Stellar studied him. “Don’t tell me you’re another critic.”
“No, not at all. But I was curious — how’d you figure out it wasn’t a suicide?”
“Ah, the theory.”
The woman smirked as she stood, circled the desk, swept up a letter opener — a katana blade in six-inch miniature — and held this against Jack’s neck.
“It’s hard to cut your own throat, especially in the manner established by the police coroner, Doc McCoy — a slash from right ear to left, like this.”
She softly moved the letter opener around, still touching the skin, and Jack found the demonstration unpleasant.
“That kind of self-mutilation would normally be done by a south paw, whereas Double-R was right-handed. At least, it’s fair to assume he was right-handed since that was where the pen was sitting.”
“Smart thinking.”
“Saw it once in a movie. Besides, why electrocute yourself after cutting your throat?”
“And the note?”
“Likely incidental — did you know him? The man was a no-hoper. Maybe he was drafting up an autobiography.”
“Of four words?”
“As I say. No-hoper.”
“What was your opinion of the Aerialist?”
The reporter smiled. “A nice girl.” She speedily held up a hand when Jack moved to speak. “Hold your horses — I know what people say about O and her.”
“Was it true?”
“To be honest, it’s possible. I resolved never to ask.”
“Because you were involved with the Big O.”
“Old news. But — yes. A lot of men, and women too, fell for the Aerialist. She had something special, and it wasn’t just the pretty jetpack.”
Jack nodded. “What about Sir Omphalos?”
“To my mind, Sir O took her under his wing because he was paternal rather than a potential innamorato. He was an honourable man I trusted completely. Others chose to see things…differently.”
“Do you resent them for that? Or him?”
“No. It’s the nature of this place. The Capes go on about honour and virtue, but most of the time their behaviour scrapes base level.”
“You’re a Cape too.”
“But never worn one.”
“What was the Aerialist’s power?”
The woman laughed. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“No one seems to know. How’d she die?”
“Flying in pursuit of a Rotter, out past the stratosphere. Fell sixty-two miles to earth. As you can imagine, there was very little left afterward, but definitely no fuel — leading us to speculate someone sabotaged her jetpack.”
Jack leaned forward through the rubbish on the desk and placed his elbows on the wood, in the midst of the disorder, chin in his palms.
“You’re game!” Gypsie-Ann muttered.
“Considering I used to rummage through trash cans, trying to locate my next meal, this is nothing.” Jack shrugged. “Back to the Aerialist — could it have been an accident? She simply forgot to refuel?”
“There was a witness. PA saw her fill up the jetpack before the mission — not that PA is particularly reliable. But, by all reports, the Aerialist was. A very, very good Cape. The full five years in Heropa, originally with the Crime Crusaders Crew, and then one of the founding members of your Equalizers. It’s my belief that O was grooming her to take over leadership of the group.”
“How did the GWH feel about that?”
“A good question. What’s your interest in all this?”
“Bear with me.”
“You’ll answer my questions in return?”
“Sure — I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Deal.”
“Can we get back on track?”
“Ready when you are, Jack. Do you know about her old nom de plume? No? The Aerialist used to call herself Bullet Gal. Handy with a firearm. A pistolero — but no maestro.”
“That so?” Jack thought some. “The Rotter you mentioned, the one she was chasing when her jetpack ran out of juice. Who was it?”
“Jetstarlet.”
“Another woman.”
“We don’t know.”
“Meaning…?”
“We don’t know. No idea. This Cape was never seen previously, and hasn’t been heard of since. Knocked over a bank and flew into the wide blue yonder. Sir O sent the Aerialist to tail and intercept this person. She died.”
“Jetstarlet sounds like a girl’s name.”
“I never allow things like that to confuse me. Proof comes first.”
“Of which you have none.”
“Currently? You’re right.”