The Immorality Clause (3 page)

“Yes. The client completed the transaction with one of my girls—”

“Sex bot or human?” I asked for clarification.

“She’s a pleasure droid.”

I gestured toward the robots that had accosted me when I first entered. “So, these are the new sex bots?”

“These are CS98 Pleasure Droids,
not
sex bots.” A look of disgust crossed her face when she said ‘sex bot.’ “We offer our clients the full companion experience. If someone just wants to have sex with a robot, they may visit fourteen other establishments on Jubilee Lane instead of ours.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Didn’t mean to offend you about your little toys.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Toys? Each of our CS98s costs more than you’ll make in your lifetime as a police officer. Top of the line tech, Detective; and they’re programmed to fulfill every desire you could ever have.”

“What’s the ‘CS’ stand for?”

“Cybertronic Solutions—the largest manufacturer of high-end pleasure droids.”

““So, this
sex bot
,” I emphasized, “finished with the client and…what?”

The mistress picked up the corner of a linen napkin and folded it across the desk. “Kelly—that’s the girl who was with him—went to get cleaned up with our environmental services tech—”

“I need that bot powered off and segregated,” I interrupted as she unfolded the napkin and began to crease it once again. Given the worn lines on the napkin, it must have been a nervous habit of hers.

“Of course. We’ve already done so, although she’d been sanitized before we discovered the murder.”

“A memory sanitize or just a physical bleaching?”

“We don’t use bleach on our girls, Detective. It’s much too caustic and could damage their skin. After the client releases the girl, she reports to the environmental tech, where all of the orifices are flushed with near-scalding soapy water and then she’s bathed in the shower—the same way a human woman cleans herself after sex.”

“Okay… So did it get a memory wipe?”

“No. We don’t typically erase our girls’ memory; it helps their AI learn what repeat clients like.”

“I’ll need a download of that robot’s memory, then.”

“Alright. I’ll send it your way.”

“Thanks. So, the bot—Kelly—left the room and got all freshened up for the next guy. What about the john?”

“John? You mean Charles.”

“Huh? No, the john—the client,” I muttered.

“Oh, sorry. I was confused.”

It was odd to me that she didn’t immediately recognize the slang term for the client of a prostitute.

“The water usage meter on my desk indicated that he got in the shower,” the witness continued.

The price of water was sky-high these days, so I wasn’t surprised that they managed its usage from the desk where the john’s credit was on file. “Is showering here standard practice?”

“For this particular client, yes. Some of our other clients like to bathe with the girls, others like the girl to stay in the room until they leave. Some, like Mr. Wolfe, shower on their own after the girl leaves. We certainly don’t rush them; they are given the privilege of getting whatever they want.”

“For a price,” I snorted as I jotted down a question that I wanted to remember to ask.

“Of course, Detective,” she answered. “Water isn’t free.”
Unfold
.
Refold
. “After the standard four minutes, the motion detector in the shower hadn’t registered any movement, so it turned itself off. That’s not entirely out of the ordinary, but the flood sensors mounted in the floor began to go off a few minutes later, after the shower shut off. I rushed back to the room to see what was happening.”

After the last time the levees broke and went unnoticed for six hours overnight, the city council had mandated that all structures in the city limits be outfitted with flood sensors on the ground floor, adding yet another layer of bureaucracy to the bloated system.

“Was that when you found the body?”

She nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

“I know it’s hard for you, ma’am. Did you see anyone enter or leave the room in between the…pleasure droid and when you went back to the room?”

“No,” Paxton said quietly.

The witness had reached the point of negative return. I wasn’t going to get anything useful from her until she had some time to relax and work through what she’d seen. “Okay, I think that’s enough for now, Miss Himura. I’ll need to ask you a few more questions, but those can wait until later.”

“Of course.” She grimaced and said, “I’m always here.”

“Is Sergeant Drake with the body?”

She stood rapidly, disappearing into the shadows once again. “Yes. He’s in the back. Follow me.”

The Digital Diva’s mistress waved her hand over a scanner recessed into the desk and tapped her finger a few times on a holopad before coming around the desk to my side to escort me to the murder scene.

