Stairs

IV Stairs
023-1112 Travellers Aid News. Dina Shuguusham reporting. This is the latest in our series of in-depth reports on the Judge of Dinom. The Judge took justice into their own hands on the courtroom steps. An acquitted person lay dead on the courtroom steps, executed by a law enforcement office without cause or warrant. The Judge escaped justice and somehow fled the planet. We ran them down years later, shockingly, in the Zhodani Consulate. They agreed to speak with me on the record.  Here is one story of their life after defecting. Viewer advisory, this report contains graphic descriptions and normalizations of psionic powers.

I remember one of my early cases. I'd done my legal and procedural classes. I'd done a lot of, um, "active" therapy. I was ready to go back to the job.The job as it was done here.

Just being settled in to the community was a major production. It took weeks and involved 70 or 80 people that I saw often enough to be a on a first name basis with. In that horde of case workers, social workers, real estate agents, diplomats, secret agents, and outright spider-in-the-web types were some really solid people. I had an almost boot camp-like structure for a stretch there, but they always built in some time to be me, to be with people doing people stuff.

I got into a lawn bowling group. All nobles. Even with limited time for evaluation and training it was already clear I was a first rate telepath, one of the social elite. nobody was going to be asking me about long term social strategy, but my abilities gave me some precedence. That sounded cool until I worked out what a chunk of my eventual paycheck supporting my nominal social graces would eat up.

But I'm here about police work. I can name names and provide documents to prove I should never have had to step over the line I did. Hell, I did. Nobody fucking cared. Now I'm here, and whatever the average Imperial may think, the Zhodani value good police work.

So. The job. I'd gotten through the process. I had friends. I got to know the people I passed on my rounds. They were ok.

The early cases were the softballs you'd expect the newest detective to catch. Then one day my boss patted me on the shoulder and said to check my time plan.

There it was. A simple follow up inquiry. Somebody probably fell down the stairs. Somebody who had some legal entanglements with the deceased's family said their ever loving grandmother was their alibi. The case officer would have been perfectly justified in letting that go, whose grandmother won't provide an alibi ?

I skimmed over the case, a possibly simple fall. You always give it a chance to be simple, if it is you look like a wizard. If it isn't, here we are three weeks later with a task request to spend 15 minutes on the case. A body at the body of the stairs. A coroner with questions. Good police work says you check that out.

I looked into it. Odds were, grandma could be found at home during the day easily enough, so I marked my calendar and rolled out when it was time. I knocked on the door. I can't tell that someone is on the other side of the door when it opens; they have a solid mind block up. Nothing blatant, just a silence. It's that kind of neighborhood, all nobles, most with mind blocks up.

"Ma'am, I"m with the police and I'd like to ask you a few questions." She doesn't have a problem with that. My partner and I get invited in. We're standing in the anteroom. It's nice. White lace and porcelain. Mostly green. Dark hardwood on the walls and floors.

I thank her for her time and for letting us in, encompassing the room with a gesture. Let them think they're being gracious, let them feel good and helpful. "I really just have one question. Your grandson, Etr. He said he was here to pick up a musical instrument on 213 last. Is that so ?

That's an easy question. Either they did come by then, or they asked you to say so to anyone who asks about it. "Oh yes, a very nice drum kit" she said.

The easy answer sitting right there. You can put your phone away, grandma is confirming the alibi. A lazy cop leaves it there.

Good police work always asks a follow up question. "Thank you ma'am. The coroner is really interested in this one, they tagged it as "Suspicious" so I should ask a few more things to get this done and closed. You don't mind ?"

"Oh no, oh no good sir."

"Thank you" I said and used an old trick of body language to invite myself further inside. We were standing in a wood paneled parlor. Hanging plants and natural light dominated the space, leaving grandma standing bare and plain.

She had my full attention now. She was at least in her 110s. Gone white, gone thin, going the way we all will. She could look me in the face but not the eye. I knew I had something. The fact that I couldn't peep her meant nothing, I didn't need a look inside her skull, her whole body was talking to me.

A hard question. "It's a lovely home you keep. Can you show me where in it the drum kit was when Etr came to get it ?". The lies people expect to work never have follow-up questions attached. Grandma froze, just completely froze.

After enough cases, that sort of thing tells you when you're breaking for lunch. Not yet. I point to the parlor and suggest we sit down. I know. She knows I know. Tears are running down her face. This could be done quickly. I take my time. I take a verbal statement and then ask for a mental impression. She knew something was up when Etr said it was very important that he had been here at a specific time.

I got a little of what she got from him.I don't think she'll be charged with anything, it's an old family. The district prosecutor belongs to her country club. Spending her last few decades snubbed, dining alone in the corner will be worse than the sentence. She'll eke out her life as a living example to the wealthy and powerful.

Give it a chance to be simple. Then pull the strings and see how complicated it might get.