I hoped to start posting this the day after Christmas. However, it proved longer and more complicated than anticipated.

BTW, I already have a few notes on Masks XX. :-)

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part One

As usual, I was the first one active in the morning. For someone who was physically superhuman, Sally was a real slug-a-bed. Even after actually waking up she liked to lay in bed, dozing and occasionally rolling over. Making dramatic moans in protest of the coming of day. I had breakfast ready by the time she staggered into my apartment's kitchen. I suspect the aromas were what finally roused her. She entered, stopped, and stared at me blankly for a long moment, then winced.

"Right. You wanted to cuddle."

"Actually, you wanted to cuddle," I smirked.

The plates were already on the table; I was putting the cooking gear in the sink when she entered. We were both dressed in panties and long-sleeved blouses. Though I filled mine out better.

"I have never done that," she said, as she sat at the kitchen table. I took a moment to note that after only a few days habits were already setting in; she had her favorite seat picked out. "Not in college. Not even as a kid at slumber parties. I think you just have a perverted idea of what goes on between two women who happen to be in bed together."

"Maybe," I admitted, with a grin. I shrugged, well aware of the effect the material sliding across my generous bosom was producing. "There are simply times I like being a woman."

"You've probably spent more of your life as a woman than I have," she said, suspiciously, as I sat across from her.

"My dear," I said, smirking, "I've probably fucked more guys than you have."

"That's... weird," Sally said, digging in. Refreshingly, she didn't seem particularly bothered by that revelation.

"You knew my history was as weird as I am going into this relationship."

"Fair enough," she said. I'd learned by now that her saying this meant she'd had enough of a topic.

We ate in silence for a while.

"Aren't you going to ask me?" I said, finally, as we finished.

"Ask you what?"

"What the difference is?"

"I worked with a shapeshifter before. They bragged that it's the variety that's important. While insisting they always be referred to in the plural."

"That's true," I said, nodding. "About the variety, I mean."

"I do have a question, though."

"Shoot."

"How can you change your hair like that? Hair is dead tissue."

"Same way I change my fingernails," I said, wiggling my digits. "Same way my teeth change, even though enamel is also dead tissue. Same way I change my mass."

"In other words, you don't know."

"Nope."

I laughed and went back to my meal.

"I'm just glad the Montgomery cleanup is still going on," she muttered, a few moments later.

"Don't you wish it was all over with?" I said, curious. "That's the attitude of most people. So they don't have to pay attention to their purported leaders again. Get back to their own interests without that unpleasant distraction."

"Yeah, if it were actually over with. I thought they'd find a way to shuffle it over to one side and just go on like always. Instead, they're moving slowly, but it's going ahead, and they're being thorough about it. Lots of people being investigated for undue influence on political parties, new security measures are in place... Hopefully we can have a least mostly fair politics for a while."

"I hate to disillusion you," I said, gathering some omelet on my fork, "but 'fair politics' is an oxymoron. While this farce is nearly over, there's plenty more going on. It just part of human nature."

She finished - eating much more than I had in a bit less time - got up and headed to the sink. Fortunately, by now I had a good idea of her appetite... and appetites. After a moment I joined her with my own dishes. I thought about playfully bumping hips with her but decided she might take it wrong. Besides, just then, the phone rang. I dumped my dishes and headed for the kitchen extension. I just caught Sally's amused smile and rolling of the eyes as I grabbed on the handset. Yes, it's an old-fashioned landline, wall-mounted phone, with corded receiver, an actual rotary dial and analog-to-digital converter. Most of my phones are modern cordless units, but I happen to like this one and keep it in the kitchen wherever I live. It was made in an age when phones were intended to be pretty much eternal and indestructible. It had even survived the brothel fire, and still smelled faintly of smoke. It also had the best sound quality of any of my phones.

I was surprised when I saw the caller ID on the converter display. I even thought about not answering. Then, with a sigh, I lifted the handset.

"Yes."

"This is Brade, head of the Bureau of Special Resources," said the deep-voiced woman. "I wish to speak with Lawrence Hawthorne."

"Speaking."

There was the slightest pause. Followed by a tired sigh.

"Larry, we have a situation and I need you to look into it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You may have heard about a super attack on a board meeting..."

"Sorry. Been busy and not keeping up with the news."

"Could you please change back to your base form?" she said, icily. "This is disconcerting."

I sighed and shifted. Thanks to my magic ring my clothes still fit properly, though they were now definitely too feminine for the normal me.

"Done."

"Okay. The news accounts say it was a rogue super who killed several influential businessmen in Seattle then herself. What they haven't released yet is that the supposed attacker is Doro, and she's still alive. Barely."

"Wait. That sweet kid who lost her husband in that big attack on the Shilmek?"

"Yeah. I know she didn't do it. Thing is, while the Bureau has hired an attorney for her, we don't have an office in Seattle. Also, if this is a setup whoever is behind it is likely watching us, so any investigation the Bureau or probably any other government agency conducts will be known and probably interfered with. We are, of course, investigating, but we want someone independent to check as well."

"I'm not a licensed detective."

"No, but you know more about detective work than 90% of licensed detectives. If you want I'll put you on payroll as a consultant, but I'd rather arrange that later. Right now I don't want any connection between the Bureau and you."

"Money isn't a problem," I noted, beginning to feel outraged. I didn't know her well, but Doro had a good rep and had been through Hell the past few years. She might be a mask but by all accounts she was one of the better ones, and certainly didn't deserve this. "I also have some non-bureau help I can call on. Send the particulars to my private e-mail account and I'll get right on it."

She confirmed the e-mail address and rung off.

"What?" said Sally.

"How'd you like a job?" I said. "Safeguarding me while I investigate an anti-governmental conspiracy?"

"Uh..."

"Well, I don't know if it's directly against the government. It's definitely against a federal agent."

