Page 3 of Crocodile Tears

“Of course – you freak!”

“Bless you, sir!”

“Too late for that.” Josiah grinned, setting down the tray.

Reed took two gulps of coffee and then let out a heartfelt sigh. His broken nose and square body gave him a misleadingly intimidating appearance as he was a geek who was most at ease hunched over a computer screen. He was wearing a black suit with one of those appalling holoties that were all the rage these days. The strip of fabric around his neck changed colour and pattern randomly throughout the day; Josiah winced as it turned from dark red to bright blue. Reed followed his gaze and laughed.

“Sorry, sir – I forgot you found them offensive.”

“It’s an eyesore. Whatever happened to good taste?”

“Not all of us have the gift, sir.” Reed cast a glance at Josiah’s elegant attire. “Or, you know, actually care.” He gave a little wink.

“So, where’s our dead body?” Josiah cut to the chase, eager to get started.

Reed finished his coffee and was immediately business-like. “In the lounge. Let’s suit up, and I’ll take you there.”

They pulled on their crime scene overalls, then walked up to the house.

“Victim is an adult male, mid-fifties,” Reed said, taking Josiah into a large, airy room. “No witnesses, no sign of forced entry.”

Suddenly, without warning, a man appeared out of nowhere and charged towards them. Josiah ducked, instinctively… but the man disappeared as soon as he’d come, leaving Josiah breathless, his heart pounding.

“What the hell…?” He looked around and saw Reed trying hard not to laugh.

“Lifelike, aren’t they?” Reed grinned. “Don’t worry – we all ducked for that one. Wait for it… here he comes again.”

The man appeared again, but Josiah was ready for him this time. He caught a glimpse of a hauntingly beautiful face and blank grey eyes, then the man strode through him, the image dissipating around him as the pixels broke up in mid-air.

“That’s a holopic? But it’s so real.” This was nothing like the images generated by his holopad; it was far more polished and lifelike.

“Yup. If you don’t like my tie, you really won’t like this bloke’s idea of art.” Reed grimaced. “Elliot Dacre was a holophotographer, hence the extensive collection.”

He waved his hand, and Josiah saw dozens of other holopics emanating from light boxes on the walls. Josiah was familiar with smartwalls, but this was a completely different tech.

Smartwalls were electronic walls, essentially huge screens with added functionality, but these images were three-dimensional and moved around the room. They were the most lifelike holopics he’d ever seen; only the faint flickering around the edges betrayed them. Some were to scale and others were much smaller, but the sheer number of them was disturbing.

“Bloody hell,” Josiah exclaimed. “I thought smartwalls were bad enough – all those tedious images of beaches and meadows – but this is even worse! How many holopics did this guy have? It’s like the place is full of ghosts.”

He dragged his attention away from the restlessly moving images towards the corpse, which was lying in front of an elegant cream-coloured couch.

Dacre’s body was splayed in an undignified position: laid on his back, his legs spread wide, and his dressing gown had fallen open to reveal that he was naked underneath. Blood from the bullet wound in his head had seeped into the plush cream carpet around him, staining it red. His eyes and mouth were open, giving him a surprised look that might have been comical in different circumstances.

A petite blonde woman glanced up from where she was kneeling beside the body. In marked contrast to the starstruck young policeman guarding the command post, she gave him a hard stare and then jerked her head in a grudging nod.

Smiling tightly at her in return, he said, “Welcome to my team, Doctor Baumann. I wasn’t sure what you like to drink, so I brought you a latte.”

“Thank you, but I’ve already had coffee,” she said curtly, standingup. That was when he noticed her necklace. Slim and nondescript, the chain had a tag hanging from it engraved with a number.

“Since when has Inquisitus employed indentured servants?” he asked sharply.

Baumann stiffened. “You’d better take that up with Director Lomax,” she retorted. That explained her cool manner: indentured servants generally didn’t like him, with good reason. “Do you object to me?” she demanded.

“No, I object to Inquisitus buying your contract.”

They glared at each other.

“Ooh – did someone by any chance bring me a hot chocolate?” A large woman with bouncy dark curls squashed into her crime scene cap appeared in the doorway, her cheerful smile breaking through the chilly atmosphere.

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