After the Golden Age

NINETEEN

CELIA was leaning against the lobby’s security desk when Appleton and an entire squad of uniformed cops entered the building. She crossed her arms and worked hard to stay perfectly relaxed and nonchalant. Appleton wouldn’t get the satisfaction of thinking he’d upset her. She was glad for the alcohol seeping warmly through her bloodstream.

Arthur had insisted on coming with her. He stood nearby, hands in his pockets, his face a blank. Damon Parks manned the desk. “I don’t have to let them in,” he’d actually proposed. “This is private property. I can ask for a warrant, hold them off.” He had this look in his eye like he’d do it, too. Stand there all by himself, preparing to do battle. He held himself like he thought he could succeed. That kept Celia from laughing off his suggestion entirely.

“Delay the inevitable?” Celia said. “No. I don’t want to piss them off.” Frowning, Parks nodded.

Appleton actually had a set of handcuffs out as he approached her. She raised a brow.

“Are you arresting me?”

“That depends. Are you going to argue?”

“I’ll cooperate like a good citizen.”

He almost seemed disappointed when he handed the cuffs to one of the officers.

When Arthur followed them out to the cars, Appleton turned on him as if to say something. The angry pucker in his expression faded, though, and he only shook his head and stalked off.

At the station, Appleton put her in a holding room and let her have a Styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee. Arthur went to help interrogate the suspects from the History Museum heist, to skim from their minds what he could. She waited.

Listening to snatches of conversation from the time Appleton picked her up to the time he locked her in the room, she had a vague idea of what had happened. Appleton had ignored Celia’s call completely. The Olympiad, on the other hand, set a trap. They didn’t tell the museum or police what they were doing. Two of the gang members were disguised as janitors; two more hid in their equipment carts. Just before the exhibit opened, they entered the room containing the display cases. Armed with glass cutters, they prepared to slice into the cases. The Bullet closed and locked all three doors into the hall before the robbers touched the first case. Olympus and Spark knocked them on their asses. It was a classic Olympiad operation, top to bottom. The team still had it.

Later, Breezeway reported a suspicious car parked in front of Celia’s apartment. It drove away in a hurry when news of the busted museum heist hit the police radio.

Finally, the door to the holding room opened and Appleton entered, pulling a spare chair from the wall to sit across the table from her. Even more maddening, Mark Paulson followed him and took up a place standing in the corner, his arms crossed sullenly.

“Should I have my lawyer here?” She sounded more bitter than she meant.

“If you’d like.” Appleton looked smug.

“What if we ask Dr. Mentis to sit in instead? So that somebody here knows I’m telling the truth.”

Appleton nodded at Mark, who went to the door, but it opened before he could touch it, and there stood Arthur. As if she’d called him. Maybe she had.

Scowling, Mark retreated back to his corner.

Arthur said to Appleton, “Would you like this to be a formal interrogation, Chief?”

Appleton looked at Celia. “Do you mind?”

She shook her head. She’d prefer this to be formal, with no ambiguity. It didn’t bother her—Arthur was the only person here on her side. He pulled up a chair directly in front of her. Their knees were almost touching.

“Relax,” he said. “Just answer the chief’s questions. Let your thoughts flow. You know the routine.”

Appleton asked simple, straightforward questions, and she answered them rote. How did you know about the robbery attempt at the history museum? She guessed. It seemed like about time for another robbery, and she guessed. What do you know about the Strad Brothers? Nothing. Do you recognize any of these people? He showed her mug shots: the four men arrested at the museum. Two of them she thought she recognized from the symphony gala. Sure enough, he showed her security shots from the Stradivarius robberies. They matched. Beyond that, she didn’t know anything. Appleton kept asking, kept looking at Mentis for confirmation, and the telepath only nodded. She’s telling the truth.

Arthur held her gaze. She only saw his calm blue eyes. It wasn’t that she couldn’t look away—she was sure she could, if she wanted to. But she didn’t want to. His focus, his steadiness urged her to keep looking. Meanwhile, her thoughts ran behind her eyes like a film. Mentis could watch, through her eyes. She felt hollow, invisible. The girl with the see-through skull. It felt strange, but she wasn’t afraid. If it had been anyone else but Mentis doing it, though, she would have launched into a screaming fit.

She’d seen that happen when Mentis searched other people like this.

Appleton finally paused. Without breaking eye contact with her, Mentis asked, “Anything else?”

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Appleton shrug. “What the hell—you ever sleep with the Destructor?”

You can’t kill him, she told herself. Can’t even hurl insults at him. He was waiting for an excuse to lock her up. She thought she saw a smile twitch on Mentis’s lips, quickly repressed.

“No. I. Did. Not.” She broke free of Mentis and looked at Mark, who dropped his gaze.

—We’re finished now. Rest easy.—Mentis looked away, and a weight lifted. She could breathe again. Briefly, she brushed his hand where it rest on his knee. He gave her hand a quick squeeze in return before turning to the police chief.

“Satisfied?” he said.

“Yeah,” Appleton said, obviously disappointed.

“Chief Appleton?” Celia leaned forward in her seat. “You have leaders from both the Strad Brothers and the Baxter Gang in custody now, right? Is there any connection between them?”

“That’s what your father keeps asking. He’s convinced Sito’s masterminding this from prison. We’re looking into ways he could possibly be doing that. Maybe that’ll keep the Olympiad off our backs—no offense, Doctor.”

Mentis waved him away.

But what if the connection wasn’t the Destructor?

Appleton kicked them out, apparently satisfied that she wasn’t a danger to society. She was hoping Mark would talk to her. She kept waiting for him to apologize. But he walked out of the room without a glance at her.

It was nightfall when she and Mentis stood on the street outside the police station. He looked thoughtfully back at the closed door.

“Your detective is having a very hard time admitting to himself that he was wrong.”

“I don’t need telepathy to know that.”

“No, indeed. Are you all right?”

She checked herself, wondering how much of her tiredness was genuine physical fatigue or overwhelming annoyance. Or traumatic stress.

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t have to stay at West Plaza anymore, if the robbery’s already happened.”

“Your mother would probably appreciate you staying for dinner.”

He was right, she was sure, but she wanted to run away all the same. “Do my parents think I had anything to do with this because I guessed right?”

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t spoken with them since the robbery.”

“But they might think it, a little bit.”

“Celia, it’s amazing how little people control what they think sometimes. I can assure you, though, that your parents love you. Without reservation. They always have.”

She chuckled. “Makes me pretty pathetic, doesn’t it? Twenty-five years old and still pissed off because I think my parents don’t love me.”

“Celia, go home. Get some rest. I’ll let your parents know you’re all right. Mostly.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, after he’d turned his back and walked away. She had to have faith that even if he hadn’t heard her, he’d felt the sentiment.