I gave her the brief as we walked to my study. Once I had the computer booted I opened my e-mail client. Among several other messages, there was Brade's. It wasn't even the latest. I saved the attachment she sent, then started printing it.

"Wow," said Sally, as she saw the details. "Someone really did a number on those poor guys. As well as Doro."

"Five will get you fifteen it was all done with weapons, rather than super fists and feet," I said. "The autopsy will show that, if so. Something most people don't realize."

We made some general plans. Then I looked down at myself.

"Guess I better put on something more appropriate."

"Can we have a little more fun, first?" said Sally, tracing the line of my jaw with a fingertip.

"I suppose we can work that in," I replied, grinning.

* * *

"I can't believe you're a woman, again."

She spoke in a low voice as we walked through the Reno–Tahoe International Airport.

"It's a disguise," I replied, also quietly. "Lawrence Hawthorne is a known associate of several people from the Bureau. Lorraine isn't."

"Why a woman, though?" she persisted.

"Are you mad 'cause I'm built better than you?" I asked, teasing.

"I think you just like making me uncomfortable."

"Or maybe I'm just making sure you keep your mind on my safety, instead of my cock."

"You're the one who keeps thinking about - or with - your cock," she muttered, irritated. "Even when you don't have one."

I smirked.

"As a woman, you should know - and you have definitely demonstrated - that a cock is not necessary to have a libido."

I had contacted some folks I knew in the SeaTac area on the QT, not even mentioning I would be coming there. Then I made the plane and hotel reservations in my Lorraine Hawthorne ID. While connecting my base self or the Bureau with this trip by a pair of women was possible, it would not be easy. I'd also most likely be notified if someone came sniffing around these preparations.

For this trip Sally Driscoll was Sandy Hawthorne, Lorraine's niece. I had no trouble keeping to the role of aunt, and Sally certain didn't reveal any relationship more intimate than that in her behavior. I was actually appreciating "Sandy's" solid sexual identity for this trip, since that greatly helped with this pretense.

We checked in at the gate and confirmed the arrival time.

"We've got over an hour," I said, airily, as Lorraine would. "Want to try my frequent flyer club?"

That she did. We both sat in cool, quiet comfort, snacking and drinking and chatting. Given her superhuman metabolism and my regeneration, neither of us was feeling more than a bit relaxed from a fairly substantial amount of alcohol when we finally boarded. The flight was uneventful and even pleasant.

"I think I like your life," said "Sandy" almost purring as she stretched out her legs and settled into the well-padded seat.

"Always fly first class," I said, also enjoying myself as I settled in for the short flight. We were both tall for women, and enjoying this minor luxury. "The extra room alone is worth it."

* * *

I had a reserved a double business suite at a nice hotel. There were two bedrooms, each with a sizable bathroom, plus a central area with two desks, a large-screen TV, and a wet bar with refrigerator and small stove. We also had smaller TVs in each bedroom. After putting my clothes away I briefly tried out the bed and found that it definitely met my approval.

I had kept to my "Aunt Lorraine" role the whole flight, then at the SeaTac airport, on the cab ride to the hotel, during check-in and even as we unpacked, cleaned up and got ready to go out. Much to Sandy's disappointment. She'd wanted a little post-flight coitus.

"Sorry. Business before pleasure."

"Speaking of business, where's that big gun of yours?"

"Back home, in the gun safe," I told her, flatly. "Washington State does not recognize Nevada's concealed carry."

"You mean you're defenseless?" said Sally, startled.

"Not at all. I have my wits and my powers and you."

"Oh." She sighed, possibly due to previous experience with weapons regulations. Her next words seemed to confirm that suspicion. "I packed my sword, but know to leave it here unless I really need it. So, are going to the scene of the crime?"

"No. Our first move - the first several, in fact - will be to check with others to see what they already know. That will let us avoid at least some duplication of effort and possibly point us in the right direction. Also, if our investigation finds something different from what they tell us that could be a clue."

I shrugged.

"Although the clue might just be that someone was incompetent."

"Right," she said, nodding.

She had a professional attitude when on the job or receiving instructions. I suspected she wanted to move out of the celebrity bodyguard profession and into something more proactive. She'd certainly shown interest in both Mack Risk and my own, less extensive, investigations during her short time with me. Sally was particularly receptive to advice on practical security measures. Speaking of which...

"Make sure you turn off your computer, your tablet, anything with information on it which you're leaving here," I told her. "Don't count on the screen saver."

"Roger."

* * *

We took a taxi to a department store, walked through the store - though with stops, some planned, some "Oooohhh, doesn't that look nice..." on both our parts - then out the other side and down the block to a bus stop. This much I had plotted out ahead of time, downloading maps and schedules for the Seattle bus system and printing them while still at home.

A short bus ride later and we were in a rather less upscale part of town. Though one where we were still not out of place.

"Keep an eye out," I said as we turned down a surprisingly clean and tidy alley.

Under my supervision she quickly made some changes in her clothing and hair which altered her appearance enough to confuse most observers. Then I changed to my base form, my clothing changing with me, but into something very different from my usual style.

"You look a bit like a pimp," said Sally, smirking.

"The clothes change isn't a miracle," I said, paraphrasing John Love, who had given me the ring. I hadn't explained how my clothing changed with my form and while she had remarked on that ability Sally hadn't pursued the matter. She apparently considered that part and parcel of the ability which let me change my hair and nails. "Actually, for our disguise that impression is appropriate."

"Eeewww..."

"Don't worry; no experienced john would actually mistake me for a pimp," I said, tone reassuring. "Nor you for a hooker."

She muttered something which might have been "They better not."

"Well, we fit in like this. That's the important part."

The other end of the alley let out into an area a bit shadier than the one we had left, though one which was still not low class. Definitely not. I consulted the map I had printed before leaving my home near Reno and we quickly found the address. This was a small office building, with businesses on both the ground floor and the second. The latter was what we wanted, and I led us to the access for the stairway.

I pushed the button on the intercom set into the wall beside the locked door.

