“You were the one completely lost to the world for a solid eight minutes there.”
I glance at him over my shoulder, but keep peeling.
“Hit me.”
“With what?”
“Whatever thoughts you’ve come up with.”
I push a strand of sweaty hair away with the back of my hand. “Either it’s a coincidence, or someone put that body outside my house. So they wanted to make a connection to me, or make sure I found it first. Which could mean either I’m being set up, or someone wanted to scare me with the body.”
“Pace lives in that house too.”
“Are you implying that not everything in the world revolves around me?”
Luke smiles and then bites loudly into an apple.
“He was also decapitated elsewhere, which supports theory number one.”
Luke swallows. “Yeah, not enough blood at the scene to have been killed there. So what’s theory number two?”
“I don’t have a theory number two yet.”
“Who in this place doesn’t like you? You pissed anyone off?”
“I’m pretty sure I piss off every second person I come across.” I look at him pointedly. “Raven hates me.”
He doesn’t reply, just keeps crunching away. When the apple is done, he even eats the core – I watch in disbelief. “Waste not, want not,” he shrugs. Then gives me one of his serious looks. “You’re not going down for this, Josi.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have a say in that, Luke.”
*
At home I find Pace lying on her bed. I stand in her doorway and wait for her to notice me. “Hey, Killer.”
“Is that meant to be funny?”
She immediately looks contrite. “Sorry.”
I peer at her. “How was your night?”
No response. I know Hal spent the night here, because he was on his way out this morning when he found me and dumped me in the doghouse. But if Pace doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to make her.
“Come to dinner,” I say.
“Not hungry.”
So I go to the Den on my own and sit with Hal and Will. I don’t spot Luke or Raven anywhere, but Quinn is in his usual spot at the head of the room. He calls for a minute of silence for Batch, and the entire hall is dead quiet, except for the soft weeping of a woman I can’t see.
When the minute is over I feel all eyes on me. Rumours spread quickly in a confined space.
“Sorry,” Hal says. “I shouldn’t have … I didn’t think about what it would mean to tell them how I found you …”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “There was no need to lie.”
His big shoulders are hunched with guilt. He looks wretched, actually. There are deep hollows under his eyes and a pallid tinge to his skin. Wearily he asks, “Where’s Pace?”
“She wasn’t hungry.”
“Still hung-over, probably.” Will smiles, and we nod.
Love is difficult. Unrequited love is even worse.
I think of the unknown woman whose tears I can still hear, even over the din of two-hundred-odd people eating.
*
Raven
Hal has big, hairy knuckles for a kid his age. They are nice hands. He has a nice face, too. If a bit soft. The tattoos on his arms and the mohawk haircut are meant to make him look tougher, I think. Though he doesn’t really need them, given his size. Maybe he just likes them.
“Tell me again,” I say.
The boy sighs. “I walked out of the house and saw her straight away. I thought about going past but it was weird that she was in her underwear so I walked over to see if she was okay. She was staring at the body. I asked her if she was alright, and she didn’t say anything. She seemed like she was in shock. I asked her what had happened, if she’d seen anything, but still she didn’t talk. So I came to your house. That’s it.”
“Why were you in Dual’s house?”
“I crashed there. I was drunk.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“On the couch.”
“And who can verify this?”
He swallows. Idiot. It’s so obvious he’s lying. “Pace can. I didn’t see Dual so she wouldn’t have known.”
“If she walked out of her house to see the dead body, wouldn’t she have walked past you sleeping on the couch?”
He blinks. Pauses. “I guess so.”
“But she didn’t wake you up when she walked past?”
He shakes his head.
“So you have no way to tell how long Dual was with the body?”
“She was in her underwear. Why would she have … done anything criminal in her underwear?”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“No. I have no way to tell. She’s not that kind of person though.”
“Why did you get up and leave so early, Hal? It was barely dawn.”
“I was uncomfortable on the couch.”
“Your house is closer to the Den than Dual and Pace’s house, isn’t it?”
Hal doesn’t answer.
“So why would you end up further away if you were so drunk? Why wouldn’t you just stumble home to your own bed?”
“We were hanging out. They’re my friends.”
“We? Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Pace and Dual – ”
“You just said Dual didn’t know you were there.”
He flushes. “I meant we’re all friends. But it was just me and Pace hanging out.”
“Would you like to know what I think?” I sit back in my chair and eye him. I’m enjoying watching him squirm. “I think you stayed in Pace’s room. You had sex without clearing it with us first, so now you’re trying to lie about it. And what I don’t think you realize is that the lying is a worse crime than the sex.”
The kid looks like he’s about to self-combust. I lean forward. “Tell me you at least used protection.”
“Yes, of course.”
A smile curls my lips. It’s too easy. “We’re done here.”
As he stumbles out I sit a moment longer, formulating a plan.
