Page 43 of Perfection

Chapter Nine

It was eight-thirty in the morning by the time York walked into the precinct, his hand fisted around a net that strained against his hold like a dog pulling at its leash. Three active Tracers fought to get free. He entered a cubicle where two technicians were working and tossed his catch onto a desk. They jerked up their heads.

“Data these out pronto, ’kay? They probably won’t show who they belong to, but you never know.”

“Ooh, Hunter Man,” the nearest tech jeered with a chuckle.

“Ya know, I can program one of those suckers to take some up close and personal pics of you, John,” York said. “Just give me a reason.”

“I can give you five.” The other tech smiled wickedly as he aimed a remote, activating an invisible containment field around the Tracers. He singled out one Tracer, removed and deactivated it while downloading the data it stored. A series of pictures appeared on the tech’s screen.

“They were outside Regional Director B-Gastion’s house,” York explained. “I’ll take a look at the property video for the last couple of days, too.”

The press most likely owned the Tracers, but they were required to have identifying labels on all surveillance devices. Anyone else would have remotely wiped the suckers clean.

“A news station?” he asked.

“How did you guess,” the tech said with a grin.

“Whatever information they recorded would have already been transmitted to a home base. So it only was an inconvenience that I’d taken them. That, and it will cost to replace them.”

York watched over the tech’s shoulder as he ran through the images of B-Gastion’s property and the streets around it. Most of the images seemed to be of a few news people looking for more on the story. Then a picture scrolled by that showed a flash of familiar mahogany hair.

“Hold up,” he said. “Go back a few.”

And sure enough, there was his mom, chatting it up with a reporter. God, she was like a dog with a bone. A soft growl escaped his throat.

John leaned in. “Hey, isn’t that—”

“Yes. My mother. Back up and enhance the audio,” he instructed.

“Is it true that the B-Gastion’s child was found by the Nanny Sally?” his mother asked the reporter.

“I hadn’t heard that,” the reporter said.

“Shit,” York grumbled. Where had his mother gotten her information?

“Sorry, man.” The tech’s mouth pulled to the side.

“Want to grab a bite to eat?” the other tech asked.

“Nope. And you guys aren’t going anywhere, either, until these vids have been analyzed six ways from Sunday. Too many things on our to-do list.”

Like checking in with Vi. And paying his mom a visit to try to get her to let this go.

People were going to be edgier than ever with how close this hit to home…

York moved on to the captain’s office. This time the door was closed. He knocked.

“In,” Avery called.

The room was dim, lit only by a thin, in-wall holobox. Kindra B-Zaika was being interviewed at an after-awards-ceremony gala. And, Jesus, they were asking her about the case. Damn, everywhere he went she was on the news.

“My initial analysis shows the illness appears to be unique to Isabelle D-Gastion.” Kindra came across as confident. Where before he’d been annoyed by her ease with the press, now York was impressed by her in-charge presence.

“Was there any warning that something was amiss with the child?” the reporter asked.

“Keep it to yourself,” York muttered, almost holding his breath.