"Yeah?"

"Larry Hawthorne to see Silvio."

There was a slight pause.

"Come on up."

There was a click and a buzz from the door. I opened it for Sally and we entered. On the other side was a steep, narrow set of stairs. No handrail; poor lighting; walls close on either side.

"Just who is this guy?" said Sally, quietly, as we climbed.

"Information broker. Mostly legit."

"Mostly?"

At the top of the stairs was a short hallway, clean and well lit. Three unlabelled doors were on the left side; on the right were restrooms. Straight ahead was a fancy, glass door with the names of the business' owners, in alphabetical order, last name and first initial only. The business itself was unnamed. I pushed through, then again held the door open for Sally.

"Larry!" came the clear, tenor greeting, in a midwestern twang with a trace of Hispanic accent. "Good to see you again!"

"Hello, Gordo," I said, using his nickname as I smiled and accepted his hearty handshake. "Yeah, since you moved up here we don't see much of each other."

He was about my height and very stocky, and much darker than my rather English complexion, looking to be vaguely forty to fifty in age. While he was a bit pudgy there was also muscle under there and anyone who underestimated either his physical or mental prowess would likely come to regret it.

"And who is this? Your client?"

"Would you believe she's my bodyguard?"

He laughed, but I knew he had quickly sized both of us up and likely spotted that she was very fit. Since he knew me, he most likely also suspected she was a physical super.

"Come on into my office and take a load off."

His office was nearly as big as my entire apartment back home. I figured he was the senior partner, since the room seemed to take up a good third of the upper floor of the building.

We chatted for a while, mainly gossip about what old friends and acquaintances and even enemies were up to, as well as the general state of Nevada, the US and the world. Soon enough, though, it was time to get down to business.

"I know you left Nevada due to the crackdown," I said, by way of redirecting conversation.

"I was already making preparations after your place burned," he replied, good mood gone. "There were other signs, but that..."

"I think someone in this area is trying to spark another crackdown." That brusqueness was partly to get to the topic I wanted and partly to get away from some very unpleasant memories.

"You mean the attack on Corporate Salvage," he said, nodding. "Yeah. Completely out of character for someone like Doro."

Her name had still not been officially released in connection to the crime, but I wasn't surprised he knew it.

"You got anything on that?"

He gave me a long, evaluating look. Then spared Sally another. He nodded.

"Yeah. Okay, one confirmed fact is that someone - as yet unidentified - tried to bribe the chief coroner for Seattle to falsify the report on the bodies. Someone - maybe the same someone - also tried to bribe the doctor in charge of Doro's case at the trauma center where spent the first couple of days after the event to say she'd done it to herself. Both men raised stinks, got called on the carpet by their bosses, then the bosses had to pull back when the situations were made public by some good newspaper reporting. Most of it by a guy named Ernest Chiodini. All of this is still just in the local news only, so far, with little reaching the attention of the larger media circles."

"What does that company do, anyway?"

"They buy up businesses in trouble," said Gordo, with a sour expression, "and salvage them. Fire the employees, then cash in all assets, sell off all properties. They use the money from that to pay the company's debts and pocket the rest. Which can be a substantial amount, but is rarely what the company is actually worth. Oh, and they usually find a way to cheat the former employees out of any company based retirement benefits."

"All of which generates profit for those involved in the looting of the company," I said, nodding, "but is bad for business as a whole in the area. Not to mention the working population."

I'd seen this before, unfortunately.

"That's the consensus. There are a lot of people who aren't sad to see that company take a hit."

He may have used that phrase deliberately.

"What has Doro said about her involvement?"

"That is being kept very secret," said Gordo. "Even her attorney has barely been able to talk to her. Of course, part of that silence is due to her injuries."

"Is she safe in the prison hospital?"

"Probably safer than in a public hospital," said Gordo, confidently. "They're used to protecting those in their care from attempts by other prisoners or people on the outside while the patients are helpless."

I nodded, sitting back a bit.

"Is her attorney legit?"

"I know people who have tried to... influence him and have not only failed but had him make trouble for them," said Gordo, with an amused smile.

I had the distinct feeling he knew better than to try and bribe or intimidate the man and got a warm, fuzzy feeling when someone less informed didn't.

We spoke for nearly an hour, but he'd given us the most firm information right at the beginning. The rest was inferences and guesswork. Except that he also gave us the contact info of the local reporter he had mentioned earlier.

"Thanks, Gordo," I said, rising. I extended my hand. "I owe you big time for this."

"You catch whoever did this and we're square," he said, gripping my hand almost uncomfortably firmly. "I don't need the sort of trouble this could bring."

"You got it."

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Two

"Do you trust him?" said Sally, once we were back out on the street.

"For this? Yes. It's in his best interest to find out who is making trouble in his town. Trouble which could cause him to lose clients and maybe even have to move again."

"So, he's a super?"

"I'm not really sure. I do know that he's been in this game since the late Forties at least."

She looked a bit surprised at this, but only a bit.

"Someone Mack Risk introduced you to?"

"Oh, yeah," I said with a fond smile.

"Say, uhm..."

"Yes?" I said, puzzled.

"I know we can't have sex at our fancy hotel but..."

"Okay, we'll find a hotel which rents rooms by the hour..."

"Ewww..."

"...and have a bit of fun."

"On second thought, a little celibacy is good for the soul."

I laughed.

* * *

We took a bus to the big Westlake Center mall downtown. Once at our destination I found a secluded spot and changed to my Henley R. Regatta identity. We got a room at a motel nearby before doing any actual shopping, though.

"Anything in particular you want?" I said, casually, as I locked the door.

She practically stripped me and herself at the same time. Which I found gratifying.

Afterwards we showered - yes, together - and dressed and left a big tip for the maid. We went on our way looking slightly rumpled but feeling much better.

We then proceeded to the nearby mall and had supper, then bought some clothes and other supplies. We paid cash for everything, including the room.

