Chapter 59 "Concerned citizen."

“John?” Rosie called out from the workshop, getting no answer. “Fenris.” The dog bounded in. Fully grown, and exceptionally well trained. “Who’s a good boy.” She bit a piece of dried meat in half and shared it with the dog. “Suit up boy.” Rosie gave her command and the dog sat while she put on his harness. Ballistic weave lining. Pockets for ammo and meds. A camera fitted on the front, letting her see what the dog saw.

Rosie picked up the rubber ball and threw it into the house. Fenris didn’t move. She checked the repurposed robotic eye, encased in rubber and weighted to sit upright. “Go get it.” Fen scrambled for the ball, retrieving it in seconds. “Good boy. Come on, we’re going to be late.” She grabbed her pack and headed out.

She met Brandon at the east gate of Shadowtown as the night fell. He looked brighter today. The weeks of hunting with nothing to show for it but dead assets, had taken a toll.

“Nervous?” He asked with a grin.

“Why would I be, I’m right.” Rosie covered her nerves.

“Everyone that’s read that book has a theory.” Brandon had given her the true crime book for her birthday. They’d happened on the case file and spent the weekend going through it together. Now Rosie had been invited to Mike’s book club, to present her findings.

Mike came and got them from the lobby inside the police station. He led them up the wooden stairs to a quiet corner on the top floor. A group of deputies sat around, drinking whiskey from coffee cups. Tattered and annotated copies of the same book on the desks.

“Guys, this is my friend Rosie.” Mike introduced her while freeing up space on a metal drawing board. “She’s...a consultant.” He threw her a wink. “She caught the bug, and has a theory.” Mike sat back. Brandon gave her a supportive nod.

“It was the mechanic.” Rosie felt like a teenager trying to impress the cool kids. The real detectives erupted in noise.

“He was under surveillance!” One yelled, flipping through his copy.

“He didn’t have the knowledge!” Another scoffed, citing the anatomically dissected victims.

Rosie couldn't get a word in through the dismissive voices. Brandon let out an ear splitting whistle, silencing the room. “Who the fuck is this?” One of the deputies asked.

“Concerned citizen.” Brandon snapped. “The lady’s speaking.” He smiled and handed her the attention in the room.

“The mechanic was under surveillance for three of the murders.” Rosie took off her pack and tossed the century old case file on the desk. “According to the officer, they parked down the street and saw no vehicle come or go.” She handed round the statement. “What do you see in this picture?” Rosie held open the photograph in the book of the mechanics garage.

“Cars.” One answered, getting mocked for stating the obvious.

“There’s no lifts. Which means there’s a trench dug in the floor to let them get under the cars to fix them.” Rosie took a breath. “If he knocked through, he could access the sewers and come and go unseen.”

“Pretty thin.” Mike added, knowing what she had and setting her up.

“Did I mention he worked off the books in a meat packing plant? You can butcher a pig, you can butcher a man.” That would have sounded strange in any other room. Here people took the statement with a nod and shrug.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Rosie saw Mike stifle a laugh. She flipped to pictures in the centre of the book. The ones that showed the elaborately staged victims. “Manhole.” She pointed to the round metal circle, hidden in plain sight. “Manhole.” She pointed to a different picture, again and again. "Manhole."

“Fuck.” One deputy let slip, the only one speaking. The others thumbed through their copies. One moved a bookmark. “I got this case.” The same deputy half joked, getting a laugh and breaking the tension.

“How’d you put this together?” Mike asked Rosie as she sat, getting her mug of whiskey.

“The missing detective, I think she put it together. Then she got him.” Rosie felt for the missing detective in the book.

“Now that is a stretch.” Mike didn’t see what she had. “Could be he got her and split.”

“The time between kills had been accelerating, no way he stopped. Plus she checked out the case file and someone else returned it. She got him, it cost her life, but she got him.” Rosie saw the detective's drive, the detailed notes and sharp observations. She imagined they’d have been friends, maybe even partners.

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“Here.” One of the deputies topped up her drink and handed her a file. “B and E gone bad. Victim spent a week in hospital, can’t remember the attack. The kicker, nothing’s missing.”

“Interesting.” Rosie stalled, biting her lip to keep from squealing as she consulted on an actual case. “There’s nothing missing that he wants to admit is his.”

“She catches on quick, don’t she.” The deputy pulled a wheeled chair over, putting her feet on someone else’s desk.

Hours later they went out into the night market. “Did you enjoy book club?” Brandon asked.

“Do you think they...had fun.” Rosie kept herself from asking if he thought they liked her.

“You made quite an impression.” Brandon answered her anyway. “The secondary objective?”

