From: mike@if.com (MIke Homyack - System Owner)
Subject: Something else... kind of a crime thing
Date: 13 Jun 1995 20:36:20 GMT


	The crowd was still thick around the scene as Martin arrived.  Black and
yellow crime scene tape was strung across both ends of the alley and small
attack pods stood sentry behind motion fields, occasionally barking orders
at the crowd to stay outside the tape.  Martin already knew the basics...
Victim was a female, probably about twenty five years old.  Almost certainly
a hooker or a user. In either case, very dead.
   On the trip over, his comm link to dispatch had relayed all the relevant
info.  There was nothing new here, though.  Four girls in as many weeks, same
basic stats.  The funny thing was that, although none of the girls appeared
to be worth fifty bucks an hour, the means of their deaths must have cost
tens thousands of dollars to arrange.  Each one had been killed by a nano-toxin.
Usually the kind of thing that you found used in military or organized crime
hits.
	As Martin entered the proximity field at the end of the alley, the attack pod
took a momentary interest in his presence, but sensing his badge, made no move
to obstruct him.
	Martin raised the officer in charge on a personal link, "Well, let me guess.
Same game as last week, right?  She a nobody, and nobody around here knows a
damn thing about her."
	"Ya.  You know the score... I assume the precinct informed you of the
basics?"  The watch officer, a sergeant Twain, replied.
	"Has the crime lab been yet",  Martin asked, "I want to confirm everything,
before I make a move on this thing.  The damn press is starting to smell a
serial killer here, and we've got nothing.  I've got to try and avoid making
this a public show."
	"Crime lab has been and gone.  They said you should contact them maybe
tomorrow morning... they might have something by then.  We were just waiting
for you to take a look, then we're gonna bag this broad and get the hell outta
here."
	"We got holo of the alley already?"
	"Filmed and filed.  Case number is DBD-9220, if you'd care to check them
out."
	Martin knew that there was nothing to be seen in the alley that the holo
couldn't show him.  Standard policy is to capture the crime scene as soon
as possible, in 3-D.  Makes looking the scene over much simpler, when you can
map it, enlarge it, shrink it, and rotate it in three dimensions.  Taking a
last look at the girl, Martin headed back for his cruiser.

---

	The forensics people told him about what he expected to hear, nothing new.
The girl was, in fact, killed by a nano-toxin.  Essentially a poison made up
of thousands of microscopic machines.  This particular breed of toxin goes
straight for the central nervous system.  First, the toxin inhibits messages
sent to the spinal chord, immobilizing the victim.  Then, with the introduction
of appropriate steroids, the toxins would either go after the pleasure or pain
centers in the brain.  This girl showed signs of both types of intrusion.
Typical of an interrogation.
	Once whoever grabbed her had what they wanted, they just turned the toxin
loose and she died of a massive, multiple organ failure.  There didn't appear
to be any semen or other evidence of her having been raped.
	Just plain dead.

---

	Martin examined the scene again.  The holo clearly showed the that girl
had been placed in the alley by two people.  An overlay of heat trails gathered
from the alley showed not only her placement, but the trails of those who found
here as well.  From the look of things, she was found in the alley by a hooker
and her john.  There was a pretty intense area of heat at the far end of the
alley where the couple had completed their transaction.  It was certain that
they weren't the ones who dropped off the body, though.  Too much difference
in their body temperatures, relative to the ones who dropped the girl.
	Martin lowered his perspective right down to the floor of the alley.  Pan
left twenty degrees... another twenty... another... wait!  Under a piece of
wet newspaper.  A little point of red, heat.  Martin zoomed in to the point,
dropping the amount of heat overlay shown by half.  Now the colors of the alley
were far more apparent.  Under the paper, a small vial... probably plastic,
but maybe glass.  Punching up the evidence tags, virtually the entire
alley fills with little golden markers, indicating which items were taken in
as evidence.  The vial has no tag.
	As Martin rushed past the desk clerk, he heard a voice from behind the
glass, "Marty!  Where you headed man?  I thought we were goin' out to get some
tonight?"
	"Call me later!"  Martin yelled back.  No time for the ladies right now.
	A few minutes later Martin stood in the alley, getting his bearings.  Girl
was there... that trash can looks familiar... the paper must be... there!
Lifting the paper, Martin was relived to see the vial, still on the ground.
For once, he though, I'm glad there's trash all over this fucking place.
	A quick inspection of the vial showed it to be a container for a custom
drug maker... MagicRide.

