“Could be a robot,” Mathews said.
“Or it could just be a Taser.”
“Weird choice of murder weapon.”
“Unless Smythe wasn’t supposed to die.”
Laughton ran his hands down to the pockets. “Phone?”
Mathews shook his head. “Couldn’t find it.”
“Boss?” Dunrich called.
Laughton and Mathews turned.
“You want to talk to these guys?”
“Did he really just do that?” Laughton said to Mathews. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, and headed for the witnesses.
Larry Richman was in his familiar suit, the jacket over a black T-shirt with no tie. Laughton wondered if Bob Kramer required the outfit of his manager, or if Larry wore it out of pride. He had been the sole supplier of food to the human population back when Liberty was still named after some extinct Native American tribe, before its new residents rechristened it as an outgrowth of the upwelling optimism many felt at the creation of the preserve. The demotion from owner to manager had to sting, even if it had been Larry’s decision to sell his store to Kramer. It always struck Laughton as a bit ridiculous to see Larry restocking shelves or carrying boxes all dressed up.
“Hey, Larry,” Laughton said.
“Jesse,” Larry said.
The boy wore a Kramer’s collared T-shirt and black pants. His name tag read “Ryan.” In Baltimore, Chief Laughton had been the only human in major crimes, famous for reading lies on people’s faces that robotic facial recognition software could never match, but on the preserve, there hadn’t been much cause to call on his nearly fifteen years of experience. That’d been the point of the job, after all. It was supposed to be stress-free, or at least stress-lite, given the smaller population, but as he began talking to the boy, he immediately started to evaluate the muscle movement in the boy’s face, reading his macro-expressions while looking for any micro-expressions that might flitter by.
“Ryan,” Laughton said, turning to the boy, “you already tell the officers what you saw?”
“We’ve got it recorded, boss,” Dunrich said.
Laughton didn’t even bother to turn to give his officer the evil eye for interrupting. He could count on Mathews to reprimand his partner later. “Tell me,” Laughton said.
“There’s not much to tell, really. I came out of the back”—he nodded, indicating which door with his chin—“Barry was opening the back of the truck, and I looked over and just…”
nose wrinkle, cheeks raised, eyebrows down—disgust
“I saw the body.”
“And?”
“I told Mr. Richman,” Ryan said.
face neutral
“I thought I was going to throw up.”
Laughton felt that way too, but it had nothing to do with the crime scene. Trying to ignore his headache was getting harder. “Did you know who it was?”
The boy shook his head.
nose wrinkle softened, cheeks relax—relief
“Never seen him.”
“See any strangers around? Unfamiliar cars?”
The boy shook his head again. Consistent expression.
Laughton looked at Larry. Eyelids raised, rest of face passive—worry. Laughton couldn’t say whether it was for the victim, who was beyond help, or for how the event would affect his business. “Larry?”
“I’ve seen him around,” the manager said.
lower eyelids tensing—fear
“Came in maybe once a week or so, maybe. I didn’t know his name.”
“What about Barry?” Laughton said, lowering his voice. “How well you know him?”
lower eyelids relaxed—fear passed as he realized he wouldn’t be asked anything he didn’t know
“He’s been making the produce delivery for a while, before the preserve, maybe two years? I don’t know.”
“You ever seen him talking to the victim?”
frown, grooves flanking the lips, narrowed lower eyelids—answer in the negative
“Nah,” Larry said. “Barry doesn’t come in past the storeroom. He drops the stuff and pulls out.”
Laughton looked over at the deliveryman. His right leg was jiggling with nerves as he took another drag from his vape.
“Cameras back here?”
“No. No reason to waste the electricity.”
“What about inside? Or in the front?”
Larry shook his head. “Theft hasn’t been a problem. Mr. Kramer figures anyone stealing probably needs it anyway.”
“Haven’t I seen those tinted domes in the ceiling?”
“Just for show.” Even the worry was gone now, and no micro-expressions to counter anything the manager had said. Neither of them was lying, which wasn’t really a surprise.
Laughton looked at the body again. Why’d it have to be in his jurisdiction? Gangs had sprung up in the city. Couldn’t they shoot each other? “We’ll have to ask the other employees if they noticed anyone.”
“Of course,” Larry said.
The chief knew he should have other questions, but he couldn’t think straight, the tension in his face making everything fuzzy. “Okay,” Laughton said, feeling unsettled. “Let me know if you think of anything or see anything.”
“What about the body?” Larry said.
“We’ll have it out of here soon.”
That seemed to satisfy the store manager. What else was he going to do?
“Listen,” Laughton said. “Don’t tell anybody about this, and if you told anyone already, tell them not to tell anyone. I want to keep this close as long as we can.” Laughton looked everyone in the eye, and they all nodded. “All right,” he said. He held out his hand. “Thanks, Larry.”
They shook. Then Richman led the stock boy to the rusted, handleless back door, took a ring of keys from his pocket, sorted through them, and opened the door.
Laughton turned his attention to the deliveryman. He was still bouncing his leg.
“What do we do with the body?” Mathews said.
In Baltimore, they would have a forensics team in to record the crime scene in hyper-definition, but they didn’t have those kinds of resources in Liberty. They also didn’t have a place to store a corpse. He guessed he’d have to at least loop in the coroner—if there even was a coroner—which meant they wouldn’t be able to keep this to themselves for long. “Call for the ambulance,” he said. “It’s not like we have any fancy CSI we can do here, and the city can’t get anyone out here in something like a reasonable time. I’m going to talk to the deliveryman.”
“Dunrich,” Mathews called. The younger officer was squatting near the body, examining who knows what. “Radio for the ambulance.”
Dunrich put his hands on his thighs and pushed himself up. He tore his eyes away with reluctance, going over to the cruiser and reaching in for the radio.
As Laughton approached the deliveryman, the young man’s shoulders went up, and he turned just a few degrees, a defensive pose.
“Evening,” Laughton said. “Barry?”
The young man sucked on his vape and nodded.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
Despite the body language, the man’s face was relatively neutral. “Not much to tell, boss. I didn’t see the guy until the kid said, ‘Shit. Oh my god.’ ”