Inspector Rames

Chapter 10

Underworld Eclipse was the hottest club in Socrico. It was also closed for the morning, and the automatic doors at the front were locked. We found a fire escape around the side, guarded by a robot. It opened the door when we flashed our warrant cards, but I paused. "Do you know if Jason Castle-Ackerman was here this morning?"

It stared at me with eerie, bright blue eyes.

Alex translated. "Tell us if Jason Castle-Ackerman was here at oh four hundred hours today."

"I do not record our guests."

"Brilliant," I muttered. "Robots are fucking useless."

Alex ducked under its arm with a smile. I followed him.

The main lights in the club were still turned down, and strobe lighting was pulsing and flashing as if the party was still going on. Robots were sweeping rubbish on the dance floor or mopping up spilt drinks. One was behind the bar at the back, cleaning glasses. We approached it, the floor sticky beneath our shoes. When we reached the bar, I looked at Alex hopefully.

"Do you keep a record of the customers you serve?" he asked.

"I keep a file of all transactions made at the bar," the robot said.

"Tell us if Jason Castle-Ackerman was here at oh four hundred hours today."

The robot stood still, thinking -- or whatever they did. "Jason-Castle Ackerman purchased a Jägerbomb at 4:01 a.m. and 4:34 a.m."

That was him alibied, then.

***

Socrico Train Station was our next stop, to alibi Kaden Novick. Dark tracks looped around to the ground near the building, shining under the artificial lights high above us.

"I hate this station," Alex said. "It seems to have been designed so that no one should know where they're going."

I glanced at him. "Did you get lost in there when you came to us?"

He shrugged as we strode through the automatic doors. Men don't like to admit they're lost. Perhaps doing it once on the night we'd met had caused a big enough dent to his pride.

Still, it was easy to understand why he'd been turned around. The station was a mess of sleek pathways that lifted and curved and turned through the air, climbing over one another as they led people towards dozens of platforms, shops, restaurants, and meeting areas. They glistened white, constructed from a material like marble but as light as carbon.

I stared at the hologram boards near the ceiling, trying to hear myself think over the shouts of commuters and the screech of decelerating trains. Cities and platforms flashed on and off. Eventually, I caught sight of the day's designated area for Rosek. "Got it! Platform 10."

But where the hell was Platform 10?

"Can I help you?"

We turned around. A young man in uniform was standing behind us, dark-skinned and sporting a mop of curly, brown hair.

He smiled. "Niko Fowler. I work here."

"Inspector Rames." I showed him my warrant card. "This is Sergeant Sullivan. We'd like to see your CCTV footage from Platform 10 in connection with a murder inquiry."

"Oh! Of course." Niko trotted past us. "This way."

We followed him up one of the sloping, twisting paths. At the top, it flattened out to become a small mezzanine level housing shops, an information office, and a ticket kiosk. Ahead of us were a set of glass doors that led out to the platform, where a silver train was waiting like a double-headed bullet. Blacked-out windows stretched from floor to ceiling, giving the passengers a private, awe-inspiring view.