The Langley Case: A Nathan Roeder Mystery
Chapter 20

Plus Expenses

Felicia was still in the shower when I called up the shopping menu. I had a few things I needed her for, but there was quite a bit I could get on my own.

First, I needed insurance. I bought the whole package, covering everything from ‘acts of god’ to arson to explosion to flood. I spent a lot more than I needed to; I figured they were just going to blow the whole damned thing up. But if I just bought that insurance, and then cashed it in a few days later, there was a good chance the B3 would start to investigate me for fraud; not something I could afford.

Besides, it’s not like I was paying for it. I sent the bill to Theresa Langley.

I also had the television take my measurements and ordered some new clothes. Something with Kevlar mixed into the fabric. Enough to stop a bullet, but not so much that I couldn’t walk around it. A shot would still hurt like hell, but at least it wouldn’t kill me. I was ready to order the same for Felicia, but I didn’t know her measurements. I figured I’d get her when she got out of the shower.

Again, the bill went to Theresa Langley.

I thought about what else I could bill her for. Technically, legally, anything I wanted to. She had agreed to pay expenses. Whatever I spent on this job would go to her. That included bribe money, the cash to pay for Max’s help, everything.

That reminded me, and I arranged for Max’s medical bills to be sent to Theresa.

Felicia eventually came out of the shower, dripping wet and not using a towel to cover anything other than her hair. She apparently didn’t know how the drying commands worked. Either that, or she just wanted me to see her wet and naked. Didn’t bother me in the slightest.

“Come here,” I said, pointing to the spot on the floor where the computer took my measurements. “Stand there and don’t move.”

She moved, dropped the towel, and stood there for me to explore her entire figure with my eyes. The computer took her measurements, and so did I. I’m sure I had more fun doing it.

“I’m ordering you two suits,” I said. “With shoes to match. You want my motif, you’re going to get it.”

I picked out the vamp heels. They’d make her calves look phenomenal, and the rest of her legs would be covered by the suits. I’d have to replace some way to do things with her hair. Maybe I could just show her what it looked like in the movie, and that would be enough.

“I’m all clean,” she said, still dripping wet. “But I’m cold. Want to warm me up?”

I wanted to accept the invitation, but the timing was off. Way off. Something about people trying to kill me makes me a little less likely to let my libido take control. So instead I took her into the bathroom and showed her the dryers.

“What’s the matter, Nathan?” She asked. “Don’t you replace me attractive?”

I shrugged. “Sure I do, kid. A fella would have to be blind or not into dames to think you were old news.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I just—” I didn’t know how to say it. “I don’t want to—” If I told her that I just didn’t want to move too fast, that I wanted to savor things and get to know her, I’d probably lose her respect. The girl needed to get some of that stuff done, and soon. She’d said so herself. That’s what it would take to get her mind clear. But I couldn’t just tell her that I wanted to be more for her than just a mind clearing agent. I wanted to do more for her than help her think straight.

But I couldn’t tell her that. If I told her that, I’d just have her thinking I was some kind of sap, way more interested in her than she is in me. Right then, she looked at me like some kind of savior; I’d rescued her from The Albino, I’d taken her out of the Sprawl, I’d given her a job and a place to stay. She wanted to screw my lights out, and then back in, because she thought she owed me something. Aside from the fact that I couldn’t let her fall back into being the whore she never wanted to be in the first place, I just couldn’t have her thinking I was a sap.

Too much had happened to give her a specific image of me in her head. I couldn’t jeopardize that. It’s an image I’ve always wanted to have, and I can’t just throw that away.

“What is it, Nathan?” She stepped forward again, traced her fingernail up my chest and sent shivers all through my soul.

I shook my head and pushed her back. “You’re my employee, doll,” I said. “It wouldn’t be kosher.”

“You want me to quit?”

I looked hard at her. “You got another gig lined up?”

She shook her head and looked down at the floor.

“Then it’s got to at least wait for a while. Let it age, doll face.”

I put her back in the bathroom and let the dryer blow on her for a while. I don’t know what she did while she was in there. Maybe she tried to clear her own head a bit. None of my business.

I had to turn back to the business at hand. I needed to know more about that symbol, but I couldn’t just go looking for it. If I looked for it, they’d know where I was, and would probably be here in a matter of seconds, waiting to repossess me. I know what those Merger and Acquisitions people usually do. I know how things are handled. And I sure as hell don’t want to be one of the things they handled.

They sent one guy after me, and I was lucky enough to take him down. Next time, I figured, they’d send more than one. A lot more.

So it came down to this: I needed help. Not just the kind of help I could get from Felicia. I needed the kind of help you can only get from a native. I needed someone who could handle things for me, who could be my middle man. Whatever it was that was going on, it was going on in the corporate world. I’m not part of the corporate world, so I’m and outsider. I needed an inside man.

I needed a corporate stooge.

My stooge was someone I knew from back in the day. I wasn’t always a detective, and I didn’t always work in the ever shrinking public sector. When I did work in the private sector, I wasn’t exactly the most popular of guys. I never felt like I fit in, which is probably why I didn’t stay in for all that long.

Just the same, I was a bit surprised to be remembered at all.