---

	"I need for you to tell me everything that you can aobut this", Martin said,
setting the vial on the counter.  "It's part of a criminal investigation, and
I am Martin Slate, East Side PD."
	"Well, it's definitely one of ours", answered the lab tech.  Her hair was
pulled back in a pony-tail, held there with a short length of black ribbon.
She could have been beautiful, Martin supposed, but she was obviously a user
as well as a maker.  Her looks were marred by several recent bruises and her
arms showed the tell-tale bruises of an injection pump.
	"I'll need more than that."
	"Well, let's see just what was in this then," she said, turning toward a
small machine behind her.  She slipped the capsule into a small holder and
the slid the holder in to a small door on the machine.  Slipping her hands
over a few buttons, the machine began to click and hum.
	"How long is this gonna take", Martin asked, annoyed.  "I haven't got all
damn night."
	"Just a few seconds", the girl answered, "we have pretty good shit around
here."  She watched the machine work for a few moments, then a low tone
announced the completion of the analysis.  "Looks like a very special mix of
our own brand of speed and some highly concentrated cocaine.  Sort of a
pre-mixed speed ball."
	"Can you tell me who bought it", Martin asked.
	"I can try."  She walked over to a small terminal, and tapped in her access
code.  After a few aborted attempts to get the system to accept her password,
she made it in.  Selecting customer records, she ran a query to match the
formula.  "Two possibilities... One is a gut name of Miller, Deacon Miller.
The other is some woman named Marta Heyworth."
	Slipping the vial back into his evidence pouch, Martin left the shop.
As soon as he got back to his squad car, he ran the names.  Miller was ruled
out immediately... dead.  His choice in narcotics turned lethal about two
years back.  That left Martha Heyworth... CityNet showed her residing within
six blocks of all the crime scenes.

---

	Getting a court order to go after Martha Heyworth was a piece of cake.  The
tradeoff for legalizing narcotics had been two-fold.  One, all the dealers
were licensed and taxed.  Two, search and siezure became almost a given for
non-drug offences.
	Martin and three beat cops made there way to Heyworth's apartment.  Second
story, at the end of the hall.  Two loud knocks on the door and one of the
other cops yelled, "ESPD!  Search warrant!"  Then Martin slapped the door with
a small, self-adhesive plastic explosive and everybody hit the floor.  The door
blew open with a hollow crack, and splinter flew through the hall.
	Martin was the first through the door, and the first to see the women.  Both
were lying back on a pair of sloped couches, their heads connected through a
mass of wires... probably a neural rig.  The room stank of burning wires and
seared flesh.
   Neither woman was moving, so Martin swept the room.  There was a stash of
vials lying on a small table near one of the tables.  A small tube of gel
and a few extra contact patches for the neural rig, and a syringe half full
of a milky white liquid.
	One of the other cops announced that both women were dead, and shut off the
neural rig.  Another called in the crime lab and broke out a reel of tape to
seal the apartment.
	
---

   Who'd a thunk it?  Martin thought, rolling off the hooker.  With prostitution
free and a great mix of drugs, you could get just about anything you wanted
for the right price.  That crazy Heyworth bitch wasn't satisfied with that...
she was hitting hookers up with the toxin and then running a neural link
with them so that she could experience the ecstacy and agony and fear that
they were feeling.  Ultimately, she experienced their deaths.  Then, finished
with them, she dumped the hookers back on the streets.
	Guess some people just aren't satisfied with the way of the world.  Oh well,
he thought, she got hers.  The last girl she'd picked up happened to be
ex-military, and had a really jacked up nervous system... highly resistant to
interrogation and capable of fighting back.  When Heyworth hooked up, her
brain fried under the heat that hooker was putting out.  Of course,
the toxin still killed the hooker, that was basically inevitable, but she
took one crazy bitch with her.
	Martin slipped a capsule under his tongue... his own special blend... and
slid his hand back around the hooker.  Time to get back to work.

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-- Mr.H - mike@mrhappy.if.com                         --
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