*
Quinn is already in bed when I get home. I pull the sheet off him and climb onto his lap. “Hello,” he smiles.
“Hal’s been a naughty boy. I think we can pin the murder on him.”
Quinn’s eyebrows arch. “He’s an excellent hunter, and the only one who knows how to keep the train running.”
“So have him teach someone else, and when they’re competent, set his punishment.”
“I’d rather find the real killer.”
“Do you honestly think that’s going to happen? We’ve got nothing. No one on watch saw anything. Batch finished his shift, went home to his wife, they fell asleep, and when she woke he was gone.”
“So why don’t we pin it on Dual? She’s useless – and she’s more likely to have actually done the murder.”
“Because I think Dual is hiding something, and I don’t want her to die before I know what it is.”
Quinn considers this for a while, then mutters, “If Luke can’t figure out who actually did it before Hal’s finished teaching someone the running of the train, then Hal goes down for it.”
“Agreed.”
I run my hands over him, but he just says, “Not tonight.”
*
February 14th 2066
Josephine
My fist throbs and I’ve barely moved the punching bag. I glance at Luke, who is watching me expressionlessly. It’s just after dawn and I’m still half-asleep as I hit the bag again, hard as I can.
“Stop,” he says. “It’s wrong.”
“What is?”
“Everything.”
I sigh. Regardless of – or maybe because of – what’s happened, Luke and I have started our training classes. He’s explained that I’m going to need to be proficient at both a striking technique and a grappling technique. Striking includes styles like karate, boxing, kick-boxing and that type of thing, w
hile grappling is stuff like jiu jitsu and wrestling – on the floor as opposed to upright. I asked him what he uses and he called it krav maga, an Israeli form of mixed martial arts, which he said was a brutal combination of striking and grappling. He said it’d be good for me to learn eventually because it’s perfect for allowing females to overpower much larger opponents. It inflicts the maximum amount of physical harm with minimal effort, but I’m obviously nowhere near ready for that.
The first thing he said we’d be working on is my ‘blink instinct’.
“What’s my blink instinct?” I asked.
Luke threw a punch at my head and I recoiled, squeezing my eyes shut. “That’s your blink instinct,” he smiled, fist mere millimeters from my nose. “You can’t flinch or wince or close your eyes when someone goes to hit you. We’ll work on that during sparring.”
That was when he started me on the bag, but now apparently I’m too shit even for that.
“Place your feet shoulder-width apart,” he directs me now. “Your left side tilts forward. Your hands go here, over your cheeks. Keep them here. Elbows in. Bend your knees.”
I do as he says.
“Your left fist is your jab. You throw this to gauge the distance of your target, and to get him going a bit, keep him on his toes. Your right is your cross, and this is the one you’re gonna hurt him with.”
I throw a couple of quick practice jabs and follow them with a right cross toward Luke’s face.
“Thumbs on the outside of your fist.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be wearing gloves?”
“Gloves teach you to be soft. You’re not gonna be wearing gloves if you have to fight a Blood in the city, or a Fury outside that wall.”
I get my stance right, trying to do as he says.
“Stronger,” he orders.
“What does that mean? I’m not doing anything yet.”
He looks at me like I’m a total moron. “Hold your core stronger, your stance, muscles, balance.”
I try to do what he’s telling me but think I just wind up looking constipated.
“Stop thinking about it so hard,” he admonishes.
“You’re telling me weird stuff that forces me to think hard!”
“Just feel your body.”
I don’t like my body. It betrays me. “How?”
He frowns, scrutinizing me. At last he says, “Ah. We’ve found our problem. Okay, get in your stance.”
I do so. Luke places his hand on my belly. He hits it lightly, then moves his hand firmly up my abdomen, over my breast and up into my shoulder. I blush bright red – what the hell is he doing? – until I realize how unsexual it is. He is touching me like a physio might, or a doctor. He pinches and I wince.
“Focus.”
I focus on where his hand is, and which muscles he’s touching. He pinches the skin through my shoulder and back and chest, identifying the muscles I need to use.
“Keep your mind in these muscles,” he tells me. “And punch through the bag, not at it.”
I swing, hitting the bag way harder than I have before. It swings back. I turn to Luke, grinning happily.
“Your homework is to spend half an hour every night before you go to sleep meditating.”
“Not my thing.”
He is unimpressed. “You do it, or I don’t train you.”
“But why?”
“Because if you don’t get in touch with your body and its capabilities then you’re never gonna be able to use it properly.”
“I don’t even know how to meditate,” I mutter.
“I’ll give you a lesson later. I gotta head out and do something.” He turns for the door.
“Where are you going? That was the shortest training session in history!”
“I have to talk to Batch’s wife.”
I start after him and he gives me a look. “I need to figure out who killed him more than anyone.”
*
Luke knocks on the door of one of the larger houses. Batch and his wife, Lace, shared it with Lace’s parents, one of whom answers the door. Her mother is in her sixties with sun-weathered skin and a long white braid.