“Pulled the entire database, offloading it to Janey now.” Rosie nearly fixed their system out of sheer annoyance. “No chem busts in the last year, but Mike says they don’t really go after dealers. Not unless they cause trouble.”

“I’ll run some searches. We still don’t know if Jones is a real name.” Brandon had an idea. “You can add and remove entries, right?” She nodded, an uneasy feeling creeping in her mind. “A clean slate and a room in the Tower sounds like a good deal to offer.” Brandon picked up on her doubt. “It’s for the greater good.” Brandon locked around at the people. Rosie did the same.

Drunks out for the night. Traders selling things, above and below the table. Deputies keeping a watchful eye. All of them unaware of the insidious threat, lurking in the wastes. She envied them.

“You’re up.” Brandon pointed out a shady looking trader. “See what he’s selling, get a sample.”

“Right, I can do that.” Rosie said to herself more than Brandon.

She sauntered over, starting by perusing knives she wouldn’t use to cut bread. “I was looking for something...different.” She spoke in a hushed voice to the trader.

“Got some shotguns in back, need a little work but they shoot.” He didn’t take her meaning.

“No, something for a party.” Rosie saw she’d made things worse as the man straightened his thinning hair and smiled.

“You like to party, so do I.” His breath stank.

“Hey man,” Brandon came to her aid. “I got an itch, you help me out?” He ignored her as the trader opened a drawer under his stall. Rosie slipped away as a group of drunks passed by.

They hit up four more dealers before heading out the south gate. Rosie managed a little better, having practised.

“Alright, let’s see.” Brandon crouched by a tree, clicking on a red light. Rosie tossed in the inhalers and injectors she’d bought, adding to the pile. “We know he moves jet.” Brandon grouped together the inhalers. “Because I fucking supplied him for months.” His jaw clenched as he looked away, punishing himself.

“We all ran those drops, we didn’t know.” Rosie saw the truth didn’t help.

“See here,” Brandon pointed with the tip of his black dagger, matching the one he’d given her. “That edge with a nick, it’s a fault with the injection mould. It’s on all four, means they came from the same place.”

“Janey can give us a full chemical breakdown.” Rosie saw that surprised him. “I’ve been getting lessons, from Virgil.” That surprised him more.

“Good.” He picked up the inhalers. “Destroy the rest.”

“Shouldn’t we keep the med-x? Charlie says it’s basically morphine.” Rosie asked, picking up the silver injectors.

“Charlie has everything she needs, destroy it.” Brandon’s look worried her, he picked up on it. “I’m an addict, Rosie. Started after I took a bullet on an op. Needed it for the pain, then I just needed it.”

“My mother was an addict.” Rosie had never said that out loud.

“I’m sorry.” Brandon had a look of pity she’d rarely seen from him.

“She died when I was eight. Fell and hit her head. Afterwards people told how beautiful she was, but I guess that was before the solvents took hold.” Rosie let out a deep sigh. “You know I hated her, for years. Lately though, I just feel sorry for her. Trapped down there all that time.” Rosie wondered who she’d be after another decade enslaved.

“There’s a school of thought that says addiction is genetic. One of the reasons I didn’t want kids. I couldn’t stand the thought of passing on that curse.” Brandon stopped and looked at her, awaiting a response.

“I don’t even drink that much.” Rosie didn’t care for the few times she’d been drunk. “Although Virgil taught me how to speed up metabolism so I can drink as much as I want.”

“We’ll circle back to that later. I know you understand that addiction doesn’t have to involve booze and pills. I’ve seen combat hook people faster than the needle.” Brandon knew her better than anyone save John.

“I’ve got it handled.” Rosie lied. The months since the attack on Farmborough had dragged.

“I used to say the same thing.” He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss the rush. I trust you to make smart decisions.”

They walked back to the lighthouse, arriving as dawn broke. The smell of pancakes filled the cellar, Paul cooking in the kitchen. Charlie asleep on the couch. Matt at the workbenches, pressing ammo with Janey. “I’ll get started.” Rosie went for lab equipment.

“Eat first, that’s an order.” Brandon pulled out her chair and they all ate, together.

“So.” Brandon left his half eaten breakfast. “Turns out Rosie here thinks she can drink us under the table.” Everyone laughed.

“I can.” Rosie tried not to boast.

“Rosie, you’re a very impressive young woman, but you can’t hold your drink.” Paul dismissed the very idea. “I’ve got forty pounds and twenty years practice on you.”

“Forty pounds?” Rosie quipped, making Matt laugh into his coffee.

“Alright.” Paul stood and took a whiskey bottle from the cupboard. He poured two shots, then he drank them both. “That was just a warm up, they don’t count.”