* * *

Once again back in our "aunt and niece" guises we boarded the monorail to travel to the stop closest to our hotel. From there we used a taxi to return to our double business suite, closing the door behind us just after dark. The route could have been quicker and more direct, but not only was I making backtracking us more difficult, I was teaching Sally how to get around a city without being tailed. We put our new belongings away - including some food and drink in the wet bar area - and I started for my bedroom to clean up.

"What is this?" said Sally, holding up a couple of items I'd bought while we were out. "You're kidding. A collar and leash?!"

"You know I can do some animals, right?" I said grabbing the door frame to stop and leaning back into the room. "On the off chance we need a bloodhound or guard dog..."

She just smirked and shook her head.

I was very glad to get out of that bra; Lorraine is a healthy gal and needs a lot of support. Even though the ring makes clothing fit perfectly, the style of bra I had picked - which was pretty much essential for the type of top I was wearing - had thin straps. Too thin. Once clean and more casually dressed in slacks, a comfortable bra and a long-sleeved T I went into the central area and settled down with my laptop to do some checking. Sandy, meanwhile, watched TV. I had already noticed that all three sets had IR headphones for private listening, which I greatly appreciated.

"Okay, looks like the news about Doro being the suspect finally broke outside this area," Sally said, a little later, taking her headphones off to talk to me. She suddenly noticed what I was wearing, and grinned. "Damn, you look good for your age."

I felt flattered, but knew she was speaking platonically, so focussed on her first topic.

"The problems with the investigation still haven't reached the major news agencies," I reported. "However, there's lots of rumors. Unfortunately, there are more about a coverup of 'a government agent' going rogue or acting as part of a federal attack on business than there are of her being set up."

"What would the motive be?" said Sally, coming over to my desk. "For someone setting her up, I mean."

"It could simply be someone trying to get revenge on Doro. However, I wouldn't bet that way. More likely, whoever is behind this had a reason to get rid of those businessmen and also had a grudge against Doro. Setting her up for the murders doesn't just get revenge on both them and her, but damages her reputation."

"Is that what you're checking? Who might want to get rid of those men?"

"In part," I said, nodding. I grinned at her. "I'll make a detective of you yet."

"So tomorrow we meet with her lawyer?" said Sally, barely stifling a yawn.

"That's the plan. Better get ready for bed. I'll be heading to mine, soon enough."

She gave me an affectionate peck on the forehead then sauntered off.

* * *

There was an interesting event the next morning which - probably - had nothing to do with our investigation: President Gibbons gave a speech. An unusually - for him - long and honest one. Basically, he apologized to the citizens of the United States. He confessed that he'd thought the presidency would be an easy post given how well things were going currently, and had expected to coast. That because of his relaxed management style "certain factions" had used his lack of oversight to suborn people he trusted, and thereby caused enormous damage to democracy in the US. He promised to knuckle down and do the job right from now on.

Yeah. We'll see. Anyway, it was time to get ready for our next outing. This time we used a combination of taxi, monorail and bus to reach our destination.

I was actually getting a little tired of all the subterfuge, but it was still a good idea if only on general principles. This was why I made the appointment with the attorney as Henley Regatta.

Brandon Shaw was a senior partner in a small but well respected local firm. Tall, slim, going a bit grey - which gave him a very dignified look - he was one of two in the company who specialized in criminal cases. Both were on retainer with local federal offices. He had been informed by Brade - indirectly - that Henley Regatta had her confidence and he and his assistant were there to help with the investigation. As we began talking in his very nice office he was a bit wary, at first. However, the fact that I asked smart, pertinent questions and made appropriate comments soon had him more relaxed.

"People who know Doro say she wouldn't have done this," I said. "I believe them. She was last seen entering her apartment. Then nothing until the Bureau was notified that she'd been involved in a multiple killing a day and a half later. So, there could be powers involved, or a neutralizer, or maybe just someone with anesthetic gas."

"I insisted on a blood test," said Shaw, scowling. "Had trouble getting it - had to threaten a court order which likely would have taken too long - but they eventually complied, though almost too late."

"So what did they find?" I asked, leaning forward.

"Pseudotetrodotoxin," he spat out. "Just traces left, but it's not a natural substance. Given the half life in her body, and using the time between when she was found and when she was tested, we know she must have been given a substantial dose some time before the murders. An amount likely just barely sublethal."

"Yeah. There's a lot of that stuff floating around recently, for some reason. Maybe because few powers give a defense against it once it's in the body."

"From what the doctors tell me," said Shaw, "it is also more likely to produce a coma without death than regular tetrodotoxin. Especially when administered by someone trained in its application. The good news is that if someone survives the poison they'll usually recover in a few days with no lasting effects. The medical report confirmed that she was not only unconscious but completely helpless for hours before, during and after the attack. That, plus her disappearance from her apartment pretty much cinched it, at least in my mind. The police originally claimed the injury was self-inflicted, but that went by the wayside pretty quickly once I challenged it."

"How was her injury made?"

"Short-barreled shotgun firing a deer slug." He pointed a finger at his own chin to show the angle. "Firing up and back from under the chin. Tore her mouth up pretty good, including the palate. It's mostly soft tissue damage, though her jaw was broken, right at the point. There are already people saying this incident justifies more gun control. Even though sawed-off shotguns - not to mention murder and attempted murder - are already illegal."

"Has anyone explained why someone physically superhuman who planned to kill several people with her bare hands would bring a shotgun?"

"The working hypothesis by the police was originally that she planned to kill herself with it after she finished. They haven't explained, yet, how there were no fingerprints on the weapon, even though Doro was in plain clothes with no gloves. I had to suggest - firmly - that they check the ammunition for fingerprints, too. No word on that, yet."

I shook my head, as well. Looking at Sally I saw she had an opinion similar to mine and that of the attorney.

