behind me. The tram moved off.
It was commuter o'clock and standing room only. A girl in primary school uniform sitting in front of us looked at my rose with longing. I put it down on her metal windowsill while I caught my breath. By the time I looked back, it was gone.
"Thank you," I said to Alex. "A bouquet is a lot of money with the permanent plant shortage -- "
He smiled, although his gaze was serious. "You can thank me later."
***
Socrico Hospital was a wide, metal skyscraper, each floor layered like a traditional Japanese building from the surface. It was marked by nothing but a neon red cross, and the barren architecture made it seem as if it had been plucked straight from the nuclear war. Green paramedic vans, one of the few vehicles that were allowed to drive down our streets, were parked haphazardly across the long drive.
The lobby was like the pictures I'd seen in school of old airports, sprawling as far as I could see. A clutter of pipes and wires clung naked to the walls. Medical robots, patients, and visitors clanked across the floor. Someone was coughing nearby.
A desk stood in the centre, manned by more robots. I let Alex do the talking when we reached it.
"Socrico Police." He showed his warrant card to the nearest robot. "We need to speak to a patient. Mary Daniels."
"Just one moment." The robot's eyes rolled to the back of its head, leaving two dark sockets. "Patient two-six-eight-six Mary Daniels is in the seventeenth room on the general ward."
Alex strode off. I followed him down the lobby. "That eye-rolling thing is fucking creepy. Those robots are like Halloween attractions."
He glanced at me. "You've never seen them do that?"
"I've never spoken to one before. I went to the A&E department when I was six because I'd sprained my ankle, but my parents did the talking. I've never been a patient since, and you know how hard I try to avoid all robots as a police officer."
We found a lift at the end of the lobby and rode it up to the second floor. We walked straight past the receptionist and followed a circular corridor until we found Mary's room.
I knocked on the door and pushed it open. "Police."
The patients' rooms were the only places where the raw, industrial look of the building faded. Wires were hidden behind curving walls. A circular bed stood in the centre, with neat tubes leading away from it to bags of fluids. Mary was lying there, wearing a cannula, and Professor Lars Stephenson was sitting beside her. They both looked up as we entered.
"Inspector Rames!" Mary cried, her voice hoarse.
"Good morning, Mary," I said coolly. "Hello, Professor Stephenson. It seems that you forgot to mention your daughter when we spoke to you at Bright Light University."
He rose, his expression darkening. "I don't think it's any of your business."
"It very much is. You know Kristina Nixon and Zed Croft used to bully Mary at Bright Light. You must do. Even if you weren't her father, you are a professor there."
Mary struggled to sit up, her eyes widening. "You can't be saying...?"
"Perhaps we should have this talk in private, Professor," Alex said.
Stephenson clenched his jaw. "No. I have limited visiting time. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here."
"Then I'd like to ask where you were yesterday morning."
"Stop it!" Mary said. "I know what you're doing. He isn't the murderer. But I can tell you why Kristina and Zed were killed."
I exchanged a curious look with Alex. He moved closer to her bedside. "Go on."
She swallowed hard and knitted her fingers together. "It's Ripley Lewis. There's something about her death that only Kristina, Zed, and I knew. Or, at least, something I thought only the three of us knew."
I sat down beside her. "Yes?"
"I was there the night Ripley died. I went up to the roof to think -- the Music Block was right beside my flat. That was where I always went. Maybe I liked heights. Maybe I sometimes, fleetingly, thought about life the same way Ripley did."
Stephenson took her hand and squeezed it. She turned her head away from him. "They were all there. I saw it happen. And they saw me. They said they'd never hurt me again if I kept the secret, if I pretended I'd never even witnessed it. I agreed to keep my lips sealed, and they never spoke to me again.
"But the guilt was worse than anything they'd put me through before. I was diagnosed with depression. I couldn't hold down a job. Zed took me on as his personal assistant when he heard how it was affecting me. Not to help, I don't think, but to make sure I didn't feel the urge to talk."
Alex and I exchanged an uneasy glance. He sat down beside me. "What happened that night, Mary?"
If it was possible, her pale face grew paler still. "The three of them were drunk. That was what made it happen. They were walking around campus, messing about, I think, until they got to the Music Block. Kristina wanted to go up to the top and see the view, but Ripley was afraid of heights. Kristina found that amusing. It wasn't just me she liked to taunt, you know. It was everyone.
"She said she never touched Ripley, she just wanted her to stand on the edge of the roof for a laugh. Ripley did. I know how that feels -- doing anything just to make them stop picking on you. But she was very drunk, and she misjudged her step." Mary closed her eyes. "I saw her fall. She just...overbalanced and...fell."
I sucked in a sharp breath. "So it was an accident."
