Toys - A Novel Part 27

"Humans would have destroyed the planet," he finally said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Elites saved it. I cannot be ashamed of that. We saved you- you- from yourselves! If Elites are guilty, that is our only crime." from yourselves! If Elites are guilty, that is our only crime."

Lucy wouldn't let him get away with that.

"But that was long ago. And then, instead of helping us become better citizens, you enslaved and degraded us. Elites also ignored the tremendous work we've done building civilization-including the creation of Elites. Without us, you wouldn't even exist."

"We were trying to prevent another irreversible disaster," Jacklin said, his voice rising in desperation.

"So are we," Lucy retorted. "And we're going to do it in exactly the same way-by ridding the world of your kind. Not extinction though. Something even better."

She turned to me. "Let the sentence be carried out. May G.o.d have mercy."

With Hughes Jacklin's dread-filled eyes fixed on my every move, I walked to the slow death machine. He almost looked human now, and that made this a little more difficult, but not impossible. Justice had to be carried out, and here, too, we humans had learned and grown.

My hand touched the controls, and the laser probe began its work.

Chapter 116 116.

WHEN I FINALLY stopped the terrifying machine-after only forty-five seconds-the onlookers were so quiet, it was as if no one were in the operating theater. And yet billions were watching, in every country, on every continent.

Hughes Jacklin's face was still fixed in a stare, but now his eyes were gla.s.sy and he seemed to be looking at something that only he could see.

Then he recovered slightly, like he was waking up from a light sleep. His gaze focused on Lucy, and some kind of recognition finally dawned on him.

"Good morning, ma'am," he said with almost excessive politeness. "May I a.s.sist you in any way? Anything at all?"

Lucy answered, "Tell me your name and your job description."

Hughes Jacklin started to speak, but suddenly his forehead wrinkled with confusion and alarm.

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't-I'm not really sure." Then he looked in dismay at the shackles on his ankles and wrists. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, as a child might.

"Let's just say that you have a debt to pay to society. And you'll have the rest of your life... to serve."

EpilogueA BEAUTIFUL TIME TO BE ALIVE

AUTUMN WAS ALWAYS a beautiful time in the city. The mornings had a delicious chill, but warmed into mellow afternoons; the trees turned a magnificent red and gold; and the sky was more often than not a crisp, clear robin's-egg blue, which filled me with optimism and goodwill toward my fellow humans.

As Lucy and I strolled along the lakefront, I thought about my parents living here once upon a time, when they were still young. They must have done this same kind of thing and felt the same way about the natural beauty along the water. The fullness of their lives seemed to lie ahead, keen with promise, because they were poised to make a great leap of faith toward each other-what we humans call love. love.

"I just had a stroke of genius," I said. "Rare, I know. But bear with me."

Lucy smiled. "You finally succeeded in integrating quantum mechanics, relativity, and calculus into a single equation? Well done, Hays. I am am impressed." impressed."

"Not quite that lofty, but perhaps with more of a charm factor. Let's wander downtown and find ourselves a good bottle of wine and dinner."

"Brilliant concept, maestro! Just one addendum to your theory-the food has to be loaded with calories."

The city was still somewhat unsettled from the war and the political and social upheaval that had inevitably followed. But the sterile, Elite-dominated atmosphere was slowly becoming infused with new life-human life at its best. The people on the streets didn't all look picture-perfect anymore. The rich smells of cooking spilled out from restaurants, and taverns were serving real wine and beer. There was music, boisterous laughter, occasionally a bit of disorderly conduct, and even public displays of affection.

It was like watching someone who'd been completely bland start to acquire a personality-a messy one with some bad habits, but interesting and with unlimited potential.

Then Lucy and I turned a corner, and the pleasant little cloud I was drifting on crashed against a wall of reality.

"OK, Hays. Oh dear," said Lucy. "Let's turn around. We can go another way, just not this one. C'mon, Hays-look away!"

A female maintenance worker was cleaning up loose newspaper pages and other trash on the street a few yards ahead of us. Even in her khaki uniform and without makeup or adornments, she was very attractive, and her lush violet hair stood out from a block away.