Johnny Staples will never be an executive. He’ll never get a key to the washroom, he’ll never live in the Tiers. Chances are, he’ll die like the rest of us. But the way I remember him, he’s always had that dream of going just a little bit farther than his skills and genetics would normally take him. That was something I could use. That was something I could exploit.

I called him and got in touch with him direct; no secretaries or go betweens. That meant that Johnny hadn’t moved up in the world, or at least not very far. But he was young yet, so you never know.

“Nathan Roeder,” he said, as his image came on the television screen in my hotel. “That is a name I didn’t expect to show up on a caller ID. How are things treating you?”

I adjusted my tie, trying to make it look presentable. The hotel room made a pretty impressive backdrop. “Things are okay,” I said, addressing the camera and not the screen. Looking at the screen tends to be the more natural reaction, but looking at the camera makes it more comfortable for the person on the other end of the line. And I wanted Johnny comfortable.

“Just okay?” He asked, his eyes looking up a little, at the screen, not the camera. His phone was probably pretty small, so most people wouldn’t even recognize the difference, let alone put their fingers on it.

I waved my hand in a so-so motion for his benefit. “I’m working,” I said. “The business is growing.”

“Yeah?” He asked. “You looking for a partner?” There was laughter in his voice, but I could swear there was a serious tone to it. Something desperate in there, too.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Anything’s possible.”

“It’s great talking to you Nathan, it really is. But I’ve got a ton of work to do, and I can’t afford to get behind on it. Any chance you’d be available for lunch some time soon?”

I looked at the clock on the bed stand. It was still early, but lunch was possible. Johnny wanted to talk, but not in the office. That was doable. “No problem,” I said. “In fact, sounds like a great plan. You know anywhere good?”

“What do you like?”

I thought about Felicia. “Anything, Johnny. I’ve got a new secretary. She’s from out of town, and doesn’t know the area. Keeps going on and on about wanting to taste new delicacies. Surprise me.”

“Out of town?” He asked. “Or out of Town?”

“Out of town,” I said, careful not to answer the question he was asking, but also not to lie. I’ve learned that it’s tough to lie when you can tell when others are doing it. “Where do you want to meet for lunch?”

“Give me the number to your PDA,” he said. “I’ll figure something out and let you know. Does one o’clock work for you?”

Two hours. “Yeah, that’ll work. Good talking to you, Johnny. I look forward to lunch.” I keyed in my PDA for him.

“You too, Nathan. We’ll talk soon.”

He hung up, and I was left very confused. Confused and interested. Something about Johnny Staples had changed, and whatever it was, he wasn’t willing to talk about it over the phone.

I had two hours to wait before I could get any answers from him. It seemed like my life was becoming one long string of waiting for answers. Trying to replace answers. But the only way to stop that kind of cascade of questions is to start at the bottom, and replace the damned answers.

Which meant, of course, looking at the information The Albino had given me.

Number of corpses in the Sprawl referenced in Diary: fifty seven.

Number of actual murder cases corresponding to Diary reference: fifty seven.

Not a good sign.

While there is a possibility that these cases match purely through coincidence, that likelihood is significantly smaller than the likelihood of a man living in the Sprawl to be struck by lighting on every single one of his birthdays, and live to be over one hundred years old.

As I have been asked by my employer to provide more for you than just these statistical facts, Mr. Roeder, I will endeavor to include as much information and conjecture as I believe could be relevant to your investigation.

While all fifty seven murders that the diary suggests did, in fact, occur, not all the methods of death matched. Sometimes, the diary claimed a specific method, usually strangulation followed by ritualistic mutilation. In these cases (38 of them), the corpses matched the description in the diary. But some of the older cases do not have any mention of method within the diary, and do not fit into the modus operandi of the other killings.

It is my professional opinion that the earliest nineteen murders referred to by the diary were the work of another person. The killings are much more brutal. Far less precision was used in the cuttings, and far more passion was used in the murder as a whole. While there was no sign of sexual abuse or activity, the cases, particularly cases one through seven, do suggest a strong sexualized element.

But as interesting as cases one through seven are, I think you would be most rewarded to look at cases eight through nineteen. These eleven kills include a symbol, carved into the corpse, whose origin I could not discover.

And there it is. The big connector.

The only other place I could replace this symbol, Mr. Roeder, was on the cover of the diary. I can only assume therefore that the author of the diary, whomever that may be, was experimenting with his methodology during his early killings. His first few, I assume, were experiments of pure joy, taking great pains to feel the exquisite power of murder. The next grouping would be the time when he considered leaving a distinctive mark, much in the way an animal will urinate on a tree, or the way an artist will sign a canvas. He wanted people to connect that all these kills were performed by the same person.

What it was that made him switch his modus operandi after nineteen killings is beyond my understanding. But I think it is relevant to note that, according to the diary, his first kill in the Tiers occurred during the interval between kills nineteen and twenty. Perhaps that will give you somewhere to begin looking.

All in all, though, I would suggest that this diary is entirely genuine. Though I confess I’ve not heard of any of the murders within the Sprawl and the Tiers. Part of me wishes to believe that this is partially fictitious. But I doubt that is true.

It would please me greatly if you did not share the results of this report with anyone else, including my employer. I fear for my life should this information get out.

I’m sure you understand.