Police lounged in the corridor. Coren felt a sudden hollowness. One of the officers approached him, hand on the butt of her department-issue stunner, and Coren automatically held up his ID with the investigator's license appended.
"Inspector Capel is in charge, Mr. Lanra," she said, gesturing through the door.
The living room contained little furniture, but all of it looked expensive. Coren glimpsed the label on the entertainment array and quickly calculated the significant fraction of his annual income the system would have eaten. Forensic recorders drifted slowly over the stone-tile floor. A huddle of plainclothes police stood with their backs to a wall-length image of black, white, gray, and ivory blocks of various proportions that gradually exchanged places. The detectives stopped talking when Coren approached.
"Coren Lanra," he said, showing his ID again. "I'm looking for Inspector Capel?"
One of the men took his ID and examined it casually. He was slightly shorter than Coren, grayish hair a fine dusting across his broad skull. His eyes were a bright, almost artificial green. "Private security," he said, handing it back. "Do you have business here?"
"I'm not sure yet. I'm an acquaintance of Brun Damik."
The inspector blinked twice, then nodded. "Come with me," he said. "I'm Capel."
He led Coren to Damik's bedroom. Coren surveyed it quickly, noting the pair of uniformed police going through the wall-length closet and the bank of drawers. The bed was enormous, cobalt blue sheets rumpled. Coren saw no sign of blood.
"In here," Capel said, continuing on to the bathroom.
Damik sat propped on the toilet, hands dangling. Coren stared, shocked at the condition of the body. Bruises covered most of Damik's torso and thighs; his eyes were swollen shut, lips black and inflated. The head sat at an odd angle and Coren noticed the thick line of purpling around the neck. The only blood came from the holes where Damik's ears had been attached.
"They're in the sink," Capel said, guessing Coren's question. "These apartments are completely soundproofed. Surveillance shows no one entering or leaving. before or after Brun Damik came home last night. Preliminaries indicate that sixty to seventy percent of his bones are broken-the spine is holding him up, if you're wondering-and several major organs are ruptured." Capel wheeled on him. "Your card says Special Service, so I'm not even going to try to be clever with you. Let me ask right out: what are you doing here?"
Coren closed his eyes. He had never grown the callouses other veterans claimed came after seeing enough dead bodies, but the nausea he once experienced no longer reached the point of muddling his thinking. The hollowness he felt upon seeing police here acquired a sour tang, and his conscience suggested that this was his fault for having visited Damik recently. He drew a deep breath.
"My employer is running for office," he said. "Rega Looms. I'm following up possible embarrassments."
Capel nodded as if Coren had just passed a test. "What could Brun Damik have done to embarrass Rega Looms?"
"Nothing, directly."
"But…?"
"But…" Coren glanced over his shoulder as to make sure he and Capel were out of earshot. He stepped closer. "Looms' daughter has been known to play at smuggling from time to time."
"Baleys. We know. So you're covering for him by trying to find his daughter." Capel pursed his lips. "Could this be the result of your investigation?"
"I honestly can't see how."
Capel stepped closer to Damik's body. "He was tortured. Somebody did this over a four- or five-hour period." He looked up. "How well did you know him?"
"We worked together in Special Service several years ago. He was competent. His tastes ran a little rich, though. "
"Rich enough to accept perks?"
Coren made an inclusive gesture, indicating the opulence of the apartment. Capel grunted, agreeing.
"Was he supposed to have some information for you?"
"I don't know. I spoke to him yesterday. He wasn't very helpful. I was coming back to try again."
"Somebody beat you to it." Capel sighed. "I don't expect to get everything you might be able to tell me, Mr. Lanra, and I don't doubt you have a very good attorney, working for Rega Looms, so I won't even think about detaining you. I'm going to rely on your integrity as a former cop to tell me what I need to know. I'm not naive enough to believe I'm even going to get that, so we'll pretend for the moment that we're actually working on the same side and that you wouldn't obstruct my investigation."
"Believe me, Inspector, I don't have a clue who did this. Or why. "
Capel nodded. "It is excessive, especially for baleys. But who knows? This is politics, right? Maybe someone knows something about Looms' daughter that could hurt him." He shrugged. "It's a stretch. But all the other ideas I have don't explain this any better. Some sadistic shit tortured this man. That transcends jealousy, crime of passion, payback on a bad debt. Nothing explains it. Not even politics, really, unless he knew something."
"Torture is not a very reliable way of getting useful information. "
"That's true. So we're left with revenge or someone sending a message. "
"A message?"
"The question is, from whom to who? And why? Does Rega Looms know Brun Damik?"
"I seriously doubt it. "
"And I doubt Rega Looms knows the particulars of your work right now. He's busy campaigning."
"Correct."
"So could this be a message for you?"
Coren studied Damik's corpse. If this was a message, it failed. Graphic, certainly, but the intent was buried in the bruises.
"If it is," he said, "I can't interpret it. There is a third possibility."
"Yes?"
"Pleasure. Someone enjoyed doing this."
Capel shuddered. "I do not even want to consider that. Not yet; hopefully, not ever."
Coren understood. A truly sick mind was one of the most difficult to track down, and when caught, it was difficult to know what to do next. But he agreed with Capel-this was a message.
"May I look around?" Coren asked.
Capel stared silently at Damik for a long moment, till Coren thought he had not heard. Then: "Sure. You know better than to touch anything and so forth. "
"Thank you. "
He backed out of the bathroom and looked across the bedroom at the police still riffling through the immense closet. Not sure where to begin, Coren walked around the bed and immediately touched something.
The sheets were expensive. Imports, Coren guessed. Damik would have been in an ideal position to help himself to whatever black market goods came through. Who would challenge him, especially if he was reasonably careful and not too greedy? He was not selling anything, as far as Coren knew. If he had been, he would have been living in a private enclave, with better security. No, Damik was not that corrupt. It had been clear even in Special Service that Damik was interested only in personal comfort, not the extra work illicit business would bring. He was a taker, not a dealer. It did not appear to Coren that he could have affected anybody's bottom line. Not enough to warrant an assassination.
Coren tugged the sheets down. Stained. Sweat? The coloration was wrong for anything else. Still, the possibility that someone had been in bed with him was not unreasonable. What had he said about his contacts?
"A woman named Tresha and a man named Gamelin. I assume he's just muscle, he's big enough."
Coren thought back to his last visit to Jeta Fromm's hab, and the fact that a man and woman had come to see her, but she had already left. What was the chronology? A day? Two days? Things had happened so fast. The warren rat had said the man was big, something wrong with him. The same pair?
He wondered then if the woman who'd acted as his data troll had even been Jeta Fromm. Perhaps he'd been dealing with this "Tresha " all along…
The sheets were skewed in the direction of the bathroom, but that did not necessarily mean Damik had been dragged. Coren left the bedroom and almost stepped on a forensic recorder. The compact, turtle-shelled unit continued on, oblivious to Coren's presence, looking for the minutiae that might provide a clue-hairs, skin, fibers, fluids.