"According to the medical report that slug did nearly kill her," Shaw noted, sadly. "Fortunately she's gotten tougher over the past few years. Unfortunately, while she heals quickly she doesn't have regeneration. Unless she can get time in a regeneration tank she'll have scars and need some crowns. Though she is expected to otherwise make a full recovery."

"Those are getting more common, too," I said, hopefully. "The tanks, I mean."

"I'm also having trouble with discovery. They keep putting me off. Especially on the initial autopsy reports. The city says the coroners haven't had time to finish, but in a major case like this they always bring in extra help and do a quick preliminary. I may actually have to get a court order for that."

"I suspect part of the problem is that the results aren't showing what the DA expects them to show," I said, dryly. "From my research, I know she's demonstrated some anti-super sentiments before. If the examination was showing that the injuries to the deceased were made with clubs instead of fists she may have told them to look again."

"You didn't hear that from me," said Shaw, with a slight smile.

"Really, that's pretty basic," I said, with a shrug. "It's also speculation, until you get the reports."

"Hmmm, yes," Shaw said, rubbing his chin. "I think I'll try harder to light a fire under them. I know a judge..."

"I think we're done for now, so we won't take any more of your time today," I said, with my own smile. I stood and offered my hand. "Thank you for meeting with us. I hope we'll be talking more soon."

He was already reaching for the phone as we walked out.

* * *

Another day passed with us making basic inquiries of several sources. We also did a reconnaissance of the building where the murders had taken place, openly as Lorraine and Sandy. It was a local hotel - not far from ours, deliberately - which frequently rented rooms for important business meetings. In this case, while all of the business involved in Corporate Salvage had local offices, the bosses had come to town for a personal get-together on neutral ground. They had obviously wanted to talk privately about something they considered very important. Unfortunately, I didn't have any details beyond that. However, while touring the facilities - on the pretense of wanting to rent rooms for a conference - I made several contacts and spotted multiple ways of potentially getting into the scene of the crime without detection.

"So, given that the room they chose was deliberately isolated, that made the attack easier," said Sally, when I pointed out that location. She shook her head as we walked towards a bus stop near the convention center hotel. "They didn't make any efforts to conceal their meeting or their presence in the city. I've worked security enough to know that if they had thought they might be in danger they - more likely, their own security people - would have taken better precautions."

"I suspect they either had no feeling they might be in physical danger, or simply assumed that hotel security would handle any problems."

"In which case their own security people should be fired." She frowned. "Or maybe they were in on it?"

"Probably not. Keep it in mind, but not as a priority."

Once back in our own hotel suite - yes, by a circuitous route - we began checking messages. I had one from Brandon Shaw which I immediately opened. He'd received the autopsy reports on the dead Corporate Salvage businessmen, but only after getting a judge to file a court order. He'd had to take that route due to the prosecutors stalling, obviously under orders, so he had the judge go straight to the coroner's office. However, the result was not a proper coroner's report; rather, it was more like a press release. A very dumbed-down press release. The injuries were all described vaguely enough that they could have been made by blunt objects or superhuman hands and feet. Much other expected information was simply omitted. Shaw closed by reporting that he went back to the same judge, showed her the report, and the woman had ordered independent autopsies.

"That's good news," said Sally. "Maybe the new ones will exonerate Doro."

"Hopefully, they'll at least incriminate someone else."
I was about to say more but was interrupted by a notice that a new message had arrived. Another e-mail from Shawl, marked Urgent! I opened it, started reading, and snarled.

"The bodies have disappeared from the morgue."

"Shit," was all Sally had to say.

* * *

The next day there was a press release from DA's office about the missing bodies. It made big news, not only national but to some extent international. This was partly due to the office making vague accusations that the theft of the bodies was due to other supers trying to cover up Doro's crimes.

We went back to Shaw's office that afternoon for an update.

"The new forensic pathology team I organized must work with copies of the notes and photos from the first autopsies," said the attorney. "The coroner's office sent me those as a consolation prize after the bodies went missing. I sent copies of those documents to each of the pathologists we've hired. They won't have to come here for the work, so it will actually be faster. If those documents are accurate and adequate."

"So much of that work depends on feel and even smell," I said, concerned. "I know experts can do a good job just from examining the work of others, but - at the risk of sounding ghoulish - we really need those bodies."

"They're almost literally turning the morgue upside down," said Shaw, looking and sounding tired. "It's possible someone simply put them in a safe place and went on vacation, but in all likelihood those bodies are already ashes. The next of kin are screaming."

"This looks like catch-up," said Sally. She usually played silent partner in these discussions, but when she did talk it was to ask or point out something the rest of us had missed. She did, indeed, have the makings of a good detective.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, and giving her an affectionate smile. "Someone who is smart but not used to committing crimes - at least of this type - keeps realizing they need to do something. Unfortunately, once they act they're doing these things very well."

"So... It's either someone clever who just isn't used to this type of crime but is learning fast," said Shaw, thoughtfully, "or they know to call in experts, but are only calling on them for specific tasks."

"Either of which fit someone unethical who felt the need to take things to another level with those vultures," I said, frowning. "Whatever the reason for that is."

* * *

"What's on the schedule today?" said Sally, after we returned to the room from breakfast the next morning.

"I'm not sure," I said, with a sigh, feeling tired already. "Frankly, I'm out of ideas. Well, for the moment."

I grinned at her.

"One of Mack Risk's favorite sayings was 'When in doubt, walk it out.' Which meant that you should keep working the scene and the witnesses. Do the legwork."

"That actually makes sense," she said, nodding.

We changed and headed out.

* * *

We checked street vendors. We checked the doormen of neighboring hotels. We checked security guards for all the businesses in the area around the convention center. That took all that day and a couple of hours the next morning. After deciding we'd covered all the available angles from that resource we headed back to our suite.

"You mentioned something about checking security cameras," said Sally, as we rode up in the otherwise empty elevator.

"That would likely take court orders or warrants," I said. I frowned. "Actually, I wish I'd thought to ask Shaw about that. I know the police got the videos from the convention center, but I don't know if they checked neighboring facilities."