I followed her through a door that slid open when she approached. The scent of perfume and artificial flower blossoms barely covered the antiseptic tang of bleach and other strong cleaners meant to kill any bacteria or viruses lurking around a business like this.

“Looks like you keep a clean establishment here, ma’am,” I said as my eyes wandered into rooms, some clean and empty, others occupied by sex bots sitting with dressed clients behind softly humming horizontal beams of light.

“You know what they say, Detective. Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

I chuckled, repressing a statement about these people playing God as they created lifelike robots. Instead, I remarked, “I see that you’ve followed city protocol and locked all the rooms that are occupied with clients.”

“Yes. Like I said, we want to remain in the good graces of the police department.”

A man jumped up from a bed, separating himself from the two robots flanking him as we passed. “
Hey!
” he shouted. “Hey, you! Are you a cop?”

I stopped and saw Paxton Himura continue walking until she was a respectful distance away. The man wore an expensive-looking suit, minus the tie, and stared defiantly at me.

“Yeah, I’m a police officer.”

“I know my rights, this is an illegal detainment and I demand to be released immediately.”

“I’m sorry, sir. It’s standard procedure to lock down a facility when there’s been an incident.”

“I don’t give a shit what your procedure is,” the suit countered. “I’ve been locked in this room for hours with these things. My wife and kids are probably worried sick about me.”

“You should have thought about them before you came down to a sex club in Easytown. Have any officers came by to get your information and take a statement from you?” I asked, eying the guy. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

“Yeah, I gave my statement to one of the uniformed cops earlier.”

“Okay, sit tight. I need to conduct my initial investigation before anyone is allowed to leave.”

“How long is that going to take? I’ve got to be at work in a couple of hours.”

“Just sit tight,” I answered, then jutted my chin toward the sex bots in the room. “Think of it as complimentary time with your friends.”

“Hey! Hey!” he shouted as I walked away.

After a moment, the man screamed, clearly in agony. The idiot had stepped into the laser barrier that was holding him captive in the room.
Dumbass
.

A few more turns down the hallway and we came to the murder scene.

TWO: SATURDAY

“Hey, Detective,” Sergeant Drake said as I walked up to the small group of people assembled in the hallway outside of a room.

Greg Drake was a beast at six foot three, and a rock solid two hundred and forty pounds. He’d been a three-year starter at middle linebacker for Tulane right here in New Orleans and even though he was a couple of years older than I was, he hadn’t let any of his muscle deteriorate. I’d known the guy for as long as I’d been on the force and he’d gotten even bigger in that time. Some guys had all the luck.

“Morning, Drake,” I replied. “What have you got for me?”

“Victim is a forty-eight year old male named Charles Wolfe,” the sergeant began.

Flash.
The forensic cameraman’s flashbulb lit up the hallway, throwing odd shadows across the opposite wall, highlighting to me how clean this club was. Normally in that kind of light, the walls in these sex clubs revealed stains from the years of debauchery and a general lack of cleanliness. That’s why most places kept the lights low and used a ton of surface decontaminants.

“I haven’t been inside yet and cause of death hasn’t been established,” Drake continued. “But, I’m gonna guess either blood loss or heart attack—and then blood loss.”

“That sounds like a winning combination,” I chuckled and turned to the three uniformed cops standing in the hallway. “I think we’re good for right now, fellas. Can you go finish getting the personal information and statements from the johns in the other rooms? There are a few guys back there who are less than happy to be stuck in here for so long. After we get everything we need, Miss Himura will release them.”

Flash.

I peeked into the room after the officers left to get statements. Two cameramen worked the scene, one taking stills, the other recording video. As it was, they both blocked my view of the body. The only thing I could discern from my angle in the hallway was that the victim was grossly obese and there was
a lot
of blood splattered on the walls and a large puddle on the tile floor.

“How much longer, gentlemen?”

Benjamin Roberts looked up from the viewfinder on his oversized camera. “Good morning, Detective.”

I waved at the cameraman. “Morning, Ben. How much longer until I can get in there?”

“I just need to get a few more shots from up here at the head, down the length of the body. Maybe three or four minutes, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Okay. We’ll stay out of your way.”

“Thanks.”
Flash.

“Wolfe was married,” Drake continued with his general victim description. “Lived over in Leonidas and ran a hobby shop.”

