Serial: Bodyguard of Lies, episode 53: Another Body

[eimarra]

Bodyguard of Lies is a serialized science-fiction novel updating once a week on Tuesdays. If you missed last week’s episode, Unexpected Rescue, it can be found here. You can catch up on the entire serial on this page with a description of the story and links to all published episodes.

Today’s episode marks one year of weekly posting for this serial. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover with Sabra and crew. Thanks for coming on the journey with me!

Bodyguard of Lies
Episode 53
Another Body

The glad’s room looked even worse than it had the first time; dried blood overlaid with fresher drops sprayed across the wall in scarlet arcs. The smell penetrated to the corridor; it was a wonder the guy who’d found the body had bothered to open the door.

Flatfoots cordoned off the room from curiosity seekers. They avoided the areas of carnage inside the room. With a look of disgust, Johansen stalked past a group of them to stare down at an arm. It had been severed rather neatly from the shoulder, not with a single cut through the bone, but the bones popped apart with the precision of a meat-merchant.

Johansen shook his head. “Not the same guy.”

A flatfoot heard him. “Yeah, over here. You can see his head.”

Johansen crossed, but said, “I meant the one who did it. The last murder wasn’t this neat. Like the killer had a personal grudge, an axe to grind or something. This one, it’s all neat cuts. I’d bet that the killer didn’t even get any blood on him.”

Another flatfoot came out of the bathroom. “Yes and no. Blood everywhere, but no sign that any got tracked out, and no vids of blood-covered perps fleeing the scene.”

Gena’s head whipped around. “We got vids?”

“Well, yeah.” The flatfoot rubbed the back of his neck. “Everywhere’s wired these days. All we got here, though, is the guy who found him. And he’s been dead a lot longer than that.”

“Someone fiddled the files, then,” Johansen said. He kicked at the head, knocking it to the side. It rolled over twice before coming to rest again. The left temple was caved in, and the back looked like the Tuesday special in the cafeteria.

“No sign of the weapon?” Gena again.

One of the flatfoots shrugged and pointed to a wall. “She was a glad. Could’ve been any of those or none of them. Everything’s going to have to get tested, just like last time.”

“Not everything,” Vic from the Coroner’s office said. “It’s pretty clear from the cuts that it wasn’t anything serrated, or an energy beam. I’ve taken swabs off the others for DNA telltales, but I should be able to narrow it down more when I get the pieces back to a lab, find traces of the weapon, things like that. I’ll send you the report.”

“Great.” Johansen headed toward the door. “Meanwhile, we can go scare up some suspects, assuming whoever did this wasn’t kind enough to leave marks all over the weapons.”

Gena matched his pace. “We’re going to have a hard time proving a case without vid evidence. All they have to say is we can’t prove they were here.”

He shrugged. “Not my lookout. I just need to figure out who done it.” He headed for Flynn’s last known place of employment.

The bouncer at the arena remembered him. “Any news on Tiger, then?”

Johansen said, “When we got news, everyone will know. I got some other questions right now. Who’s the new manager?”

“Mbotu, up in Flynn’s old office. You remember the way?”

“Sure do. Thanks.” Johansen let the lift doors close before he pushed the button for the glad level.

“I’d think the manager would be up higher.”

“He is. I want to talk to the glads before he warns them, though. If Grunt didn’t already spread the word far and wide.”

The lift doors opened. Two glads — big beefy men — stood in front of the doors. “You’re supposed to be checking in with the manager,” the one on the right said.

“That so?” Johansen asked. “Oddly, I play by my rules, not the house rules.”

They didn’t move out of his way. “Everyone plays by arena rules, or they don’t play.”

Gena stepped forward and spread her hand on the chest of the other glad. “You don’t really want to have to go down to the cop station with us, do you? Not when we’re trying to figure out what happened to one of yours?”

The glads didn’t even look at each other. “Unless you’re planning to get us Tiger back, right now we don’t care what you’ve got going on. And last I checked, cloning was still illegal.”

“Like that would stop you.” Gena reached up and brushed the chin of the guy with her palm. Johansen stepped forward and kicked the other one in the knee. He fell forward, and Johansen slapped the side of his neck with a patch. The men slumped to the floor.

Johansen and Gena dragged them into the lift. That should keep them out of the way for a little bit. Johansen nodded down the corridor. “Locker room’s this way.”

The door opened into the locker room. The glads looked shocked to see them — not surprised that cops would be around, but startled that the others hadn’t dealt with them already. A few of the glads got to their feet and stood, chests thrust out in challenge.

“Just like the gorillas at the zoo,” Gena murmured. One man’s towel slipped, and she added, “Well, not precisely like. Nice package.”

Johansen looked the glads over. A couple fems around, and those were the ones to watch. He’d seen the fights; the fems were far more vicious.

One of them sauntered up to them now. “Autographs after the show, kiddies.”

“Maybe we’ll take them down at the station, fem,” Gena said. Her hand snaked out, and she twisted the woman’s nipple.

A move like that would’ve gotten Johansen fired for harassment. For Gena, it just got her a long look from the fem in question and a couple appreciative glances from the men.

Johansen said, “Where’s Grunt? We got a few questions to ask.”

“Out in the ring, copper.” The voice came from the far side of the locker room; no way to tell who had said it.

“If you’ll tell us which locker is his, we’ll just wait for him.”

“Yeah, like we’d tell you.” The glad hadn’t bothered to straighten his towel. He seemed to appreciate Gena’s attention.

Gena pulled a gun from her belt and shot him beneath the towel. Cap was going to be pissed. “Now, I asked for some information.” She smiled at the other glads. “Who’s going to help?”

Movement over near the showers caught Johansen’s attention. Cinn walked into the locker room, toweling her hair. Her outfit in the night hadn’t left much to the imagination, but he appreciated the full disclosure.

“You again?” She turned her back on them and crossed to a locker. “What are you doing now? Somebody else die?”

“Interesting conclusion to jump to,” Johansen said. “We do other things.”

“Yeah. Your girlfriend there going to clean up the blood on the floor? Someone might slip and get hurt.”

“This guy in the towel was just about to tell us where Grunt’s locker is,” Gena said. “He sure wouldn’t want to get hurt any more.”

Cinn looked over her shoulder at them. “Grunt? What are you looking for him for?”

Gena turned the gun on Cinn. “You got a stake in hiding him?”

“Not at all. But he’s in the med bay down the hall. If something happened today, he didn’t do it.”

“What about last night?” Gena asked.

Cinn pursed her lips. “What time?”

“You know where he was at some point last night?” Gena asked.

Johansen didn’t need her head shake to know that she didn’t. He couldn’t picture Grunt at the book-cooker’s place. So why did she ask? Did she think they were here because of the fire at Sabra’s? Maybe it was connected — Sabra could have committed the murder and gone to the blonde’s to get the vids fixed.

He’d have to follow up on that. However, Gena would want in on any questioning. Sort out how to get her out from underfoot later. For now, he’d stick with the current line of investigation.

“In the med bay, you say?” Johansen pulled at Gena’s arm. “We may be back to get some answers here, like why you think lying to us is a good idea.”

“Stupid coppers.” Johansen didn’t know who had muttered. “Can’t do their job, so they come here to pick on us.”

Click here to continue reading with Episode 54, The Missing Merc.

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Originally published at Erin M. Hartshorn. You can comment here or there.