Back in the suite I did a quick check of my e-mail, and found one marked Urgent! from Shaw. I shifted to Henley Regatta form and used my drop phone to call instead of responding to his message. His secretary was expecting my call and put me right through. I set my phone to conference mode and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch in the central room.

"Someone broke into the medical examiner's office last night," he said, without preamble. "Took off with the computers, the paper records and the sample jars."

"I can't say I'm surprised," I said. "Didn't they increase their security after the bodies went missing?"

"I don't know. Like you I just assumed they would, but after this..."

"I was going to call you anyway," I said, after he went silent. I mentioned my idea about checking the security videos from businesses around the convention center.

"The police actually already did that," he said. "They even checked with ATM cameras, and found who had been using the machines during that period and are interviewing them."

"That's more thorough than I expected."

"Anyway, I sent copies of all the digital files they sent me back to the coroner's office. Keep in mind that this is not for public release yet. I only know because the head of the medical examiner's office called to ask if I still had my copies. I did a quick check, confirmed that I did and sent them back."

"We got very lucky," I said, quietly. "If you hadn't received those copies so soon..."

"Tell me about it," said Shaw. "Of course, by the time the original materials - including the computer files - vanished, I'd already forwarded what I got to the three outside medical examiners. Which makes me wonder if whoever is behind this might be someone old enough that they don't how quick and easy it is to share information in digital form."

"That's less an effect of age than awareness," I said, frowning in thought. "Though, yeah, that sort of unawareness is more common in older folks. What I'm thinking, though, is that whoever is behind this is someone who may be aware of modern technology - and likely uses it - but isn't interested enough in it to understand how easy it makes backing things up."

"Some older businessman who was done wrong by the vultures?" said Sally, speculating aloud as she spoke for the first time. "Maybe a coconspirator they were about to turn on?"

"They weren't exactly secretive about when and where they were meeting," I said, frowning. "Though they were about what they were meeting for."

"We still don't know," said Shaw. "They didn't have a meeting schedule, they didn't keep minutes..."

We spoke for several more minutes, but none of us had anything more to say which was likely to be constructive. We each promised to keep the other notified of developments, and I ended the call.

Sally and I sat in silence for a moment.

"Damn..." was all I could manage, finally.

Masks XIX:

A Disturbance of the Peace

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Three

The next day the news of this latest problem with the case broke. Politicians of all stripes were making hay out of the evidence being missing. However, one in particular was very outspoken about this development.

"Talk about suspects," said Sally, pointing to the TV as a particular very well dressed middle-aged man came on, "there's one of the usual."

"Yeah, he's a politician," I said, shrugging. Solomon Harvek had run against Sievers in the primary before her first term. He'd given up on running for the office he'd held for several terms in order to make his bid, then lost to her by a large margin. No-one but him and his cronies was surprised; he'd been losing votes for years and probably would have lost his seat, anyway. "Don't tell me he's back on the campaign trail. Last I heard, he'd stopped trying for office and was content running things from behind the scenes."

"He's a major businessman with - get this - one of his most important offices in Seattle."

"None of which connects him to this case in any way," I pointed out.

"Yeah, but he made several fortunes after the war by winning bids on contracts connected with the reconstruction. Only after the boom some of those companies he supplied materials to got into trouble. Nothing major, but..."

"Let me guess," I said, smirking. "The vultures got some of them."

"Yeah."

"Still doesn't mean he did it. He is such a public figure that him being involved doesn't make sense."

"Weren't you the one who told me murder rarely makes sense to someone outside the case?"

"Uhm, yeah," I admitted. "Okay, he's on the list, but not a priority."

* * *

Most of our time the next few days was spent talking with people who knew the victims, as well as security and other personnel at the scene of the crime. They had been told by the cops not to talk about this, but didn't like the way that had been done. That resentment, combined with the natural desire to talk about scandal meant that most could be persuaded. I just had to figure out whether they were more likely to talk to press or private investigators. My empathy was a big help, there. As was my decades of experience. It helped that we could legitimately claim we were working for Doro's attorney. Private security were more likely to speak with someone like that, since they were well aware that they would likely be called on to testify in court. Meanwhile, low-level non-security staff would often open-up to a reporter off the record, while mid-level staff would speak on the record, though they'd say less. Upper management would only talk through their lawyers. However, they often let things slip in announcing they wouldn't say anything. They just could not be concise, but had to elaborate on why they weren't saying anything.

It turned out that pretty much nobody we talked to at the hotel liked Corporate Salvage or the businessmen in charge of it. Those men had earned multiple fortunes buying troubled businesses and selling off their assets to earn large sums in the short term instead of earning more in the long term by helping them recover. (I admit I don't understand all the financial details, which apparently involved tax laws that effectively gave them huge discounts for ruining those businesses.) Despite all of them being multi-millionaires they were poor tippers and skimped on amenities for their meeting. This after spending a large amount of money on the actual meeting facilities! They were all new money, likely originally from the upper middle class or lower upper class, rather than old money people. Those sorts would be more accustomed to displaying a sort of mildly condescending generosity by tipping well, and also to splurging on food and drink catered for the meeting. Neither did the murdered businessmen display the genuine willingness to help those less fortunate often demonstrated by new money folks who had worked their way up from further down. (Yes, I'm generalizing hugely, here.)

One important clue which no-one else seemed to have picked up on before our inquiry was that a rental van had been parked in the hotel garage in the visitor area just before the murders. The same van had left right after the crime. This was a full sized, commercial-style van, and the attendant on duty for the shift right before the murder remembered because the driver had requested a slot near the elevator. No explanation. The attendant didn't remember the license plate, but he did recall the rental company. Also, the only windows in the van were up front and in the rear doors, and the latter had been blacked out. He had the distinct impression there were several people in the van but he only saw the driver. Even more unusually, when the van left the driver gave the attendant a sizable tip. Something not normal for him to get, especially when had hadn't done much more than hand over a ticket, recommend a level where they would have access to the elevator, and take payment less than an hour later.

