Titan Song Dan Stout (top 20 books to read txt) 📖

rig the government won’t allow to operate, she pitched me on the concept of a concert. I was already working on PR for the new album, so it was perfect timing. Vandie makes a little money to live on, I get great visibility right when I need it, and her crew and mine get plenty of work. Everything you see around you is my responsibility. When I’m in an arena, it’s like the stage is my beating heart. It’s what we do for those that depend on us, and for the fans.” She smiled. “Are you a fan, Detective?”

“I’m more into the Daisey Chainz, stuff like that.”

“Credible Witness or The Water Album?”

“Oh, Witness for sure,” I said, surprised. “You know the Chainz?”

“Of course. The bass line in ‘Titan’s Song’ is inspired by ‘Favorite Monsters.’”

Suddenly, the elements that had seemed familiar about ‘Titan’s Song’ made sense. It must have shown, because McIntire laughed.

“You should open up and live a little, Detective Carter of the Titanshade Police Corps.”

“Police Department,” I corrected.

She rolled her head against the thick speckled fur along her collar. The perspiration on her forehead glittered in the tent lights. “And why are you back here?”

“To talk with Ms. Cedrow,” I said. “Routine follow-ups, that sort of thing.”

“Of course.” She raised one hand, gesturing without checking to see if her assistants were there. She simply assumed it was so, like I assumed that my heart would beat or that my blood would flow. “Cavanaugh? Please show our guest to Vandie’s residence.”

The small-framed man scampered forward. “This way, Detective.”

“Her residence?” I said, still speaking to Dinah. “Is Vandie living here?”

Dinah frowned. “It’s . . . Her family was majority stakeholder in some company—”

“Rediron Drilling?”

“I think so. Whatever it was, it was seized.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. How long has she been living here?”

Dinah didn’t respond. She slipped her hands into her pockets and pulled the fur tighter, though no draft had whispered along the tented corridor.

“I can’t make you answer my tedious questions,” I said. “But I can make things difficult until you do.”

“Fine!” She shrugged, throwing the coat open again. “You think Vandie had a bit of cash after her uncle died. That’s not it. She lost everything that generated income, along with her connections to those inclined to help her. Most of her personal wealth was tied up in her family’s stock, which plummeted to almost nothing. She was left with only a few things that were in a preexisting trust.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because she told me when she pitched me on the concert.”

“That’s when she convinced you to cross the continent to perform in an empty oil field,” I said, “that she owns.”

“You’re not listening.” Dinah crinkled her nose. “I said she’s managing the oil rig. She doesn’t own it.”

“Rediron—”

“Did own it, yes, but many assets were seized when her uncle was arrested. And none of that was released. We’re not paying Vandie rent. We’re not even paying Rediron. We’re paying a court-appointed trustee, who was delighted to capture a percentage of the rent before he passed it on into the bankruptcy trust account.”

Vandie’s situation mirrored the AFS control of the manna strike. Maybe the city would be able to drill, but the feds would be taking most of the profit off the top.

“Then why did Vandie want you here?” I asked. “Not just the city, but here, at a rig she doesn’t own?”

“Because what she has left is her own savings, an office warehouse, and the facility management company that worked out of it.”

I thought of Murphy CaDell’s business card. “Tremby Property Management?”

“Now you’re getting it. Vandie wanted us here because she had the maintenance contract on the facility. Well, the non-rig parts of the facility. It was probably a bit of nepotism a year ago, but it’s saving her life now. Vandie should own the entire place, and instead she’s scrubbing the toilets.” Dinah rubbed her hands together. “Now do you see why we’re out here? It’s smart PR, and I’m helping a good person in the process.”

I nodded my thanks and Dinah McIntire smiled. “It was interesting to meet you, Carter. I’ll be sure to let everyone in Fracinica know that I met the famous detective.” She spun, sending the tail of her coat whirling out like a cape, and strode down the tented corridor like she’d strode across so many stages.

Cavanaugh moved along quietly, and deposited me at the front of one of the rig buildings that had been subsumed by the tent structures. I recognized it as the doghouse, the brain center for the rig. I turned to thank my guide but he was already hustling away, no doubt ready for his next assignment from Dinah McIntire.

I rapped on the door and twisted the handle. Locked. “Oh, Cavanaugh?”

Down the hall, the man hesitated. “Yes?”

“Do you have keys to this section?”

“I do, but . . .”

“Great! I’ll just wait inside, then.” I stepped back, and swung a hand toward the door.

He still hesitated.

“Or, if you’re not comfortable doing that, we could walk around until we found Miss Cedrow herself?”

The idea of a prolonged absence from Dinah seemed to tip the balance. Cavanaugh hustled forward, pushing through an array of keys. “There’s only a few keys for the whole place,” he muttered, trying one after the other. I began to wonder if Vandie had thought ahead to change the lock on her private quarters, but then it turned with a click, and Cavanaugh swung open the door. “There you are.” He departed without waiting for further banter.

I stepped through the door and closed it softly, listening to see if anyone stirred inside. I locked the door behind me, and moved through the building. I’d been in a handful of similar locations, most often as a kid on field trips or visiting my old man. Most recently when I’d chased Vandie’s uncle out onto the ice plains. The layout here was similar, though it had been converted from an administrative building