Retiree 2.0 Page 7

  Alana nodded, “Then Wendy it is.”

  “One of my old college friends used to sing this stupid song whenever someone would say ‘Wen Jing,’” and Wendy began singing, in a somewhat high-pitched, yet precise tone, like someone who had some practice in singing, but not much talent, “‘Who’s walking down the halls of USC, smiling at everybody she sees? Everyone knows it’s Wendy.’ One time, about five of my friends sang the last line in chorus on the first day of class when the professor called my name. I turned mauve, I was so embarrassed.”

  When Wen Jing had finished typing, Alana said, “I do have some more questions before we’re done. Here’s the obvious one. Was his video recorder running at the time?”

  Wen Jing shook her head and declared resoundingly, “No. He deliberately turned it off right after he got off the plane at LAX.”

  “What access level did he use to do that?”

  Wen Jing scrolled down the system log until she found the processing command, “It was his administrator level. And...” she emphasized, “That was the first time he used that level of access.”

  Alana pointed at the open text file on the computer screen, “Can you email me a copy of that log file, Wendy?”

  Wendy made several quick keystrokes, and said, “Done!”

  “I’m probably going to have to pester you about this some more in the coming days. What’s your work schedule?”

  “Friday through Wednesday, four until midnight,” she smiled before adding, “Usually.”

  “Do you have a way home?”

  She nodded, “I have a car.”

  Alana said, “Do you want to talk about Brett here, or would you like to do it over some more coffee? My treat again.”

  Wen Jing quickly saved her work and shut down her computer, “Mmm... Coffee...”

  Alana said, “Then I’ll see you there in a few minutes.”

  The coffee shop on the corner was very busy, mostly with police officers either on break or coming off duty, no doubt a by-product of its proximity to the police station. When Alana had retrieved the coffee for Wen Jing earlier, she had considered picking up some for herself, and she decided to indulge this time, having not tasted any since her food unit was installed.

  Coffee houses had changed substantially since her death. Hipster baristas had been replaced with android servers, but it struck her as interesting that they had not merely been replaced by dispensing machines. Perhaps it was a psychological element behind the entire concept of the old coffee shops that helped android-automated establishments outperform fully automated ones? She could only guess. When Wen Jing walked into the shop, fully half of the officers, male and female, living and retired, waved to her as she strode to the booth where Alana had set up camp. Wen Jing smiled and waved back, and as she sat down, the mechanical server placed orders before both of them.

  Alana said, “I ordered the same thing you had before, if that’s all right.”

  Wen Jing nodded, “It’s probably more caffeine than I need, but it’s fine. I don’t have to get up for at least another twelve hours. Is there anything else you want to talk about before we start dishing on Brett?”

  “Not until you have more data on the case. So we can go straight up the Crabtree. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  Wen Jing said, “He’s been acting differently this week, ever since he was in that shoot-out down by the docks. I’m sort of worried about him.”

  “How is he different?”

  Wen Jing pondered the question as she sipped her latte, holding her cup in both hands. She answered, “Quieter. He’s quieter.”

  “Have you noticed him spending a lot of time playing virtual games?”

  Wen Jing set her cup down and looked out the window, “Oh. Is that a problem?”

  “I don’t know. Chief Bennett told me that he was spending an unusual amount of time playing online games, and was afraid that he might have a problem with them.”

  There was a bright flash outside the window, and several seconds later, it was followed by a rumble of thunder, both products of a rare, summer electrical storm that would probably bring only wind, lightning, and little, if any, rain. Wen Jing said, “That’s totally my fault. I bet he’s been leveling up to catch up with me so we can raid together.”

  Alana asked, “What?”

  Wen Jing smiled, “Brett started playing games with me, and he’s starting from scratch, a newbie, so to play with me and my other guild mates, he has to catch up with his in-game experience.”