We returned to our suite that Thursday afternoon after a very productive, if very tiring, day.

"I am exhausted," said Sally, dropping onto one of the lounges in our business suite and removing her shoes. "I am also impressed. Just watching you work those people..."

"Partly powers," I said, a bit modestly, "partly skills learned from experts over decades."

"Well, we learned a lot about what was going on," she said, wincing as she alternately massaged her feet. I'd have offered but I learned early in our relationship I just didn't have the hand strength necessary. Of course, that also begged the question of why someone physically superhuman would have such problems from just standing and walking. "It seems like the more we learn about those guys who were killed the more people we find who would have liked to have done that to 'em."

"We need to hit that rental company tomorrow," I said. "Not only was that whole van operation suspicious, but the fact that the driver tipped the attendant might mean he's from out of town."

We settled into our already established evening routines; both of us handling personal matters online as well as checking various potential sources of information about the case. I also sent Shaw an e-mail with what we had uncovered about the van.

"Hah!" said Sally, a bit later, startling me as she pulled off her headphones and gave a triumphant grin.

"What?"

"They caught Carl Donner."

"Do tell," I said, rising and moving to where she was watching the news on the big TV. She turned up the volume.

Turned out the disgraced former Vice-President had left the country using a false passport, on his way to Jersey. That's the island of Jersey, in the English Channel. A popular place for people to send funds they don't want traced. There he got a rude surprise; he'd secreted a large amount of money there and made arrangements to rent a villa, all the while thinking it was a privately-owned island near Bermuda. I could understand the money part - I had some of my own funds stashed there - but to not know where it was geographically...

"I've been there," I said, baffled. "About the only thing it has it common with Bermuda is that it's an island in the Northern hemisphere. It's been part of Britain since 1066. It's still a British Crown Dependency, a Bailiwick. It's climate is definitely not subtropical. Didn't the idiot even notice the flight was taking too long?!"

"Hush!"

Donner had made a go of it for a while, living under his fake ID. He'd finally been caught when an American tourist saw the man and recognized him. The tourist had the sense to not confront Donner but instead reported the sighting to the nearest American Embassy. When they didn't act on his tip - to be fair, they were getting a lot of them, with the others apparently all false - he contacted both Interpol and the local police. Since Donner had an international warrant out for him, once a single law enforcement agency took the report seriously enough to check his ID, the jig was up. He was currently on his way back to the US. In shackles on a US government plane.

"He'll likely be held in a Club Fed somewhere in the southeastern US, tried, convicted and sentenced to a short term in the same facility plus a huge fine he can easily afford," I said, with a tired sigh.

"Cynical, much?" said Sally, raising an eyebrow.

"Just experienced."

* * *

We had made more progress than I expected before the end of the week. Therefore, the next day day we made a visit to the rental agency where the van had come from. That evening we would be back at the law office to meet with Shaw for a mutual update.

Our visit to the rental agency that Friday proved both fruitful and frustrating. It was fruitful in that the clerk told us only one van of that type had been rented the day of the murder. He also remembered the guy who rented it, giving a description which matched the driver at the hotel garage. They'd used a prepaid debit card. He was reluctant to tell us the name used or even show us the papers.

My empathy told me he was getting suspicious about our cover of being reporters checking on a political scandal and I knew our IDs wouldn't stand up to close scrutiny. I thanked him and we left.

"What next?" said Sally. "Break in tonight?"

"No need. We just talk to Shaw, tell him what we uncovered about the rental company and have him get a warrant. We already have an appointment to brief him on what we've learned and what we need to continue pursuing. With luck he can get the warrant tonight for use tomorrow. The rental agency is open on the weekend, remember."

* * *

We got off the bus over a block from the law office and walked. I was already back in my "Henley Regatta" ID, and Sally had again redone her outfit, including removing the wig she had worn to the rental agency. It wasn't impossible to connect the current us to the pair who had gone there and asked questions, but I'd made sure that was very difficult.

However, despite our precautions all was not well at the law office. As soon as we entered the reception area I went on alert. This was late on a Friday afternoon and most of the staff had already gone home, but I'd called Shaw to make sure he was there and someone would be available to let us in. Only, while the doors were unlocked, there was no receptionist. The lights were off, too. I knew we were there past usual closing time, but Shaw was supposed to be waiting for us. However, this scene didn't add up. Sally had also noticed something was wrong. There was no need to raise the alarm yet; the receptionist might just have gone to the restroom, the lights might be on timers... Still...

I motioned for Sally to go right, to the door which led to the offices. I cut left and went behind the desk. It was pretty large, actually an elevated reception station. A quick glance showed the phone was off the hook. There was no other sign of disturbance, but that was plenty. Especially since the switchboard was as dead as the overhead lights.

"Trouble," I said, in a low voice.

I quickly opened the cupboard doors under the station but found no sign of the receptionist. While Sally kept watch through the door where she stood, I took a quick look in the restrooms. I found the receptionist - out cold and badly injured - laying on the floor of the men's room.

After a quick check to make sure she was alive, I called 911, reporting an assault with injuries at the office. I made sure the operator knew to tell the police there were two friendlies on the premises checking things out.

I was interrupted by a sudden sound of violence. I hurried back out into the reception area to discover Sally fully engaged with half a dozen men in black clothes and ski masks, complete with bulky gloves. I scooted my cell phone into a corner and moved in to help. I jumped one of the men from behind and had an immediate success in disabling him, simply through taking him by surprise. Unfortunately, these guys were professionals. I was quickly set upon by two others and quickly beaten into submission. Fortunately, their distraction with me allowed Sally to finish the others then come to my rescue. In seconds all the attackers were reduced to moaning lumps of pain.

"How are you?" she asked, panting.

