“Thought you’d never show up,” Elaine muttered as Brad finally walked into her apartment.
“I had to take a shower and change,” Brad replied in an annoyed tone. “I didn’t want to show up smelling like beer, especially that rancid stuff they sell down at the Steel Ball.”
“You shouldn’t knock it. It grows on you after a while.” Elaine chuckled.
“I hate the taste of beer anyway. Maybe I’ll check out their wine selection next time I’m there for pleasure. Whenever that is.”
“Once a snob, always a snob,” Elaine muttered.
“What? I don’t like beer and I always feel awkward in that place. You know about a third of their customer base has tried to kill me, right?” Brad fired back defensively.
“Oh, come on, they have other stuff to drink, it’s not that bad. I go in there all the time and people don’t hassle me, and I’m pretty sure I’ve arrested all of those same people.”
“Yeah, yeah, the difference being you have an entire squad of police officers who would kindly rearrest every single one of them if something happened to you. I’ve got no such backup.”
“Your choice to not come forward about our friendship here.”
“We can! Eventually. It just doesn’t feel like the right time yet. I’m still not sure how to go about mixing business with pleasure publicly. At any rate I feel like my clientele might be a bit hesitant to trust someone whose primary informant is a police officer.”
“Come on, don’t act like you came here just so you could live out of your office as a private investigator. You came for me, and we both know that.”
Okay, so the “being one’s own boss thing” was only half the reason.
“Speaking of mixing business and pleasure, though, I know we’re off the clock and you don’t like to talk about work off the clock…”
Here it goes, Brad thought, preparing himself for another chew-out session regarding the man who got injured. You need to show more restraint. You need to be careful of people getting caught in the crossfire. Blah blah blah. It was all stuff he had heard before.
“I have a request for you that’s off the books.”
“Look, I’m sorry--wait what?” Brad blinked. Well, this isn’t what I was expecting.
“I have an anonymous request for you as Brad Asher the detective. One I definitely can’t make as a police lieutenant.”
“I...umm...I’m listening.”
They sat in silence for a bit while Elaine searched for the words.
Brad shifted uneasily in his seat at Elaine’s table. “So what’s the request?” he pressed, hoping that that might spur the conversation along.
Elaine leaned forward, sighing. “There’s no easy way to put this. There’s a murder–“
Brad quickly interrupted, “Nope, I don’t do murders, you know that.”
“You didn’t even hear the full details,” Elaine muttered.
“I’m not sure I need to hear the full details,” Brad replied, frowning. “You know how badly people react when I investigate them for small stuff. I don’t even own a gun, how the hell am I supposed to protect myself from a murderer? You’re the police officer, why aren’t you guys investigating it?”
“We did,” Elaine responded defensively.
“Excuse me?”
“The department did investigate it,” she said more firmly.
Brad sat silently for a bit, before finally saying, “Okay, let’s start at the beginning.”
Elaine leaned back and cleared her throat.
“So, you know the evidence officer, Jill Cortez?”
Brad stopped to think, trying to remember all the different members of the police force he had had the chance to speak with. “Yeah, I think you introduced me to her when I first moved here, but I haven’t really dealt with her much otherwise. Why?”
“Well, the official story is that she killed her husband, the reporter Vincent Cortez.”
Brad recoiled. He had worked with Vincent in the past, as reporters made for great info brokers and rumormongers, but he hadn’t put two and two together that Vincent was married to Elaine’s colleague Jill. But something had felt out of sorts in the last couple weeks. Recently Brad had noticed that Vincent’s columns in the local newscasts were rather quiet, but no official word had gotten out.
“When did this happen?” Brad asked, showing more sincere interest.
“Only in the last couple weeks. I’m not surprised you didn’t know, though, because the department is trying to keep a lid on it. That’s one of quite a few things that have made me raise an eyebrow.” Elaine took a drink from the wine she poured at the beginning of the conversation. “The more I think about it, the less sense it makes.”
Brad leaned forward. “Well, what else can you tell me? How did he die? Did they have a poor relationship? Where is Jill now?”
