Detective Ikari stepped out of the Aberdeen district subway station into the weak morning sun. Last stop before the end of the northern line. A woman's body had been found below one of the strip clubs on the seafront. A suicide, apparently. But the officer on the scene had been nervous, so a superior has called central investigation and put a detective on the hour long train ride to the rim of City 23.
She lay half on the pavement and half on the road. Arms sprawled out into the flow of traffic; her face down in the petrochemical soup that flowed down the gutters. Her red hair was soaked in the stew. Dressed in a little black dress she had a high heeled shoe strapped to her left foot. The other shoe lay next to her head. She'd come from above.
"Who is she?" Detective Ikari asked the police officer who'd found her.
"Don't know. Never seen her before."
"Have you checked her purse?" Detective Ikari asked, making reference to the small silver purse that was over he shoulder.
"No. Thought it best to wait."
Detective Ikari nodded and put on a pair of latex gloves. "Let's take a look at see," he said, crouching down next to the woman he opened the purse and removed the contents. A leaflet for a strip club, a wallet and some papers.
The nightclub was the one she was lying dead outside of. The papers were immigration papers. She was from Earth, and a recent arrival; a matter of weeks. Detective Ikari had guessed that from her pale freckled skin though. The Cities network of domes minimized ultraviolet light levels in the city. People who lived in the city didn't have freckles.
The wallet had a few small bills in and a Starfish travel card. Her identity card matched the immigration papers. This ruled her out being a girl from the central city looking for adventure. She had a name as well: Della Smith.
What was she doing here wondered Detective Ikari. Miss Smith's papers said she had a bachelors degree in science. She could have been working for one of the refining companies based here. But dressed like that; it seemed unlikely. The companies all kept their public faces in more glamorous locations. And a suicide three weeks after moving from Earth to City 23.
A suicide didn't seem right.
"You've taken scene of crime photos?"
"Yes sir. Uploaded them to the local network as well," said the officer.
Detective Ikari pushed her legs and arms. He was looking for broken bones, and there were none. She'd fallen limp. Her broken face had just been the last injury she'd received. On her wrists there were signs of a struggle. She had tattooed on her left wrist in black ink a double helix. Detective Ikari made a note to get that recorded.
Ikari put her hand down gently. Back into the road. He stood and looked up at the club front of them. It was dead and abandoned. There never been any windows to break; a concrete do it yourself club that had been bolted together to skim money from the refinery workers at the end of the shift. But the buildings external screens had been broken or torn away from their housings.
The building was only three stories tall. Detective Ikari guessed that she could have fallen from there. He'd have to look later for answers. But it seemed plausible.
"Is there anything you can tell me about this place?" he asked the officer.
"Not a lot sir. Closed down a few months ago when the refinery that owned it was closed. Wasn't anything special about it really. Just another strip joint and bar. I don't remember there being any trouble. Maybe the odd fight out front. Nothing too unusual."
"Who owned it?"
"Baur. They closed the refinery down because they were moving their operations to a new oil field before you asked."
Detective Ikari remembered reading about the plant closing now. In public they were moving because the oil was no longer off the coast. There had been rumors though that Shinra, City 23's owners, had forced them out so they could move into the business.
Still that didn't explain Della Smith's death. Not on its own.
I am building towards something. I think this is the start of a novella. At the very least an exploration of the style and themes of some future novella. Food for thought anyway.
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