“Hi, May,” Luke greets her, giving her a big hug.
“Hi, kid.”
“How is she?”
“Not good.”
“Reckon I can talk to her?”
May looks at me, her eyes cold.
“I’m Dual,” I say quickly.
“I know who you are.”
I hesitate. “It’s nice to meet you.”
May gestures us inside. The living room looks exactly like a slightly larger version of the one in my house. It’s a bit weird, actually – a bit disorienting.
“She’s in bed.”
“Do you think she’d mind if I went in and saw her?” Luke asks.
“I’m here,” a voice says from a doorway and we look over to see, presumably, Lace. She looks about thirty and pretty as a button, with a pixie nose and big eyes. Her blond hair is greasy and her skin is breaking out, probably from stress.
In her arms is a baby, and the little creature is beautiful. I can’t help but stare at the child as she passes it to May. I am so distracted by it that I don’t realize that Lace is crossing the room to me.
But I realize when she slaps me hard across the face. Shocked, I lift my hand to the stinging cheek, staring at the woman.
“How dare you come into my home?” she snarls.
“Woah, steady on,” Luke tries, but Lace spits in my face.
I reel backwards. “I’m sorry,” I manage to utter, before I turn and dash outside.
I feel dizzy as I wipe the spittle from my chin and neck. The sun is glaringly hot and sends an ache into my skull.
I am a thoughtless, cruel idiot. To come here and not think how it would make her feel, given the whole settlement thinks I murdered her husband. I sit on the ground, in the dust, because I’m not sure what else to do with myself.
*
Luke
The room is strangely still after Josi has gone.
“I’m so sorry, Lace,” I say.
The baby squirms, breaking the tension that’s permeated the air. May takes the child – I don’t know her name as she was born while I was in a coma – into another room and I am left alone with Lace. I should have come to see her and Batch when I woke up. I should have at least congratulated them.
“Dual didn’t kill him,” I tell her simply.
Lace slumps onto the couch. “I don’t think I care.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, sitting opposite. “He was a good man.”
“What does that mean?”
I’m not sure what to say.
“What if he was a bad man? Would that make it better that he’d died?”
“No. Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Her expression softens a little. “What do you want, Luke?”
“I’m in charge of the case.”
“The case.” Her lips twist into a humorless smile. “As though any one of us knows what to do in a ‘murder case’.”
“I do.” Sort of.
“Go on, explain it then.”
“Basically I have to determine how Batch was killed, what weapon was used and where the murder took place. I’ve gotta gather the evidence. Then I have to start talking to people and working out who might be a suspect. I work out who has alibis for the night Batch was killed, which is tricky in this case because of the party. I need to work out who knew Batch well, if he had any altercations with anyone, if there might be a reason someone wanted him dead. Motive, means, opportunity.”
“So am I a suspect?”
“That’s what I’m here to determine. And to pay my respects.”
“Isn’t it usually the spouse who’s guilty?”
“Sometimes.” Often, actually.
Lace leans her head back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. She starts ticking things off on her fingers. “I didn’t go to the party that night because I
was here with Eve, so I didn’t have the opportunity. The only weapon I know how to use is a gun – I don’t even know how someone could cut off a man’s head – so I didn’t have the means. And as for motive, my husband and I just had a baby, so I’d say my motive to keep him alive is stronger, don’t you think?” Her voice is drenched with bitterness.
“I know you didn’t do it, Lace,” I tell her gently. “But I will find out who did. Can I ask you a few questions?”
She nods.
“What time did you go to bed that night?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been trying to sleep when Eve does. So probably around seven. Then I woke up a few hours later to feed her. Maybe around one.”
“Was Batch home then?”
“No.”
“So he didn’t come home at all that night?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“You told Quinn yesterday that Batch came home and went to bed, then you woke to find him gone. Didn’t you?”
She frowns. “I don’t even remember having a conversation with him. I don’t remember what happened two minutes ago. I haven’t slept more than an hour or two in months.”
“Okay, can anyone verify that you were here with Eve all night?”
“No, I guess not. Unless you want to interrogate my two-month-old daughter.”
“When was the last time you saw Batch?”
“Before he started his shift on the wall.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against him?”
“No.”
“Did you notice anything strange before that night? Anything that seemed out of place? Any unusual interactions?”
“No.”
“What about Batch’s behavior? Was he acting strangely?”
“No.”
“Okay.” I straighten up. This is getting nowhere. She doesn’t have a clue what happened, that much is obvious, and her new-mother brain is addled with sleep deprivation. It could be possible, as Josi suggested, that the kill was random – that Batch was in the wrong place at the wrong time and was used in some other plot. Which means there are no clues to be found here. “Thanks, Lace, I’m sorry I had to ask this stuff.”
“You’re playing the part of the detective,” she points out. “You have to say your lines.”