Page 6 of Crocodile Tears

“Was Dacre married?” Josiah asked, tilting his head.

“Nope.” Tapping into his holopad as he walked, Reed came over tostand beside him. “He was, once, about ten years ago, to someone called Christopher Lucas.”

“So, what happened? Did they get divorced?”

“No.” Reed’s fingers spidered across his holopad, sending reams of holodata into the air. “Christopher Lucas died six years ago in an AV accident. His duck stopped working in a lost zone, and he couldn’t get out in time. Drowned.”

“Interesting.” Josiah studied a black-and-white holopic featuring the grey-eyed model in a nude pose. He was lying on his front on a bed among rumpled white satin sheets, looking back over his shoulder with a provocative smile. The camera swooped in, capturing the sensuality of his full lips, firmly muscled shoulders, and curved buttocks, before lingering on his spread legs and the hint of darkness between his thighs. Then it repeated, the sweeping movements of the camera voyeuristically capturing every curve and plane of his perfect body.

There was something unsettling about the composition, and Josiah tried to work out what it was. The model seemed to be offering himself up on a platter, inviting you to make love to him, and yet there was a sense that no matter how close you came, he’d never allow you in.

“He used this model a lot,” Josiah observed.

“Yeah, the AI bots picked up an interview Dacre did a few months ago – haven’t had a chance to read it, yet, but the headline says this guy was his muse.”

Josiah tore his gaze away and glanced around the room, a mental image of the victim building. Elliot Dacre was wealthy and famous, and had loved his work so much he wanted to show it off on every available surface.

“Where are Dacre’s servants?” Josiah asked.

Dr Baumann looked up sharply from where she was crouched beside the body.

“He’s clearly a wealthy man, living in a huge house, but he had a live-out housekeeper who isn’t indentured, and there’s no sign of any servants,” Josiah observed. “Why not?”

Reed glanced at his holodata. “He only registered one IS – that’s all.”

“I’m not surprised.” Josiah gestured around the luxuriously decorated and furnished room, with its colourful Japanese lacquered cabinet, expensive sofa, and designer curtains. “Our dead photographer liked objects of beauty, so I’m guessing he preferred to keep one very expensive, very beautiful servant who he could show off, rather than several functional employees to do his cooking and cleaning for him. He wouldn’t have wanted the hassle of owning the contracts of a bunch of boring indies – just one very interesting one. The question is – what would a man like Elliot Dacre find interesting?”

“How about a convicted criminal sold into indentured servitude by the courts?” Reed offered, pointing at a section of holodata hanging in the air for Josiah to read.

“A convict? Now thatdoesmake him interesting,” Josiah said.

“It also makes him bloody suspicious, if you ask me. Do you think Dacre was killed by his own indie?” Reed asked.

Josiah gave a non-committal shrug. “Well, I definitely want to speak to him.”

“I’ll bet. It’s always the serf or the spouse, isn’t it?” Reed grinned. “Didn’t you say that in a press interview once?”

“I don’t give press interviews,” Josiah replied tersely.

“Excuse me, Investigator Reed.” Dr Baumann stood up abruptly. “I object to your use of the word ‘serf’. The correct term is ‘indentured servant’, ‘IS’, or ‘indie’ if you’re being casual.”

“Sorry.” Reed held up his hands in a placatory gesture. “I understand your dislike of the word, Doctor, but it’s just slang.”

“You might feel differently if you were an IS,” Baumann retorted. “We aren’t serfs – we provide a valuable service and deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. We certainly don’t deserve to be treated as suspects automatically whenever a crime has been committed.” She cast a cold glance in Josiah’s direction.

“Of course not. Absolutely,” Reed said apologetically. “Please don’t take it personally. There’s a huge difference between your situation and this bloke we’re talking about. You’re a professional, but Dacre’s indentured servant is a convicted felon – he has no choice about who buys his contract, or what kind of service he has to provide as long as it’s legal. You might not like the term ‘serf’, but it’s not far from the truthin this case. I’m not saying it’s right,” he added hurriedly, as Baumann pursed her lips.

Josiah snorted. Baumann shot him a glare, then returned silently to her work.

“So, where is he?” Josiah asked. “Where is this one very interesting indie Dacre bought?”

Reed grinned. “You’re looking at him right now.”

“Him?” Josiah waved his hand at the holopic in front of him. “Dacre’s muse was also his indie?”

“Yup. Dacre purchased him three years ago for…” Reed whistled as he read the facts off the holodata. “Well, you said he’d be expensive, and he sure as hell was.”

“How much?”

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