“Quite a haul to come down here,” I muttered. Leonidas was about an hour away, even when the traffic was flowing smoothly. “Next of kin notified?”

Flash.

“I called it in. A patrol officer was dispatched to notify the wife.”

I jotted a note down to speak to Wolfe’s wife and visit his shop. Without knowing anything about the case, my initial thought was that someone he knew murdered him. Random murders tended to be less violent than what my quick glimpse into the room showed me; crimes of passion were usually messy, emotionally charged events.

The mention of Wolfe’s wife reminded me that the club’s mistress still stood in the hallway. I ducked back around the corner. “Miss Himura, are—”

“Detective, please. Call me Paxton.”

Flash.

I shot her an annoyed look for interrupting me. “Like I mentioned earlier,
Miss Himura
, I’m going to need to ask you some questions after I’ve had the opportunity to examine the body. Are you going to be available later this morning?”

“How much later? I’ve been up all night because of this. I feel fine now, but I’m still in shock from…” She jutted her chin out toward the room where the cameramen worked, “Well, you know, what I saw. But my body is going to force me to sleep soon.”

“That’s understandable,” I replied. “Maybe we can set up an appointment a little later today. Does 3 p.m. work for your schedule?”

I’d learned long ago if you gave someone a specific time, they were more likely to agree instead of floating out a vague block of time.

“Yes, I can meet with you at three.”

“Great, thank you for your cooperation in this matter. Would you like me to meet you here or back at the Easytown Precinct headquarters?”

She tucked a stray lock of blue behind her ear. “Uh, I don’t think meeting here is a good idea. After you’re done, we have to have a biological spill remediation cleaning crew come through, so no one will be allowed in the building for twelve hours while their chemicals do their work.”

“
Hmpf
. Sounds like you’ve done this before,” Drake grunted.

She smirked at him. “When you run this kind of business, you put the biological remediation companies on speed dial. Some of our clients have very specific fetishes. As long as they can pay for the cleanup, they can carry out their fantasies to their full extent.”

“So the precinct then?” I pressed.

She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth; the sound reminded me of a snake. An odd look passed over her face for a second that I attributed to a decision she’d made in her mind. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable at the police station,” she said. “Can you just come by my place?”

“Your place? That’s a little unusual, Miss Himura. I’m sure you can understand—”

“All done, Detective.”

I glanced up, “Thanks, Ben. I’ll stop by your lab in a few hours to see the photos.”

The cameramen waved and headed toward the lobby. “Sorry,” I apologized to the witness. “Going to someone’s house for routine questioning is not typically the way we do business.”

“The NOPD restrictions on personal privacy violations by police officers, right?” she smirked.

“Exactly,” I nodded. “The precinct has a comfortable interview room where you’d be more than—”

“No, I’d prefer you to come to my place. I’ll feel more comfortable there. I give you permission to come to my apartment.”

“Alright,” I agreed, grudgingly. I couldn’t force her to go down to the station and her place of work was out of the question. She gave me permission in front of witnesses; that should satisfy the department’s requirements. “I’ll be at your apartment at three this afternoon, then.”

“That’s fine… Am I free to go back to the foyer? I need to settle the accounts of the clients that the other officers clear to leave.” She gestured toward the murder scene. “And, I really don’t want to see that again. Plus, I need to start making phone calls to see which remediation company can come immediately—after you complete your investigation, of course.”

“Of course.” I nodded my head. “You’re free to go.”

She spun around and began hurrying back down the hall. “Oh, Miss Himura?” I called.

“Yes, Detective?”

“At the risk of sounding cliché, don’t try to skip town.”

“I—” She caught herself and whipped back around, stomping down the hall.

“What’s that about?” Drake asked.

I shrugged. “I’ve never claimed to understand women, man.” I took my coat off and draped it over the hook outside the room, setting my hat carefully on top of the shelf. “Okay, what’ve we got?”

Drake handed me a pair of plastic overshoes. “You’re gonna want these.”

I stepped across the room’s threshold into a puddle of fluid. The average adult male body contains roughly one and a half gallons of blood and about half a gallon of other fluids. The victim was not an average male. Wolfe’s bulk could have easily contained two and a half gallons, maybe a little more. And it looked like every bit of it either stained the walls or pooled on the floor around his body. No wonder the Diva’s flood sensor alarms had sounded.

