On The Boil
04 Feb 2019Kodeyne
Cornelius Monfort yawned, the kind of yawn that locks the whole face up for a few moments. There was the familiar boom as his Diamondback Explorer, Sungrazer, dropped from supercruise. Directly ahead, the cuboid bulk of Clement Orbital spun through its unending dance here in the YZ Ceti system. "Ship scan detected," intoned the COVAS. He blinked and peered at the scanner. Odd. No ships nearby. No wait...the faintest flicker at five o'clock. The flicker vanished as he closed on the station and requested docking.
Gods, he was tired. The whole Alison Keenan case was starting to feel like swimming in treacle. The best lead, the feisty Commander Myshkin, was not giving anything away, and right now, he didn't have a great deal else to go on.
Ninety percent of the time, this ship was his home and his office. But it made sense to have some kind of fixed address for clients. So he rented a small unit on this station, and that was where he was headed now.
Set down on pad 14. Enter hanger. Power down ship. Transit by monopod and elevator to the desired level. The actual walk was maybe half a mile of corridors, each with lights in various states of repair, faded advertisement posters. Stark letters and arrows painted on the walls provided directions. Litter was strewn on the floor here and there; cleaning crews only came once a week to these outlying areas. No down-and-outs though; not enough footfall to make panhandling worthwhile. He finally ducked down the familiar branch and held his key to the door panel. No lettered glass panel here, just a set of red LEDs spelling out
'Unit 3732. Monfort Investigations.'
Inside, the main room held a desk facing the door, like all detective agencies should. He smiled as he shut the door behind him. The world of the detective had captivated him since childhood, so naturally he had read the books, watched the movies - especially those ones from ancient Earth, the ones filmed in black-and-white...
Of course, no blind-covered windows overlooking a busy New York thoroughfare here. No place to hang an overcoat or hat. No bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of the desk. He was more of a brandy man.
Two other doors, either side of the room. One led to a kitchenette. The other to a room that held a plain bunk, a wardrobe and tiny bathroom. Yep...Sungrazer aside, this was as near as he got to a home.
He powered up the desk terminal, and started to check his messages. Not much there. He yawned again and rubbed his eyes. He really needed some kip. Rose from the chair, into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler of brandy. He sat back down, pushed the chair back and put his feet up on the desk. Sometimes, you just had to go with the stereotype. He idly flicked through the news channels, savouring the brandy. He was not a regular drinker, but enjoyed it thoroughly when he did.
The door annunciator chimed. He turned off the news feed, feet slapped to the floor, the glass thumping down. He was not expecting anyone. Padded round the desk, set himself, opened the door...
A pretty face, adorned with skinprint tattoos, framed by blond hair. She stood with her arms by her side, RemLok suit visible under the flight jacket. Cornelius concealed his surprise, stepped back and gestured her to enter.
"Commander Myshkin," he said as he closed the door, "please, have a seat." He pulled a second chair out from the corner and held it for her. She smiled at him and settled herself down. He nodded at his glass on the table.
"Drink?"
"That would be very kind. Thank you."
He returned with a second tumbler of brandy, resumed his own chair and looked at her inquiringly.
"You are a remarkable woman," he said, " how did you know I was here?"
She shrugged. "Found out your registered office. Came here and sat just outside the no-fire zone with most of the ship's systems powered down. Then waited for you to show up."
"You have patience," he noted, "What can I do for you?"
"Mr Monfort. When we met down in Sothis, you said you were working on behalf of Miss Keenan's parents, or at least implied as much."
He nodded. "That is correct."
She sipped the brandy and nodded appreciatively. Leant forward and folded her arms on the desk.
"It happens that I spoke with Mrs Keenan less than a week ago. She flatly denied anything to do with hiring a detective."
"She might not have wanted to share that information."
"Mr Monfort, I've known Alison since we were children. By extension, I know her parents pretty well. She wouldn't have any reason to conceal anything from me. Especially after I told her that her daughter was safe.
"And you told her where her daughter was?" Hardly subtle, but sometimes that was the best way.
"Only in the loosest terms, Mr Monfort, and sorry, I'm not telling you yet."
He paused, sipped brandy, swirled it round his mouth and swallowed.
"Yet...?"
Kodeyne sat back. "Do you have any evidence that the Keenans hired you?"
"Yes. I keep a record of all communications with clients..."
He busied himself with the keyboard, finally swinging the desk monitor round. He tapped a key. The screen flickered and displayed a video recording of a Galmail call. Kodeyne gazed intently at the screen. Yes. That looked like Sophie Keenan, sounded like her and the background was the Keenan's living room. She listened and sat back, taking a swig of brandy.
Deep inside, a quiver of fear. What the fuck is going on? She thought. But she believed she knew. Believed the theory she had given to Sophie. But she needed proof. And, ironically, this man might be one to help her with that.
"Mr Monfort," she said, peering at him, "I know a tired face when I see one. You look knackered." He lowered his eyes and contemplated his glass. "Yes. Bloody knackered, Ms Myshkin. Continue."
She drained her glass. "Get some sleep, Mr Monfort, please. And then I think we need to make a little trip."
His head snapped up. "Where?"
"HR 6541. I want to you to talk to Alison's parents. Face to face."