  Alana said, “I’ve never played any games like that before, so I’m not sure I understand what you just said—”

  Wen Jing propped her elbows on the table, rested her chin in her open hands, and grinned broadly, “That silly man is spending his free time playing so he can spend more time with me when I have time off. That’s so sweet...”

  Alana said, “Now I feel silly for asking.”

  Wen Jing sat up again and grasped her coffee cup, “No it’s not a problem. Thanks for looking out for him. People really can get obsessed with immersion games. They are a lot of fun.”

  Alana asked, “How much do you play?”

  Alana could tell by Wen Jing’s expression that she was obviously joking when she said, “Promise not to rat me out to the chief?”

  Alana nodded.

  “Usually about twelve hours a week. I raid on Wednesday night with my guild, and during the day on Thursday, I do other things. I used to play more, but then I graduated school and got this job. My paying job comes first. I’d actually been thinking about leaving the raiding rotation altogether to spend more time with Brett. But it sounds like he’s trying to meet me in the middle.”

  Alana asked, “Do you think that’s why he’s being quiet? Maybe he’s just staying up too late and he’s tired.”

  Wen Jing took another sip of her coffee, and pointed to Alana’s cup, “That’ll get cold eventually if you don’t drink it.”

  Alana said, “I tried a sip just before you came in, and I was disappointed. I don’t remember it tasting like that when I was still alive. Now, it’s just bitter.”

  Wen Jing reached toward Alana’s cup, “May I?”

  Alana nodded, and Wen Jing took a small sip from the Inspector’s coffee cup. Alana asked, “Well?”

  Sloshing the liquid around in her mouth before swallowing, she said, “It tastes fine to me. French roast with cream and sugar?”

  “Yes. I expected it to have a little bite to it, but this is just undrinkable.”

  Wen Jing said, “Your food unit must not be able to handle coffee. Do you want to try mine to compare?”

  Alana tasted Wen Jing’s latte and concluded, “That’s every bit as bitter. I think you’re right, Wendy. I’m not designed for coffee.”

  Wen Jing leaned back in her chair and said, “I don’t think Brett’s tired. He seems to have plenty of energy for... all kinds of stuff. I’m wondering if he wasn’t shaken up more than he’s been letting on about that raid. Did anything happen that he didn’t tell me about?”

  Alana said, “I doubt I could fill in the blanks. He was standing right beside one of the SWAT team members when the man was shot down. If I had to guess, I’d say it was that. It might be a minor touch of PTSD.”

  Wen Jing cocked her head to one side, puzzled, “Is it possible to have just a touch of that?”

  Alana nodded, “In my experience, I’d say yes. I think anything can trigger it. It doesn’t even take a violent event. It only needs something that affects the person a lot. I used to work with a man at the Pentagon—a decorated war fighter—who made it all the way through the Congo war without any problems and ended up getting PTSD from a failed relationship. No one even noticed until he tried to jump off the roof.”

  “Do you think Brett might—?”

  Alana waved her hands, regretting that she had even mentioned that, “He seems perfectly stable to me. I wouldn’t worry about him, especially since he’s talking to the therapist.”

  We
n Jing said, “Really? He didn’t tell me about that.”

  “He’s probably embarrassed, but there’s no reason to be. It’s not like the olden days when that could get you fired or investigated.”

  Wen Jing suddenly turned more serious, although she did not lose her seemingly perpetual smile, “You’re his boss, so you see him a lot. What kind of man is he?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Does he ever show you any hidden sides? Like, does he ever do things that seem out-of-character for what you know about him?”

  Alana straightened up in her chair, “I... Well... No... Well... Why do you ask?”

  “He’s never capricious, or mean, or anything like that?”

  Alana thought about the question, and she believed she knew where Wen Jing was headed. If she knew of anything negative to say about Brett, she couldn’t think of it, and that struck her as odd. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered whether her subordinate was too perfect. She shook her head, “No. No. I can’t think of anything like that. But, he was a spook with Security Division before he was a cop. They might have trained him to hide negative or inconsistent emotions.”

