The Collapsing Empire (The Interdependency #1)(90)
Kiva finished cleaning up, turned off the shower, toweled off, and opened the door to find Sergeant Pitof directly on the other side.
“You know there’s an easier way to find those people,” Pitof said.
“You fucking listened at the door?” Kiva said, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“What did you hear?”
“Most of what was said after you turned on the speaker.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Just because we had sex doesn’t mean I stop doing my job, Lady Kiva.”
Kiva opened her mouth and then closed it. “I have no good response to that,” she said, finally. “Now tell me what you mean about there being an easier way to find these people.”
“Everyone who arrives at any imperial station for permanent immigration has to let customs know where they are staying. Immigration needs to keep track of them until they are cleared for permanent residency.”
“So customs knows where they are.”
“Probably.”
“Sometimes people lie about where they are going.”
Pitof shook her head. “You have to present your hotel reservation or the name and address of the people with whom you are staying before you leave customs, and check in once you arrive.”
“And then you walk out the door and are never heard from again.”
“At the very least you’ll be one step closer to finding them than you are at the moment.”
“So how do I talk to customs?”
“You don’t. I do.”
“Why would you help me?”
“There’s no reason I couldn’t help you. Just as long as you know that I’m going to report everything I do for you to my boss.”
Kiva arched an eyebrow. “Probably not everything.”
“No, I’ll report the sex too.”
This gave Kiva pause. “Isn’t it actually unethical to fuck the person you’re trailing?”
Sergeant Pitof shrugged. “I was told to keep you close.”
Kiva laughed at this. “I think I like you, Sergeant Pitof. You’re my kind of asshole.”
“Thank you, Lady Kiva. Now tell me those names again. I couldn’t really make them out over the sound of your showering.”
*
Taffyd and Chun Lewyyn were staying on Imperial Station, at a moderately priced hotel called the Primrose. That was no good for Kiva; she was stuck on Hub. She’d deal with them later. She was waiting for information on Geork Broshning when she heard a crash and then screaming in the hotel lobby. Kiva reached into the closet for a robe and then opened the door and looked down three floors into the hotel atrium, and the crumpled body there, looking up at the ceiling of the hotel, sixteen stories up.
“Found him,” Sergeant Pitof said, from the room. She put on the other robe and walked out into the walkway to show Kiva the information on the tablet, which included a picture of Broshning.
Kiva looked at it. “Pretty sure I just found him too,” she said, and pointed to the body on the atrium floor, surrounded now by people, and which had now begun to leak. Then she noticed something else and started walking down the hallway in her robe, toward the elevators. Pitof followed.
On the lobby floor, Kiva walked into the atrium, past the dead body and the scrum of people around it, and over to one of the planters there, stuffed with attractive artificial plants. In the planter was a keycard, nestled into the leaves of a large, fake succulent. Kiva snatched it up, walked again past the dead man and his admirers, and headed over to reception, where she got the attention of a very shaken-looking hotel assistant manager.
“Would you be a dear and ping Geork Broshning for me? He’s expecting me but I’ve forgotten his room number.”
“Yes … of course,” said the hotel assistant manager, activating his screen to search for the name, and then swiping over to a communication panel to punch in the room code. “No response, ma’am,” he said, after a minute.
“I don’t suppose you could just tell me the room number?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not allowed to do that.”
“Of course,” Kiva said, and then turned just as Pitof walked up to her. Kiva walked straight past her minder and back onto the elevator, pressing the button for the twelfth floor as Pitof walked on. Pitof noted the floor but didn’t say anything.
On the twelfth floor Kiva got off, walked to room 1245, the number she had seen the assistant manager punch into his screen, and pressed the card to the door. It unlocked.
“You probably shouldn’t follow me in here,” she said to Pitof. “You might be accused of tampering with the evidence. In a bathrobe.”
“Shut up and open the door,” Pitof said. Kiva shrugged and went in.
The bed in the room was rumpled but the sheets were not pulled back; someone had lain on the bed but maybe hadn’t slept in it. Otherwise the room was neat with suitcases and other effects unpacked. Kiva looked to the desk and found a notepad and a pen there, with letters on the sheet on the top of the notepad. She went over to the desk and without touching it read the words, written in a tight, small script.
I grew maize and banu on End, it said. The banu died because of a fungus. They say citrus caused it but I think it was from the maize. It failed too. I lost everything and then the war forced me out. I tried to leave but I couldn’t afford it. Then Ghreni Nohamapetan asked to see me. Told me he’d pay my way. Said he felt responsible for what happened to my banu. Said I had been a good franchisee.