McBain straightened in his chair. “You can’t tell how many—?”

“It’s not our job to tell how many. Real cops don’t do this spooky shit, McBain, that’s your damn job. Patrol’s still up there, they got an anonymous tip-off—”

“Someone called in a tip?”

“That’s what I said. Anonymous call. Came from the scene, apparently. Dispatch says they traced it to a mo’comm worn by one of the…uh…parts. I’ll download the record to your unit…”

McBain’s mobile comm beeped on the table next to him. He hoped PD hadn’t messed about with the comm they found at the scene. He might be able to get it to Analysis for something useful.

“…so anyway patrol knew where to go but they don’t know what they’ve got other than it’s a freakin’ mess up there and that’s spooky and that’s why I’m calling you. You and your deviant partner. For all the good it’ll do.” Ramasamy sucked his teeth again.

As far as the SPD was concerned ‘spooky’ could mean anything from ‘supernatural’ to ‘don’t want this weird, dubiously-solvable case mucking up our pending stats for the foreseeable future.’ McBain wondered again just who he had pissed off to be kicked off the line and placed on the so-called “Special Crimes Unit.” As a detective with eight years experience you’d think he could figure that out at least. He took a breath.

“Is the ME’s crew up there yet?”

“No, they’re not, McBain, it’s three freakin’ am.”

McBain carefully breathed out while counting to five. He did that a lot when talking to Watch Sergeant Ramasamy. “I hate to disturb the beauty sleep of whoever’s on shift at the Medical Examiner’s office but if there are a lot of parts—” he took a calming breath, “I’ll need a coroner’s tech up there to tell me which part is which.”

There was a pause while Ramasamy placed the call. The watch sergeant managed to make something as mundane as screen-swiping sound resentful. It was uncanny, really.

While he waited, McBain woke his tablet and pulled up the connection to CERES, Sabaran law enforcement’s all-inclusive database on criminal investigation both on the island and beyond. He swiped through incident reports for that evening looking for anything unusual.

“You want anything else, McBain? Want me to order take-out for you while I’m at it?”

McBain paused over a screen detailing a report that had been filed shortly after midnight. Ramasamy would have been on watch then. “There was a call about a disturbance at Vivo Correctional earlier. Around midnight?

More angry swiping on the other end of the comm. “Yeah, so? Turned out to be nothing. Admin called back to clear the alert. Said it was a false alarm. What’s that got to do with the price of tea in China?”

McBain wouldn’t say that his access to CERES was more extensive than that of the average copper, but it did appear to extend into different areas. He examined the call record, noted gaps in attached CCTV footage from the Centre. Suspicious.

“Nothing. Alright,” he said, saving the record to his personal tablet. He pulled up a keypad. “What’s the ident Patrol pulled off the body, the intact one?”

“No ID. My guys said they couldn’t find a chip.”

Sabara kept a close watch on its citizens. Everyone living in the dome, well, theoretically everyone, but every human at least, was implanted with an ID chip when granted citizenship or an employment pass. There were reasons why a routine scan might miss one—people tried to remove them for a variety of reasons—although if you were caught without one on a random scan the penalties were severe. And sometimes a chip could go inert following damage to the body. Neither of these scenarios were common, however.

“Huh,” he said.

“Yeah, spooky.” Ramasamy’s sneer was back. “‘ords to the scene are uploaded to your mo’comm. And it’s all right up there in your neighborhood, McBain. Also, if you care, according to his ident your partner is in Clarke Quay. Again. You want me to send a car for him?”

Mcbain thought about what further damage having patrol haul Detective Dimitri Costas, his partner, out of a bloodsucker bar would do to the already dubious reputation of Special Crimes Unit. He sighed.

“How long till the coroner techs are on-scene?”

“You got about half an hour.”

“Alright. Tell your guys not to stomp all over my crime scene before I get there. And upload Costas’ ‘ords, I’ll pick him up.”

“Like you need ‘ords. He’s at Sips. You know he’s at Sips,” Ramasamy said. “It’s good you’re gonna go get him, McBain. Give you a chance to go make nice with all your new spooky friends while you’re at it.”

McBain leaned back in the chair, looked out at the rain.

“But the bloodsuckers don’t really have human friends do they? What they got, McBain, is breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

McBain rubbed his eyes. Grainy. Tired. “Whatever you say, sergeant.”

“You have a fun night now, okay?”

The call cut off with a click. McBain sighed.