It was Lizbeth.

"Can you handle this, Hays?" Lucy asked. "I don't know if I can."

I nodded that I was OK, but Lucy slipped her hand into mine anyway, as if I were a nervous or frightened child seeking aid and comfort.

In reality, there were no worries here, nothing to fear. Lizbeth wouldn't have a clue that she'd ever even seen us before. Lucy, true to her promise, had reversed Lizbeth's brain surgery. But then, like the other top Elites, Lizbeth had undergone a memory purge and been a.s.signed to menial labor for the rest of her days.

Still, it was as eerie as a loved one's wake, encountering her in the street like this. I'd known in the back of my mind that it might happen, but I suppose I'd put off dealing with it. I had even considered having Lizbeth relocated to another city-because of Chloe and April. The girls were just getting used to her absence, and if they saw her, it could be confusing and possibly traumatic. They clearly loved Lucy and me, but I had doubts about whether they were ready for this.

As Lucy and I got closer to Lizbeth, she paused in her work to give us a polite worker's smile. She had the same bearing as the other reconditioned Elites I'd seen-efficient but placid, with no apparent concerns beyond the minimal task at hand.

"Good evening, sir, ma'am," she said in a voice that was all too recognizable and, therefore, chilling to me.

"Good evening," we murmured, walking on as if nothing had happened.

That was that.

But then we pa.s.sed an angled shop window. It gave me a brief, blurry glimpse of Lizbeth's reflection.

Maybe I only imagined that she was staring after us with her gaze suddenly gone steely-and that her hand had formed a make-believe pistol, aimed directly at our backs.

And that then, she pulled the trigger.

IT'S LINDSAY BOXER'S WEDDING DAY-AND THE WOMEN'S MURDER CLUB RACES TO SAVE.

A MISSING BABY.[image]

FOR AN EXCERPT,.

TURN THE PAGE.

THIS WAS THE day I was getting married.

Our suite at the Ritz in Half Moon Bay was in chaos. My best friends and I had stripped down to our underwear, and our street clothes had been flung over the furniture. Sorbet-colored dresses hung from the window moldings and door frames.

It all looked like a Degas painting of ballerinas preparing for the curtain to go up, or maybe a romanticized bordello in the Wild West. Jokes were cracked. Giddiness reigned. And then the door opened and my sister, Catherine, stepped in wearing her brave face: a tight smile, pain visible at the corners of her eyes.

"What's wrong, Cat?" I asked.

"He's not here."

I blinked, trying to ignore the sharp pang of disappointment. I said, "Well, there's a shock."

Cat was talking about our father, Marty Boxer, who left home when we were kids and failed to show when my mom was dying. I'd only seen him twice in the last ten years and hadn't missed him, but after he'd told Cat he'd come to my wedding, I'd had an expectation.

"He said said he would be here. He he would be here. He promised promised," Cat said.

I'm six years older than my sister and a century more jaded. I should have known better. I hugged her.

"Forget it," I said. "He can't hurt us. He's n.o.body to us."

Claire, my bosom buddy, sat up in bed, swung her legs over the side, and put her bare feet on the floor. She's a large black woman-and funny, acidly so. If she weren't a pathologist, she could've done stand-up comedy.

"I'll give you away, Lindsay," she said. "But I want you back." give you away, Lindsay," she said. "But I want you back."

Cindy and I cracked up, and Yuki piped, "I know who can stand in for Marty, that jerk." She stepped into her pink satin dress, pulled it up over her tiny little body, and zipped it herself. She said, "Be right back."

Getting things done was Yuki's specialty. Don't get in her way when she's in gear. Even if she's in the wrong wrong gear. gear.

"Yuki, wait," I called as she rushed out the door. I turned to Claire and saw that she was holding up what used to be called a foundation garment. It was bony and forbidding.

"I don't mind wearing a dress that makes me look like a cupcake, but how in the h.e.l.l am I supposed to get into this?"

