“But you,” Neil blabbered on, “you’re a hero, you’re handsome, with large, intimidating muscles, you own a beautiful home, and you married a goddess. There’s no need to be jealous of me, Sergeant Avalon.”
My wife bought the home with her savings, but the rest of what he said was close enough to true. It looked like Neil’s knees were knocking together beneath his robe, so I eased off the throttle a bit.
“What is it you want, Neil?”
“You’re a timecaster, right? I mean, well, of course you are. But do you still do it? Use the machine?”
“Yeah,” I said. “All the time.”
I hadn’t turned on the TEV in about eight months. No need to, with crime practically nonexistent these days. All I used it for was show-and-tell at grammar schools.
“Well, I, uh, wondered if you couldn’t maybe help me with something.”
I let my frown deepen. What errand did Victoria expect me to run for this poor shlub? Find his missing kitty? Discover who was peeing on his doorstep?
“Help you with what, Neil?”
“It’s my aunt, Zelda Peterson.” Neil’s voice got lower. “I think someone murdered her.”
I sighed. Besides being thin, homely, and lonely enough to pay for sex, Neil was obviously fuct in the head. There hadn’t been a murder in the taxpaying sections of Illinois for more than seven years. There hadn’t been a violent crime in more than five. The closest thing to a crime spree these days was a parking ticket followed by pinching an apple from a street vendor.
But since this was one of my wife’s clients, I responded with restraint.
“You’re fuct in the head,” I told him.
Believe me. That was restraint.
“Look, Sergeant Avalon, I know it sounds crazy. I know nobody gets murdered anymore. Heck, there hasn’t even been a fatal car accident in as long as I can remember. That’s because of peace officers like you. Because of timecasters. Since everyone knows there are no more secrets, everyone is more careful. I was serious when I said you’re a hero, Sergeant Avalon.”
If he laid it on any thicker, I could insulate my house with it. And, truth told, he appeared pretty shaken up. Normally, anyone who spent time with Victoria had a happy, satisfied look. A look I normally wore, except on the days she worked.
“Why do you think she was murdered, Neil?”
His eyes got glassy. “Aunt Zelda is the kindest person on the planet. Everyone loves her. I visit her once a day. We have coffee after work. Yesterday, I went to her apartment, and she wasn’t there. I let myself in and waited around for her to come home. She didn’t.”
“Did you call her headphone?”
“Aunt Zelda never got the implant. But she has a regular cell. I called it, and it was in her purse, in the bedroom.”
“How old is your aunt, Neil?”
“She’s in her seventies. But her mind is perfect, Sergeant Avalon. She wouldn’t go anywhere without telling me. She calls me when she goes to the corner download kiosk to buy a magazine, and that’s just a block away. Plus there was blood.”
“Blood?” I was becoming curious, a hazard of my profession. I kept it from showing.
“A few drops. On the sink.”
“Any pets? Cat? Dog?”
“No pets.”
“You’re sure it was blood?”
He began to shift his weight from one leg to the other. “It was definitely blood.”
“If you’re so concerned, why not go to the Peace Department?”
“I did. I spoke to another sergeant there, a man named Teague. He laughed me out of his office.”
No surprise. Teague was a dick.
“Was your aunt chipped?”
“Of course. But she’s not showing up on GPS. Teague said maybe the chip shorted out. But they’re bio-regulated, aren’t they? They run organically. They don’t short out. They just cease some of their functions when the host dies.”
I thought about it. Having a chipped person not show up on GPS made this whole thing even more intriguing. A few years ago, a tanker sank, and they were able to find the bodies under four hundred feet of water. Chips eliminated the need for paper money, identification, and keys. Each one was unique to a person’s DNA, and operated as credit and keys only while the owner was alive. After death, they could no longer open doors or buy things. But GPS still worked.
The only way to short out a chip was to destroy it on purpose, like the dissys do.
“Please, Sergeant. I’m willing to pay for your time. Name a price, I’ll pay it. Any price. Ever since yesterday, I’ve been worried sick. I can’t think about anything else.”
Worried sick, but he still managed to enjoy an afternoon with my wife. I glanced back at the raccoon still happily nibbling away. That was a vicious circle going on there. Eat marijuana, get the munchies, so you eat more marijuana. Maybe I’d be lucky and he’d pop.