“They’ve still got Jill in custody. The whole thing is fishy, though. The secrecy, as well as this coming out of the blue. As far as I know, they had a great relationship, but the official cause of death is blood loss from a gunshot wound. The ballistics profile matches her personal .45. And the weapon itself was confiscated and examined, and while it was obviously covered in her fingerprints, no other prints were found on the weapon.”
Brad frowned. “Seems like a pretty open and shut case. Why’s the department being so secretive about it, then?”
“That’s what bugs me! They shouldn’t need to!” What composure Elaine had had up to this point melted away to a combination of frustration and grief.
“Okay, you might have convinced me. Have you talked to Jill at all since she was detained?”
“Only a little, but she won’t give me a straight answer to any of my questions.” Elaine sighed. “She seems like she’s all but given up, though who could blame her?”
“Sounds like she could use a lawyer more than a private investigator,” Brad muttered thoughtfully.
Elaine rolled her eyes. “Brilliant deduction, Sherlock. If only I was wise enough to have considered that myself! Do you have a recommendation? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
Brad reeled back at the sarcastic outburst. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean I’m not sure what I can add to the investigation.”
“Just a quick run-through to find anything we missed. Maybe since you’re not affiliated with the police force, Cortez will actually answer your questions.” Elaine sank into her seat.
After a bit, Brad finally said, “Okay, I’ll at least see if I can ask her a few questions. Still, this is an off the books, possibly dangerous investigation. And since you’re already breaking my policy about talking about work outside of work...let’s talk about payment.”
“Don’t worry, I can swing it. Baseline 50,000 plus an added premium of 100,000 for danger involved. I understand you have to keep the lights on and pay for your own healthcare in the event that something goes wrong. Naturally, payment on completion of the task as usual. I really had to dip into my savings for this so don’t half-ass the investigation, or I’ll know.”
“Do I ever?” Brad asked.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Elaine fired back, playfully.
Brad paused, before finally saying, “Fair enough. Well, it’s getting late and even though this investigation is off the books, I still have a bunch of stuff to organize to begin the case, so I think I’m going to head back to my place. Will you be able to let me into the detention center tomorrow to speak with Cortez?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
---
The office of Brad Asher, Private Investigator, in a stark contrast to Elaine’s neat, recently-built apartment building, was in a dingy, older part of the colony, being one of the few places Brad could get a decent lease with what little money he had upon moving to the colony. The interior wasn’t much, just three rooms: the main lobby/office area, a modest bathroom with a shower compartment, and a smaller private office which Brad mainly used as his personal quarters. There wasn’t much to it: a futon for sleeping, a viewscreen for whatever news or entertainment broadcasts he would peruse, a small wardrobe with what little clothing he brought with him to the colony, and a mirror. That he barely used. That one was a gift. The gift that kept on giving, as he was constantly reminded of how disheveled and tired he looked.
Because he mainly used the “private office” for sleeping, he spent most of his time in the main room, where he had a cheap desk that he had to assemble himself when he purchased it, a computer that worked just well enough that he could get his work done without having to bang on it too much, and a couple couches in the sitting area that were, in all honesty, significantly more comfortable than his own futon. To the point that he often slept on them when he was feeling particularly lazy or had had too much to drink. From the ceiling hung another viewscreen in the vain hope that he could entertain any extra clients waiting for his attention. Should that day he had extra clients waiting for his attention ever arise. But since most requests came through email anyway, this was more or less a wasted feature. Maybe he could use it to host friends when the big game was on.
Should the day he had friends to host who all had the same sports interests ever arise.
Upon arrival into the office, Brad began his evening ritual. Lock the door. Boot up the computer to check for messages. No messages. Put some music on the speakers throughout the office. A little jazz. Take a shower. An extra few minutes. He’d earned it. Check the news. Nothing noteworthy besides an interview with Valentine about Bacon Boy. Poor kid was probably going to be spending quite a while behind bars for that slipup. Shame.
And yet, slow news day as it was, there was absolutely no coverage of Vincent Cortez. Surely someone would at least put up a memorial broadcast. Right? Instead it seemed like every news source on the colony (and several off-colony) were trying their best to pretend the man never existed to begin with.
I guess that settles it. Hopefully I don’t make too much of a nuisance of myself at the police station.
