used to seeing on a menu, and this was just a fast-food joint. The waitress didn't know a word of English except Chicken, but did know some Spanish so he was able to order. He ordered a spinach salad, it came with some kind of cheese on top, and sour cream on the side, something he'd never had before. In Hussy Crater cheese was a delicacy and sour cream unheard of, here it was a condiment. He ordered one of the tofu Frankies, a type of curried-flat bread burrito stuffed with vegetables and spiced tofu, with a side of rice before heading out to find the local police station.
The Madhabani Corporate Police office wasn't much bigger than the hotel lobby, with just enough room for one desk, and a door leading to the back, where Akers assumed the holding cell was. No one was in the office so Akers consulted the receptionist computer screen and was informed that Constable Jain was at a business called Barra de Navin. Akers knew enough Spanish to know it was a bar, an odd place for a police officer in the early afternoon.
The bar was easy enough to find, it had an entrance in the Chhatri not far from the police office. For early in the afternoon the bar was surprisingly busy. A few of the patrons looked up when he entered and then returned to their drinks, the one in the police uniform put her drink down and watched him walk over and sit at the bar next to her, he obviously seemed out of place. He was dressed more or less like the miners did back in Hussy, but in Hussy the attire was European, and here it was Indian, and there was less of it. His skin colour was also out of place, he was the only white person in the bar, everyone else was some shade of brown. The bar itself looked like something from video-game set in Mexico sometime in the 1800s, likely another franchise.
“Constable Jain?” Akers asked taking the seat next to her.
“Haan,” the police woman replied. She was tall, thin woman of Indian ancestry.
“Do you speak English?” Akers asked.
“Of course, I am from Uttar Pradesh,” the police woman answered indignantly in a strong Indian accent.
“You are Constable Jain?” Akers asked again.
“Yes,” Constable Jain answered.
Akers pulled out his ID and showed it to the constable. “Sherlock Holmes Detective Agency. We've been contracted by the Confederacy to look into the death of Aseem Jitendra Darzi.”
“The case is closed,” the constable stated. “The murderer is already in custody.”
“I know, but he's an Arean citizen,” Akers said. “The confederacy wants a neutral party to look over everything. You know, politics.”
“Of course, politics,” Constable Jain said with a sigh. “I have had nothing but calls from corporate bureaucrats since the murder.”
“The Confederate Senate forwarded me your preliminary report,” Akers stated. “Everything looks in order. I'll just need to go through the process.”
The Constable lifted her drink to her lips and sipped it before responding. “Well, if that is what we have to do. But you might have noticed it is hot down here, and I am going to finish my drink. I recommend you have one too.”
“That's a good idea,” Akers admitted. “I don't know how you put up with this heat. Does the bartender speak English?”
“Desi sharab,” Constable Jain ordered for him, and the bartender brought over a mug of something.
“What is it?” Akers asked.
“Cold,” the constable answered. “Don't worry, it has a low alcohol content. It is the law here because of the heat. You will not get drunk on just one, or probably five, but we do not have the time for five. You want to get done fast, so you can leave this heat, yes?”
“Yes,” Akers answered honestly. The case did seem open and closed, and he did want to get out of the heat as soon as possible.
“Do you plan to talk to Bachchan?” Constable Jain asked. “He's still in the holding cell, waiting for the Justice and the Ombudsman.”
“Yes I'll need to interview him,” Akers answered. “If you're waiting for Justice Schwinghammer, he was in my elevator.”
“Good, then we just have to wait for the Ombudsman from the Bharat Zirconium,” Jain observed. “Do you know the history between these two? Bachchan and Darzi?”
“Not much,” Akers stated. “Bachchan is from the CMZ, Darzi is from India. Darzi replaced Bachchan as the Chief Operating Officer for Bharat Zirconium when he arrived from Earth.”
“Not exactly right,” Constable Jain corrected. “Sri Bachchan is from Madhabani CMZ, and Sri Darzi is from Maharashtra, in what used to be called India, but Sri Darzi worked for Sri Bachchan for five years as Chief Research Officer before taking over. The mine suffered during those years, production dropped, and it looked like Bharat Zirconium was going to go bankrupt. Everything turned around after Sri Darzi was put in charge, the mine started being profitable the first quarter.”