"I love my dress," said Cindy, fingering the peach silk organza. First bridesmaid in the world to express that sentiment, but Cindy was terminally lovesick. She turned her pretty face toward me and said dreamily, "You should get ready."

Two yards of creamy satin slid out of the garment bag. I wriggled into the strapless Vera w.a.n.g confection, then stood with my sister in front the long, free-standing mirror: a pair of tall, brown-eyed blondes, looking so much like our dad.

"Grace Kelly never looked so good," said Cat, her eyes welling up.

"Dip your head, gorgeous," said Cindy.

She fastened her pearls around my neck.

I did a little pirouette, and Claire caught my hand and twirled me under her arm. She said, "Believe it, Linds? I'm going to dance at your wedding."

She didn't say finally, finally, but she was right to think it, having watched me live through my roller-coaster long-distance romance with Joe, which was punctuated by his moving to San Francisco to be with me, my house burning down, a couple of near-death experiences, and a huge diamond engagement ring that I'd kept in a drawer for most of a year. but she was right to think it, having watched me live through my roller-coaster long-distance romance with Joe, which was punctuated by his moving to San Francisco to be with me, my house burning down, a couple of near-death experiences, and a huge diamond engagement ring that I'd kept in a drawer for most of a year.

"Thanks for keeping the faith," I said.

"I wouldn't call it faith, darling," Claire cracked. "I never expected to see see a miracle, let alone be a miracle, let alone be part part of one." of one."

I gave her a playful jab to the arm. She ducked and feinted. The door opened and Yuki came in with my bouquet-a lavish bunch of peonies and roses tied with baby-blue streamers.

"This hankie belonged to my grandmother," Cindy said, tucking a bit of lace into my cleavage, checking off the details. "Old, new, borrowed, blue. You're good."

"I cued up the music, Linds," said Yuki. "We're on on."

My G.o.d.

Joe and I were really getting married.

RAIN WAS BATTERING the hood and sheeting down the winds.h.i.+eld as I pulled my ancient Explorer into the lot next to the Medical Examiner's office on Harriet Street, right behind the Hall of Justice. I had some anxiety about returning to work after taking time off to get married.

In a few minutes, I was going to have some catching up to do, and then there was this new fact I would have to deal with.

I would be reporting to a new lieutenant.

I was prepared for that-as much as I could be.

I pulled up the collar of my well-used blue blazer and made a wild, wet dash for the back entrance of the Hall, the granite building that housed the Justice Department, the Criminal Court, two jails, and the Southern Station of the SFPD.

I flashed my badge to Kevin at the back door, then took the stairs at a jog. When I got to the third floor, I opened the stairwell door to the Homicide Division and pushed through the double-hinged gate to the squad room.

It was a zoo.

I said "Hey, there" to Brenda, who stood up and gave me a hug and a paper towel.

"I wish you so much happiness," she said.

I thanked Brenda, promised wedding pictures, and mopped up my face and hair with the paper towel. I took a visual inventory of who was on the job at 7:45 a.m.

The bull pen was packed.

The night s.h.i.+ft was straightening up, sinking refuse into trash baskets, and a half dozen day-s.h.i.+ft cops were waiting for their desks. Last time I was here, Jacobi still occupied what we laughingly call the corner office: a ten-square-foot gla.s.s cubicle overlooking the James Lick Freeway.

Since then, Jacobi had been b.u.mped upstairs as Chief of Police, and the new guy, Jackson Brady, had scored the lieutenant's job.

I had a little history with Brady. He had transferred to San Francisco from Miami PD only a month before, and in his first weeks as a floater, he had shown heroism in the field. I worked with him on that explosive, multiple-homicide case, which put him on the short list for Jacobi's old job.

I'd been offered the job, too, thanks very much, but I'd turned it down. I'd already held down the corner office for a few years until I got sick of the administrative overload-the budgets, payrolls, meetings with everyone, and layers of bureaucratic bull.

Brady could have the job with my blessings.

I just hoped he'd let me do mine.