  Wen Jing finally frowned, for the first time ever, “Oh...”

  Alana waved her hands again, wanting to kick herself for her awkward insensitivity, “I’m sure it’s nothing, Wendy.” That did not seem to assuage the doubts that she had sown. She placed her hand to her chest and leaned forward, trying to look sincere, “Remember, I’m a detective, and I overanalyze everything. Why are you asking me about that?”

  “I—” Wen Jing cleared her throat. Then she looked around the room, as if she was worried that someone might both hear her and care what she said. She then leaned forward and whispered, “I was thinking about asking him to marry me.”

  Given what she knew about the intensity of Brett’s and Wen Jing’s relationship so far, combined with the questions Wen Jing was asking in the run up to her last statement, Alana wasn’t surprised, except by the fact that Wen Jing was the one considering making the proposal. Alana did not notice that she was staring blankly for some time, until Wen Jing finally asked, “What do you think?”

  First, Alana thought that she might lose a mostly competent assistant. Then she thought that the Chief would probably be okay with it, since they worked in different departments. After her brain ran through several possible scenarios, entailing another long silence, she finally said, “I think you should do what you feel is best.”

  Wen Jing took another sip of Alana’s coffee, probably by accident, “I didn’t really want to know what you thought as his boss. I wanted to know what you thought as his friend.”

  Alana asked, honestly unsure, “Does he consider me to be his friend?”

  Wen Jing nodded, swapping cups when she realized she had the wrong one, “Yes, he does. You’re not going to mention this to him, right?”

  Alana said, “None of it. This is between you two. When—”

  Wen Jing shook her head, as if suddenly nervous. Perhaps the caffeine was kicking in with a vengeance. She said, “I don’t know yet. I really want to be sure it’s the right thing to do. I feel like it is, but I’m afraid...”

  Alana glanced at the time on her visual display, and it read 0317. She said, “The only thing I’m going to say is go home and sleep on it for as many nights as you need. Beyond that, I’m eminently unqualified to dispense relationship advice.”

  Wen Jing’s smile returned, “It is getting late, isn’t it? I’ll be in tom—this afternoon if you have any more professional questions, but I probably won’t know more until I get to talk to Srinu on Monday.”

  Alana and Wen Jing exchanged goodbyes and left the coffee shop with Alana’s cup half-empty and Wen Jing’s half-full. Alana had to meet with the Chief in less than seven hours, so she returned to the station and used her office chair’s induction recharger to refill her batteries while she put her body into sleep mode. Her mind, fatigued from the long day’s activity, quickly followed.

  Sunday, 9 July, 10:05

  Bennett was standing. Alana couldn’t remember the last time he had yelled at her while he wasn’t sitting. He barked, “Did I not tell you that you were off-duty this week?”

  Alana said, “Technically, yes, but you didn’t say I was suspended.”

  The Chief looked at Brett, “You’re right. She is an insufferable workaholic.”

  Alana defended herself, “There are certainly worse things to be—”

  Bennett leveled his finger at Alana, “Don’t argue with me while I’m chewing you out. You can ignore me after I’m done, like you usually do.”

  Brett scratched his nose, a deliberate motion made to hide his involuntary smirk from his superiors.

  The Chief continued, “Now, Graves, please tell me and Crabtree why you think an obvious suicide is a murder?”

  Alana said, “It simply makes no sense that Veedock would kill himself over an accident. His suicide note was typed, not written—even in a world of information technology, most suicides write their last words out—and it was in a style that was not typical for someone of his education level. It was entered on a notepad he bought several hours before the game, and used for nothing else until he wrote the note.”

  “Then what was it all about if it wasn’t his guilty conscience?”

  Alana laid out her suspicions, “I think he did the same thing my former iteration did during the Stone case. He deliberately bashed his brains in to erase his memories. However...”

