Constance (Constance #1)(25)

“Who’s this?”

“Darius Clarke. I’m a detective with Richmond PD,” he said as though mildly irritated that she didn’t already know that. “We received notification from Palingenesis that Constance D’Arcy is deceased. I need to follow up with you. See if we can confirm a few things.”

“Confirm what?” She’d been racking her brain for who might be able to tell her what happened to her original. It hadn’t occurred to her to go to the police, but who better to provide answers?

“That Constance D’Arcy is deceased.”

“You don’t know?”

The detective cleared his throat as if he didn’t care for the question and it had gotten stuck there. “We don’t have a body. Up until the call from Palingenesis, it had been investigated as a missing person.”

Con realized that although she’d been obsessing over how her original had died, she hadn’t allowed herself to speculate. It had felt taboo and dangerous somehow. But if her original had been missing long enough for the police to get involved, that wasn’t a good sign. What had become of her life in the last eighteen months?

“Are you still there?” he asked impatiently.

“So what can you tell me?”

“That’s not really how this works. But I can fill you in a little when we meet. My sergeant thinks it could be useful to have a conversation with someone like you.”

“Like me?” She didn’t care for the way he said that.

“A clone. You have the vic’s memories. Who knows her better than you? Not often we get to interview the missing person while they’re still missing. It would be helpful to be able to understand her mindset.”

“Was I murdered?” It was an unpleasant question to ask.

“Best this is handled in person.”

“Okay, but I don’t really have any way to get to Richmond.”

“No need. I’m in DC now. Should be wrapped up at Palingenesis by eleven, so let’s say noon.” It was not a question.

Nothing about Detective Clarke’s attitude inspired cooperation, and growing up in Lanesboro had made her wary of getting involved with the police. Her interactions had always been fine and courteous when she was with her mother, but when she was alone, it was impossible to predict how she’d be treated. She didn’t know Detective Darius Clarke but didn’t hold out a lot of hope that he was one of the good ones. He sounded like an officious jerk on a power trip. The same kind she’d encountered when the band had been on the rise—the managers and the promoters, mostly men, who knew they were gatekeepers and that you had no choice but to play their game their way if you wanted to get ahead.

Thing was, he represented an opportunity to fill in a lot of blanks, and she didn’t think she had the willpower to say no to him.

“Noon works,” she said.

The detective named a dive on Indiana Avenue near Chinatown. Con said she’d be there, but the line was already dead.

Peter Lee was waiting at the counter when she returned. She told him she had to go.

“I’m to tell you that it’s a mistake,” he said.

“You’re not going to try to stop me?”

He smiled. “No, that’s not how this works. Wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

“Are you going to be in trouble with your boss?”

“No, he knew you’d say no. These things have to run their course.”

“What things?” she asked.

“Being a clone.” It sounded patronizing at first, but there was nothing to suggest that it was anything but a simple statement of fact. He handed her the business card she’d left on the counter. “Keep this. Mr. Gaddis wants you to know his offer stands. Call him when you’re ready.”

“Tell him not to hold his breath,” Con said and started for the door. She turned back when Peter called her name. He had his wallet in his hand and held out several crisp bills.

“What’s this for?” she asked.

“Let’s just say I am a fan of tough-guy acts.”

“Thanks,” she said warily but took the money anyway.

“But acting tough only gets you so far. I hope there’s something behind it.”

“I can hold my own.”

He smiled at her and nodded appreciatively. “Be careful out there.”





CHAPTER NINE


It had been years since the neighborhood had been Chinatown in anything but name, but the green-and-red Friendship Archway with its seven golden pagodas still greeted Con when she emerged from the Metro. She wound her way through the throng of office workers on their lunch hour, half of whom were engrossed in their LFDs and relied on digital curb warnings to know when to stop at intersections. The trains had been delayed, so she was already running late, but she stopped at a drugstore before she walked down to meet Detective Clarke. She needed a hairbrush and makeup.

Given her meager bankroll, it might have seemed the last thing she should be spending money on, but she’d gotten a good look at herself in the mirror back at the diner. She had questions that only Darius Clarke could answer and couldn’t afford to show up looking like . . . well, she hated to use the word, but like a clone. Maybe he was an asshole to everyone, but something in his tone had sounded personal. Cloning was illegal in Virginia, and clones who strayed across state lines had less than no legal standing. If he was anti-clone, he’d be under no obligation to help her. To have a chance, she needed to sell him on the idea that she was a human being despite what Virginia law might claim. The less she looked like a sentient children’s toy, the better.