"And the three of you painted it as suicide," Alex said quietly.
She looked like she was going to object and shift the blame, but at the last moment, she sighed. "Yes. I wanted to protect myself from them."
Professor Stephenson came closer, until he was in danger of stepping on my toes. "I think that's enough, now, Inspector. Mary has told you all she can. My visiting time is almost up, and I think you have more than outstayed your welcome."
We got up. I cast one last glance at Mary. "Thank you for telling us."
But with three bodies on our hands, I felt that it was a little too late.
We left the room. As I shut the door behind us, my earpiece buzzed. I tapped it. "Rames speaking."
"Amber, this is Dixon. You need to get out of the hospital now. Walk while I talk to you."
We walked towards the lift. Alex pulled ahead on his long legs, and I hurried to catch up. "Walking and listening, sir."
"Brady Haywood from The Diamond Hotel just called the station. He wanted to come in and give a statement about Evan Archer's murder."
"And?"
"There was a violent commotion and the call cut off."
My blood ran cold.
"I'm sending PRBs over there now, and I want you to go with them," Dixon said. "I'm not so sure we have the murderer in custody after all. Find Brady...try to find him alive. And get him out of there."
"Yes, sir."
"But be careful, Amber." His voice hardened. "You know someone wants you dead."
***
We left the hospital at a run. A tram came to a stop just ahead of us, and a group of people climbed on.
"Quick!" I gasped. "We need to catch that!"
We sprinted across the driveway and reached the tram just before the doors shut. Seats were available, but we remained standing as it squealed off. It felt to me that there was no time to sit.
When the tram stopped on Diamond Lane, we hit the ground running. The road was deserted, and nothing but the pounding of our shoes and the harsh rasps of our breath breached the silence as we sprinted to the hotel. It was an eerie silence; one that is cold and heavy and always hangs before a horror.
The PRBs were already inside, gathering guests and staff together in front of the desk and giving them a pat-down. "Where is Brady Haywood?" they kept asking.
The civilians stared at the robots' rifles with wide eyes. No one responded.
We ran straight past them to the lifts. I punched all the buttons, looking to see which set of doors would open first. Alex drew his pistol and checked it was loaded.
All the lift doors slid open, and I pulled my sergeant into a car. "Go, go!"
We shot up to the top floor.
The door to the penthouse suite was standing ajar. At the other end of the hallway, the tiny door to Brady's room was closed.
I looked at Alex and pointed down the hall with my pistol, then crept up to the penthouse entrance alone. "Brady? Jasper?"
No reply. The gap between the door was dark.
Nudging it open with my foot, I sighted into the shadows. When nothing moved, I slid one hand along the inside wall, searching for a light switch. The paint remained smooth beneath my fingers.
I swore softly and dug into my pocket for my tabphone. When I'd switched its torch on, I held it close to the barrel of my pistol and slowly swung the beam around the entrance hall. A chandelier hung low from the ceiling, casting patterned shadows. There was no light switch.
"Turn the lights on," I said, but if there was a voice-operated system, it didn't obey me.
I moved slowly down the hallway, swinging the torch and gun from left to right, right to left again. The lights were off in every room, and although I checked them all for bodies, I didn't call Brady or Jasper's names again.
Jasper's office was the last room I looked in. The torch flashed across the leather sofa and under the desk, scouring all the shadows where a man could be lying in wait. I half expected to suddenly illuminate the golden eyes of Brady or find that Jasper was sitting in his chair, watching me, but there was nothing. A chill raced down my spine.
Something banged in the corridor. My heart hit my ribcage, and I scuttled out of the penthouse.
Alex was attempting to kick Brady's door down. I joined in. Our shoes thudded against the wood in synchronisation, rattling the hinges.
"Brady!" I yelled. "Let us in!"
The door suddenly flew back, bouncing off the wall. Alex shouldered his way in, and I followed him with my pistol raised.
There were no shadows in the housekeeper's room. A plain, neatly made bed stood to the side, and clean end tables and a chest of drawers were arranged around it. They were all positioned well away from the gap in the wall that led to the backstairs, like electro-tape framing a crime scene.
In front of the stairs, lying on his back, was Brady Haywood.
"No." My pistol fell to my side, and I pushed past Alex. Brady's golden eyes were wide open, and a bullet hole was burrowed between them.
Anger unfurled with hot claws. I turned and slammed my fist into an end table.
We'd failed.
Alex tensed, pointing his pistol at the stairs. "Amber!"
A hand locked onto my collar from behind, smashing my head into the table. Pain flashed across my skull. The cold muzzle of a gun touched my temple.
"Sergeant Sullivan," Jasper Jaydes said, "I think you'd better stand down."