  Bennett tapped his foot, “However what?”

  “Wendy and I stayed late last night, analyzing Veedock’s hardware. Somehow, he got administrator level access to his subprocessor and deleted his logs. No one is supposed to be able to do that except authorized technicians, and they need special permission. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions about that until I get more answers. I’ll probably have to wait until Monday to find out more when the cyberforensics department head comes in.”

  Bennett suspected that there was more, “What else?” He watched his detectives debate.

  Alana said, “I looked up some data on Veedock before I came down here. He’s a baseball all-star player, but because of the effect that automation has had on the sport, his salary isn’t as awe-inspiring as it would have been a hundred years ago. The cost of replacing his body would have not been covered by his insurance plan because he committed suicide, which would have been about thirty percent of his pre-tax income. That’s an astronomical amount to have a little piece of mind over an accident—”

  Brett asked, “What if Robertson’s death wasn’t an accident? What if Veedock deliberately killed him?”

  Alana stopped, pondering her assistant’s query, “I... would think that was highly unlikely, based on what Rhys told me about the game. Do you know something I don’t?”

  Brett said, “Not really. It just occurred to me when you said that it was a high price for peace of mind. But if it was deliberate, then Veedock would have had a motive for suicide...”

  Bennett finished Brett’s sentence, “Hiding the evidence.” He scratched his head, “All right. I think it’s enough to launch an investigation.”

  Alana said, “Good. What resources—”

  The Chief raised his extended palm to Alana, “No. You’ve still got your hands full with everything I already assigned to you. I’m giving this case to Inspector Crabtree.”

  Bennett opened his desk drawer and took out a large envelope. He dropped it on the corner of his desk closest to Brett, saying, “That is, if he wants the promotion.”

  Alana slowly turned her head to look at Brett, who was frozen in his chair. This was apparently a surprise to both of them.

  Chief Bennett smiled as he kept switching his gaze between Alana and Brett, “I was expecting a little more enthusiasm from both of you.”

  Brett looked at Alana, “I wouldn’t feel right about taking—”

  Alana suddenly stood and clasped Brett’s nearest hand in both of hers, sha
king it vigorously, “Congratulations, Inspector! I’m very happy for you!” Brett could sense an edge to her voice that seemed to him to be part frustration and part anger, tempered by a genuine sense of happiness for him.

  Bennett said, “Your full pay rise will take effect after you’ve followed the instructions in that envelope and the applications have been processed. During your transition period, I expect that Chief Inspector Graves will act as a mentor in her spare time.”

  Alana looked at Bennett, who turned just far enough away from Brett to hide the wink he tossed in Alana’s direction.

  Brett said, somewhat pensively, “While I certainly welcome the recognition, I’m not fully aware of what I did to deserve it.”

  Bennett turned to look him in the eyes, “If it wasn’t for your work on the Aaron Stone case, Chief Inspector Graves would probably have been placed in Limbo alongside Detective Rhys, and I would have lost them both.” He then turned to meet Alana’s gaze and continued, “Thanks to Crabtree, you are both back on the force. I’m sorry I couldn’t do this sooner, but it took some time to get Central to approve it.”

  Alana remained silent, letting go of Brett’s hand. Brett said, attempting to be humble, and finding himself suppressing a grin, “I had a lot of help. Wen Jing—”

  Bennett swept his hand through the empty air between himself and his two employees, “Will find out about her promotion from Junior Analyst to Analyst as soon as she comes in to work in a few hours. Her department head will be organizing a small surprise for her in the cyberforensics lab, and he expects that both of you will be in attendance.”

  Brett turned to Alana, “If Srinivas is going to be here, you—we—can ask him whatever it is you wanted today instead of waiting until Monday.”

  Bennett clasped his hands behind his back and nodded toward his door, “The Chief Inspector will probably need the rest of the afternoon to fully brief the Inspector on the particulars of his new case before she meets us for the party between three o’clock and four.”