Free Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 by Owen Baillie Page B

enquiry about my behavior. They said I breached a whole heap of rules and policies.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees, head down. “You know what the government is like these days about proper behavior. They don’t want to look bad in the eyes of the public. I think they wanted to terminate my employment, but the captain fought for me and got an indefinite suspension. But if I didn’t have a job with the NYPD, I’d lose my badge permanently. Thankfully, the captain found an admin role that kept me around. I’m guessing it had something to do with my father.”
    “Tough break,” Smyth said. “Your wife and all. I’m sorry.”
    “What about your old man?” Camilleri asked. “Talk was you got an easy ride into the department because of him.”
    Gutterson shrugged. “Maybe. I did the time though, at least through college and in the academy. I majored in criminal justice, and finished the police academy top of the class. They fast-tracked me straight into detective work. I’d cut my teeth on every homicide computer-modeling program in the country.” He considered what Camilleri had said. “Perhaps they helped me along because of my father. But I’d solved a string of cases before the Janefield file arrived.”
    “All right,” Smyth said. “I think we’ve got what we needed.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at the others. Nobody spoke. “So what’s the story with this new suicide? Don’t tell me it’s the same company again?”
    “ Yes. It is indeed.” Surprise washed over all their faces. Gutterson hung on that. He didn’t want to play his entire hand yet. “I’m waiting on some information, but I believe it will tell us a similar story.”
    “He’s never let this go,” Smyth said to Camilleri.
    “Before I lost my badge, I copied the files and took them home to my apartment and picked through them, trying to find the missing link. I’ve looked at them every day for the last eighteen months.” He poked his finger at the table and punched it down with each word. “There is something wrong with this company.”
    Camilleri sat up. “Okay, but you said there were other suicides in the past. What if this new death was just a plain old suicide? What if a guy who works there just got sick of life and topped himself?”
    “What about the autopsy report?” Smyth said.
    Gutterson shook his head knowingly. “Yeah, that’ll say suicide too. But I know different.”
    Harding leaned forward on the table, hands folded. “How?”
    “I’ll share that with you soon… once I have the evidence.” The other three exchanged glances.
    Harding’s face twisted into an apologetic look. “Look, John, if you’re not going to be open and honest with us, it ain’t gonna work. We understand your situation. You’ve been angling to get your badge back forever, but is this a last minute attempt, or is there something here we can work with?
    Camilleri added: “Or are you just wasting our time on a case you didn’t solve years ago? Maybe you weren’t able to let go of it.”
    “I’m not wasting your time.”
    “I mean, shit,” Harding continued, “You know what the courts are like nowadays. Hard evidence is all that matters.”
    Camilleri’s eyes narrowed. “You know more than you’re telling us.”
    A humorless chuckle escaped Gutterson. He leaned back in the chair, catching himself as the floating mechanism locked in on his resting weight. “I don’t know much more. But, as you know, my old man was a cop with the NYPD many years ago. We played strategy games at home on the gaming console and he taught me what the AI’s couldn’t—how to look behind the smoke and mirrors and underneath the rocks to find what others had missed. Whether I had it naturally, or he helped me develop it by playing all those games, I’ve got an instinct for it.” He waved a hand towards the tablets sitting on the table in front of them. “I don’t know what to tell you other than I feel it. It was telling me