"You awake?" a whiskey-soured voice asked.
"Yeah." Skater replied, lifting his head.
"Good. For a minute there I thought you were dead and I'd wasted all this time thinking up questions to ask you." The speaker was the human, of average height and broad shoulders. He wore his beard short and his hair dark and long, pulled back in a ponytail. He had a large nose and thick eyebrows that looked like one woolly caterpillar crawling across both eyes. The blue and gold Lone Star jacket was held in one hand over his shoulder.
"There's not much I can tell you." Skater volunteered.
The man nodded and reached for one of the three remaining chairs at the table. "That's what I've heard." He dropped a portable microcam on the table. "We're going to go through it again, though. I'm Lance Paulson, you can think of me as an investigating officer." He jerked a thumb toward the troll. "And this is Nina, you can think of her as my partner."
The troll was only a few centimeters shorter than Elvis. Her horns were oiled and polished a jet-black, framing coarse hair that had been shaved into a six centimeter tall mohawk done in chartreuse tipped platinum. For a troll, she had curves. Skater figured Elvis would have been impressed, until he found out she was a cop.
"That much thinking," Skater said, "I'm liable to get confused."
"What I thought." Paulson nodded agreeably. He leaned over the portable microcam and switched it on. "That's why I brought datapics."
"Are you guys as high up as I go at Lone Star?" Skater asked.
"If you're referring to the way you've stone-walled everyone from the arresting Knight Errant team to the uniforms down in Booking," Nina said, "then, yes. We're it. From here you go to a lawyer and a trial, as soon as they can get it on the docket. With no help from you regarding your possible innocence, and your reluctance to say anything in your behalf, I doubt you'll make bail. And with the way the courts are jammed these days, you probably won't make your first appearance for three or four months. Gives you a long time to play with the other socially maladjusted drekheads in lock-up."
"A gloomy proposition," Paulson said. He relaxed in his chair with his hands folded behind his head. A smile curved his thin lips under the shadow of his hooked nose. "On the other hand, you can still talk to us."
"The cuffs?" Skater asked.
Pauison looked at Nina, who referred to a noteputer she took from inside her jacket.
"Boosted reflexes," she read. "Bone reinforcements in both arms and one leg. Eyes. Commlink IV. No implanted hardware that slices or dices."
"So that probably means no magic." Paulson said.
"Came back negative."
"Going in kind of naked for a shadowrunner, ain't you?" Paulson asked.
"I'm no gillette," Skater replied. "And I'm not a shadowrunner.”
"Sure." Paulson got out of his chair and fished a key out of his pocket. "But let's get something straight before I unlock you: you do not want to try to slot me over when you're loose. I gave up original equipment a long time ago, but I wouldn't need chrome to get over on a guy like you in the first place. The ankle bracelets are staying on."
Once his wrists were free. Skater massaged them, trying to get circulation restored without all the pain.
"File came back with the name Otto Franks when it scanned your retina-prints and fingerprints," Nina said. "Is that your name?"
Skater nodded.
"This is being recorded, Mr. Franks. Could you answer verbally?"
"Sure."
"So your name is Otto Franks?"
"Yes." The name was a cover Archangel had implanted into the SIN database. If he got loose. Skater knew that she could erase all trace of him again and assign him another idee of his choice. Almost two years ago, she'd gotten into the system and erased every vestige of Jack Skater.
"And what's your occupation, Mr. Franks?" Paulson asked.
"I'm an investment counselor." Skater replied.
"With boosted reflexes? I guess the stacks change pretty fragging fast these days, don't they?"
"I was mugged a few years ago." Skater knew that record was on file, too, courtesy of Archangel. She was very efficient when she wove one of her webs. It also explained the reinforced limbs and the surgeries necessary to correct the damage the Disassemblers had done. "After I got out of the hospital, I had the boosted reflexes added. Figured it would give me an edge if I ever got into that situation again."
Paulson laughed out loud in disbelief. "Well, chummer, you certainly got yourself into some deep drek this morning, didn't you?"
"What am I charged with?" Skater asked.
"Arson, for starters," Nina said. "Besides the criminal action, there'll be a civil suit on behalf of the Montgomery Building owners."
"Which happens to be a joint venture of real-estate developers hardboosted into the megaplex's political and economic high-rollers scene," Paulson said. "They're pretty slotted off at the moment."
"And murder," the troll said.
Skater made himself ask, "Who was killed?"
Paulson pointed at him. "Maybe you want to tell us."
"The only thing I flatlined was a hell hound."
Nina looked at Paulson, who shrugged. "Crime Scene Unit reported a big dog. Forensics hasn't taken a whack at it yet. Could be."
"What about the desk clerk and the Knight Errant sec-guard working the lobby?" the troll asked.
"They were dead when I got there."
"When did you get there?"
"A little after four a.m."
"How much after?"
'Ten, fifteen minutes."
"Can anyone verify that?" Nina asked.
Skater thought of the cabby who'd taken him there, then dismissed the possibility. The driver was an ork. "An elderly couple let me in."
"That so?" Paulson stood and started pacing.
Skater knew the motion was purely to rattle him. His lies were all going to be simple, things he could easily remember. Nothing that would lead too far astray.
"How much money did you make last year, Mr. Franks?" Paulson asked.
"Check my tax return. I'm sure it's listed there." Archangel took care of those details, too.
"Oh, I have."
"Then why ask me?"
"To see if you knew. You don't. I find that interesting."
"My line of work," Skater said, "you do a lot of number-crunching."
"Give me a guess."
Skater remained quiet. His cover was holding, which was frustrating the detective team.
"I was playing the markets," Paulson went on, "could you recommend me a good buy at morning's open?"
"Maybe you could give us a client list," Nina said.
"Maybe I could get a lawyer in here." Skater said, "before we continue this discussion."
"What were you doing at the Montgomery?" Paulson asked.
"I went there to see someone."
"You normally do business at four in the morning?"
"A lot of my clients have strange schedules," Skater answered. "I don't mind working around their needs."
"Larisa Hartsinger was a client?" Nina asked.
"No."
"But you went there to see her?"
"Yes." By giving them part of the truth. Skater figured he could keep them off-balance, and bring the lies back on-line.
"Why?" Paulson queried.
"Personal reasons."
Paulson resumed his seat and put his hands behind his head again. "What kind of personal reasons?"
"She was a dancer at a club."
Paulson nodded. "SybreSpace. We've already talked to proprietress Amanda Silvereyes and some of Hartsinger's co-workers."