The City & the City - China Mieville [3]
“So a cocky, stupid sadist,” I said. He raised his eyes, Maybe.
“Alright,” I said. “Could be. Do the rounds of the local girls. Ask a uniform who knows the area. Ask if they’ve had trouble with anyone recently. Let’s get a photo circulated, put a name to Fulana Detail.” I used the generic name for woman-unknown. “First off I want you to question Barichi and his mates, there. Be nice, Bardo, they didn’t have to call this in. I mean that. And get Yaszek in with you.” Ramira Yaszek was an excellent questioner. “Call me this afternoon?” When he was out of earshot I said to Corwi, “A few years ago we’d not have had half as many guys on the murder of a working girl.”
“We’ve come a long way,” she said. She wasn’t much older than the dead woman.
“I doubt Naustin’s delighted to be on streetwalker duty, but you’ll notice he’s not complaining,” I said.
“We’ve come a long way,” she said.
“So?” I raised an eyebrow. Glanced in Naustin’s direction. I waited. I remembered Corwi’s work on the Shulban disappearance, a case considerably more Byzantine than it had initially appeared.
“It’s just, I guess, you know, we should keep in mind other possibilities,” she said.
“Tell me.”
“Her makeup,” she said. “It’s all, you know, earths and browns. It’s been put on thick, but it’s not—” She vamp-pouted. “And did you notice her hair?” I had. “Not dyed. Take a drive with me up GunterStrász, around by the arena, any of the girls’ hangouts. Two-thirds blonde, I reckon. And the rest are black or bloodred or some shit. And …” She fingered the air as if it were hair. “It’s dirty, but it’s a lot better than mine.” She ran her hand through her own split ends.
For many of the streetwalkers in Besźel, especially in areas like this, food and clothes for their kids came first; feld or crack for themselves; food for themselves; then sundries, in which list conditioner would come low. I glanced at the rest of the officers, at Naustin gathering himself to go.
“Okay,” I said. “Do you know this area?”
“Well,” she said, “it’s a bit off the track, you know? This is hardly even Besźel, really. My beat’s Lestov. They called a few of us in when they got the bell. But I did a tour here a couple years ago—I know it a bit.”
Lestov itself was already almost a suburb, six or so k out of the city centre, and we were south of that, over the Yovic Bridge on a bit of land between Bulkya Sound and, nearly, the mouth where the river joined the sea. Technically an island, though so close and conjoined to the mainland by ruins of industry you would never think of it as such, Kordvenna was estates, warehouses, low-rent bodegas scribble-linked by endless graffiti. It was far enough from Besźel’s heart that it was easy to forget, unlike more inner-city slums.
“How long were you here?” I said.
“Six months, standard. What you’d expect: street theft, high kids smacking shit out of each other, drugs, hooking.”
“Murder?”
“Two or three in my time. Drugs stuff. Mostly stops short of that, though: the gangs are pretty smart at punishing each other without bringing in ECS.”
“Someone’s fucked up then.”
“Yeah. Or doesn’t care.”
“Okay,” I said. “I want you on this. What are you doing at the moment?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.”
“I want you to relocate for a bit. Got any contacts here still?” She pursed her lips. “Track them down if you can; if not, have a word with some of the local guys, see who their singers are. I want you on the ground. Listen out, go round the estate—what’s this place called again?”
“Pocost Village.” She laughed without humour; I raised an eyebrow.
“It takes a village,” I said. “See what you can turn up.”
“My commissar won’t like it.”
“I’ll deal with him. It’s Bashazin, right?”
“You’ll square it? So am I being seconded?”
“Let’s not call it anything right now. Right now I’m just asking you to focus on this. And report directly to me.” I gave her the numbers of my cell phone and my office. “You can show me around the delights of Kordvenna later. And …” I glanced up at Naustin, and she saw me do it. “Just keep an eye on things.”
“He’s probably