The cameramen’s footprints were all over the place. I couldn’t blame them; there wasn’t any place to step inside the room to avoid Wolfe’s blood.

Once I was inside, I surveyed the room quickly while I slid on a pair of latex gloves. It appeared to be a standard room, like those in most of Easytown’s sex clubs: king-sized bed with undisturbed sheets, an upholstered couch with no coffee table, a small desk and chair off in the corner to simulate a legitimate hotel, and a bathroom at the furthest point from the door. A pair of jeans and a light green t-shirt lay in a pile on the chair. There didn’t seem to be anything special about the room itself.

Halfway between the bathroom and the bed, the john’s body lay on the floor. It looked like he’d been torn to shreds by a bear. Dark red blood covered all four walls and large blobs of gelatinous fat tissue clung to the paint, slowly drying. The place was an absolute mess.

The bedsheets were still in place from when the service droid had made the bed. In fact, the comforter was barely rumpled.
Miss Himura said the john showered after he finished with the bot.
I made a note in my book to ask the house mistress to verify her timeline.

“Hmm, what the hell is that?” I asked as I pointed at the baseboard beside the bed, out of view of anyone who wasn’t in the room.

Printed in blood was the phrase, “
JOB 36:14
.”

“Looks like a biblical verse,” Drake sighed.

I nodded and tapped my phone lightly. “Andi, what does ‘job 36:14’ mean?”

“It’s not
job
, it’s
Job
,” Andi replied over the speaker, correcting my pronunciation to make the word sound like robe, except with a capital
J
at the beginning. “Job was a biblical character who was tempted by Satan, but remained faithful to God throughout his trials. The most common translation of the verse is, ‘They die in youth, and their life ends among the cult prostitutes.’

“So now we have a religious nutjob on our hands? Okay, thank you, Andi. Keep digging for any type of cross-reference to this verse that may be pertinent.”

“On it, boss.”

I disconnected the phone and squished my way across the floor to peek into the bathroom. It looked clean and unused. The towels were still folded on the rack. “Hey, Drake,” I called.

Squelch. Squelch. Squelch
. The sound of his shoes slopping through the drying blood made me wish I wore headphones on an investigation. He stepped up beside me, “What’s up, sir?”

I pointed at the towels, “The manager said the john had already finished fucking the sex bot and was showering.”

“Yeah, so… Oh!”

“See what I mean?” I asked.

“Yeah. The bed’s made—which isn’t necessarily odd. People come to these places to carry out their fantasies, do things with the robots that their spouse would never let them do in the bedroom. Maybe he was into bathroom sex or something.”

I nodded, “Yeah, I hear you, Drake. I’m not concerned with his sexual preferences, though. Why are all the towels dry if he showered after having sex?”

“Maybe the killer dragged him out of the shower.”

“Nah, the floor’s dry. If someone dragged Wolfe out of the shower, there would be water everywhere.” I paused as I worked through what it meant. “I don’t know about you, but I put a towel down on the floor so I don’t slip when I step out of the shower. The mat’s still folded on the towel rack and…” I reached inside to pat the mat. “It’s still dry.”

“Hold on,” Drake muttered as he pushed past me into the bathroom, leaving a bloody trail of size fourteen footprints across the tile. “We’re over-thinking this.”

He stopped shy of the shower and put on a glove before opening the door from the top, not the handle. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“Shower’s wet. I thought he didn’t take a shower.”

Someone turned the shower on, but didn’t use it.
“Lift every fingerprint from that shower door,” I ordered. “Get the handle, but scan up high too. The killer may have opened it by pulling from the top like you did.”

“On it,” the sergeant said. He pulled a fingerprint scanner from the satchel on his shoulder and ran it slowly over the possible places where clients, or the murderer, could grasp the shower door to open it.

The victim didn’t use the shower, but the Diva’s water usage log showed that it ran for four minutes before the motion sensor turned it off. Who turned it on and why? The easy answer would be that either the killer turned on the shower to keep up the appearance of a normal pleasure house transaction or that he came in and killed him while Wolfe waited for the shower to warm up.