“How'd Darzi do that?” Akers asked.
“He opened a new vein,” Jain answered. “A vein that all of the previous test-drills had shown to be dead.”
“Darzi was in charge of the tests?” Akers assumed.
“Yes,” Jain answered. “And it didn't take Sri Bachchan long to determine what Sri Darzi had done.”
“And that's why he killed him?” Akers asked rhetorically.
“Sri Bachchan didn't just loose his job, and his pride,” the constable continued. “Sri Bachchan was from here, a miner's son who got educated and worked his way up. He had a traditional family; a wife and daughter. They were ruined. Bharat Zirconium confiscated their bank accounts to compensates the investors for his incompetence. He was to be indentured until he could pay back the losses, which of course he could never do unless he lived a thousand years. His wife committed suicide, and his daughter was expelled from the University of Èkó after her financing disappeared. The entire family was ruined.”
“Well, that's a cause,” Akers stated. “But, as I understand it, there are no witnesses, and Bachchan claims he's innocent.”
“I have the murder weapon, found in the Sri Bachchan's house, and there is the digital evidence!” Constable Jain retorted. “The access logs show Sri Bachchan entering the chamber where Sri Darzi was killed using a counterfeit access pass. He was the only one in there with Sri Darzi.”
“Digital evidence has been faked before, and the gun could have been planted” Akers observed. “The case would be better if there was a confession, or an eye witness.”
“The digital evidence is as good as an eye-witness,” Jain replied. “At least under the Bharat Zirconium Corporate Code, which is the only law that matters here.”
“I don't doubt you'll get a conviction with what you have,” Akers stated. “But I'm sure the senate would be happier if I could find something that corroborates it.”
“Well then Sherlock Holmes, let us go visit Sri Bachchan, maybe you can get him to confess,” Constable Jain stated. “The sooner this is done the better.”
The constable didn't say anything as they walked back to the MCP station, she seemed overtly stressed. When they arrived they found the blue haired young woman from the elevator sitting in one of the two waiting-area chairs next to the door. She stood up as Constable Jain entered and then paused as Akers stepped through the door. The three of them could barely fit into the minuscule waiting area, and the constable quickly stepped around the desk, and then noticed the young woman's reaction to Akers. “A friend of yours Mr. Holmes?”
“No, she rode the elevator down with me,” Akers answered after a pause while he considered correcting her about his name.
“I am Anantha Bachchan,” the young woman introduced herself to the constable. “I am here to visit my father.”
The two woman switched to a language Akers didn't understand, presumably Odia or Hindi, and Akers decided to head to the holding cell to talk to Mr. Bachchan. He stepped around the desk to the door at the rear of the office. Constable Jain watched him move towards the door, but didn't say anything to stop him, so he stepped through. The holding cells were slightly larger than the office, and cooled to below 30 degrees. They looked like they h
ad been setup as holding cells for drunks, one of them was occupied.
“Mr. Bachchan?” Akers asked the middle-aged man in the holding cell. The man was very tall and quite muscular, something rare on Mars, but common in the Madhabani CMZ. Akers himself was shorter than the average Martian, and somewhat overweight, a symptom of the sugar and carb rich diet of Hussy crater. Most Martians had limited access to protein, animals were only raised in a few places on the planet, Madhabani CMZ was one of those places.
“Yes,” Mr Bachchan answered. “English? Are you the Confederate Justice?”
“No, Justice Schwinghammer rode down on the elevator with me,” Akers answered. “I'm a private detective.”
“This is detective Sherlock Holmes,” Constable Jain stated as she joined them in the holding area. “He is working for the Arean Senate. Making sure everything is in order.”
“The Arean Senate?” Anantha Bachchan asked as she joined them in the small holding area. “Why are they looking into this?”
“I have Arean citizenship,” Mr. Bachchan stated. “Everyone born in Madhabani does. The senate is worried about the Singapore Conglomerate retaliating. Am I right?”
“That's the central concern,” Akers agreed. “They hired me to check the MCP isn't railroading you.”
“They are!” Mr. Bachchan cried. “Sri Darzi got what he deserved, but I didn't do it! I told Roshan- Constable Jain that I didn't do it!”
Akers' cybernetic