She'd taken a couple of hits hard enough that bruises were already forming, and that was just what I could see on the parts of her skin currently showing. Sap gloves are not something to take lightly, even for a low level physical super. Her clothing was also the worse for wear. With my regeneration I'd likely be back to fully healed before she was, though that was only because she'd stopped them quickly. Still, neither of us had serious injuries.

"Feeling both inadequate and rather aroused," I admitted, as she helped me to my feet. "I am very, very, very glad you're with me on this."

"Are they low-level supers?" she asked, wincing as she rubbed her left upper arm.

"They're wearing sap gloves," I said, as I retrieved my phone, talking as much to the 911 operator as to Sally.

I had immediately recognized the feel of those from painful past experience. Then confirmed them once I had a good look at the gloves.

She started to ask me something, but was interrupted by a moan from down the hall. Which reminded us that we were there to see someone. Sally and I quickly zeroed in on the sound and found Mr. Shaw. Fortunately, while he was stunned that was more emotional than physical.

"I've already called 911," I said, noting how dazed he was. "There's cops and an ambulance on the way. You might need to call others, though. Like your partners, or security agency."

"Oh. Yes. Of course."

He picked up a desk phone, only to find that it was out of service. He had to pull his cell out of his pocket to make his calls. We later learned the attackers had cut all the wires to the building, including power and Internet. Which explained why I the phone at the receptionist's station was dead.

"By the way," he said, briefly covering the mouthpiece of his cell phone, "thank you."

While he spoke with his contact I briefed Sally on what to say and how to act with the police. Then I had her go restrain the attackers while I made sure Shaw was as uninjured as he seemed. The whole time I was talking to the 911 operator, letting her know what we were doing. I told her we would wait outside for the cops.

I helped Shaw up and together we made our way to the foyer. Sally had just finished her knot work, and looked satisfied. She quickly moved to take Shaw's other arm and we went outside.

Sally and I got Shaw seated on a bench shortly before the police arrived, sirens shutting down as a pair of marked cars careened into the guest lot. The drivers skidded their cars into position, exited with guns out and squatted down to put the engines between themselves and us. Then began yelling orders.

"I'm..." Shaw tried.

I pulled him and Sally down onto the ground and made sure they put their hands on their heads.

"But I'm..." Shaw protested.

"Submit now and don't get shot," I hissed. "Identify yourself later."

This shouldn't have been happening; I'd told the 911 operator that the good guys were out front, waiting. As we went onto the ground I made sure the phone - with the 911 operator still on the line - was on the bench.

The cops moved in quickly and zip-tied us. They left us face down on the pavement and went inside.

"This is bogus," said Sally, who could have broken the plastic zip-tie easily but knew not to. "They didn't even leave one of them on guard!"

I could hear the 911 operator saying something loudly, but the speaker on the phone wasn't up to whatever message she was trying to deliver. Partly because of ambient noise. Some of which was very interesting.

"I hear more sirens approaching," I said. "Cops and - further off - ambulances."

"What...?" said Shaw, the most confused.

Three more marked police cars arrived, and an unmarked car with a couple of detectives in it. They piled out, guns drawn.

"There's the cavalry," I said, smirking. A glance inside showed the first two cops running out of the foyer, towards the rear of the building, along with a couple of the assailants. The others were left yelling in protest after them. Good luck with escaping out the back. I hear more sirens around there.

There was some confusion, but we quickly identified ourselves and the real cops just as quickly got our IDs out to verify that. I was very glad mine was real. They cut the zip-ties and helped us up.

"So who were those first cops?" said Shaw, once we were back inside, out of the weather.

"Fake cops to rescue the assailants if something went wrong," I said, nodding.

"Yeah, their cars are old models," said the Lieutenant in charge of the real cops. "Probably bought at auction and recommissioned. Their uniforms and gear aren't quite regulation, either."

"Somebody was being thorough," said Sally, nodding. She grinned. "Just not thorough enough."

"Anyway, here come the ambulances. Once you're cleared by the EMTs we need to get you down to the station and take your statements."

* * *

Hours were needed before we were allowed to leave the police station. They knew we weren't telling them the whole truth, but given the circumstances they decided to focus on the hired hands for now. Well, as soon as those worthies recovered enough to question. Sally had really done a number on them.

We were taken back to the law office. We'd been at the station long enough that the crime scene crew had finished and allowed the repair crew to get to work. Some of the other partners in the firm were there, talking with Shaw. However, when he learned we were back he excused himself to speak with us.

"I don't understand," said Shaw, once we were in a conference room left untouched by the attackers. "Why do this?! Why risk additional attacks? Every piece of information I have on the case is digital or printouts of digital files, and those all have offsite backups!"

"Sometimes your best break comes from someone deciding to stop your investigation," I said. I shrugged and winced. Despite my regeneration my injuries still had a ways to go. "Of course, sometimes the way they decide to stop the investigation is to stop you, so be extra careful. By the way, be sure to ask if the wounds on those murdered Corporate Salvage executives could have been made with sap gloves."

"Which are?" said Shaw, puzzled.

"Tough gloves - leather, vinyl or something similar - with lead or steel weights or powder sewn into pockets on the backs of the knuckles. They hit like an old-fashioned blackjack, except they're not illegal most places in the US."

Turns out he didn't know what a blackjack was, either. Kids, these days. Don't they even read the classic detective novels, or watch film noir? I took pity and explained. After hearing about the kind of damage sap gloves could do to a normal, Shaw looked speculatively at Sally. He then visibly decided not to ask too many questions.

"You think whoever is behind this is getting nervous about us?" said Sally, to bring things back to my point and away from Shaw possibly realizing she was a super.

"Or what someone else is doing. Or both." I said.

"I'm just glad you two arrived before they did any more damage to our equipment," said Shaw. "They had just started roughing me up and hadn't even gotten to my computer, yet."

"Though maybe you should check those offsite backups," I said, thoughtfully, "just in case."