Alien Heat by Lynn Hightower

back on the screen with a movement so soft, David was the only one who looked up. David glanced at String, wondering if he would feel the need to show respect and consideration for the recorded death throes of the Elaki on disc. String’s left eye prong twitched in a staccato pulse, but he was law enforcement through and through. Turning away was not part of the job.
    No one moved and no one spoke, and the air was thick with screams that could not be heard.
    The image flickered and went dark. Clements lit the cigarette that hung on her lips. David could see the red lipstick stain the filter. The acrid grey smoke curled into the air, but no one looked up, no one objected.

THIRTEEN
    Della was staring at the screen of her terminal, A bright teary hardness in her eyes. A chocolate Twinkie sat on Mel’s desk, untouched. David stood beside her, waiting till she looked up.
    â€œYeah, Silver?”
    â€œI need whatever you’ve rounded up on Teddy Blake.”
    â€œBackground check is in your reader. Looks clean.”
    â€œDella, everything okay with you?”
    Her fingers moved over the keyboard, starting slowly, picking up speed. “Everything is fine.”
    David looked at the display. The words glowed, white on black.
    GO AWAY     GO AWAY     GO AWAY
    David went away.
    He sat at his desk, reading glasses loose on the end of his nose. He ran a hand through his hair, thinking it was too short in the back. Rose used to like it long. He had no idea what Rose liked these days.
    There was a time when such a realization would have been painful.
    He rubbed his eyes. Teddy Blake was thirty-two years old. That much he already knew. She looked much younger, David thought, remembering her in the cutoff jeans, yelling at the basketball players on the big old screen.
    She was from Flatwoods, Tennessee, a tiny place in the mountains with the soaring population of 2006. She had a sister, age thirty, and a brother who would have been twenty-eight years old last month if he had lived. Her father had worked as a farm manager for forty years, up until his death five years ago. Her mother owned a shoe store in Flatwoods and land outside of town. Teddy’s home address was a rural route.
    She was not wealthy. David studied the accounts and decided that she might be wearing cutoff jeans out of necessity rather than style.
    David browsed, studied the compilation. Her travel records were interesting, particularly a three-year segment where she had traveled in and out of Virginia.
    David pushed the glasses back on his nose, noting that all the Virginia travel was first-class. He compared the records with the other years. Bus, cheap commuters, all in and out of Nashville.
    Who had she worked for in Virginia?
    He keyed in a request for more data, and got a green flag that blinked over large red block letters.
    CLASSIFIED DATA      CLASSIFIED DATA
    DEMONSTRATE NEED TO KNOW
    David cleared the screen, aware that his request would be logged by some computer somewhere, and flagged by the people and programs that watched. Likely, nothing would come of it. Those who would watch were drowning in information these days. The data banks were choked; you had to turn inside out to catch anyone’s attention. If you knew what the flags were, you could tailor your behavior to avoid the perimeters of the current programs and slip through the system nearly undetectable.
    So what had Teddy Blake been up to in Virginia?
    David picked up the phone, linking with the Chicago PD.
    â€œDetective Bruer, please.”
    He waited, heard a series of clicks, then a woman’s voice.
    â€œChicago Police Department, Calhoon.”
    David frowned. “This is Detective David Silver, Saigo City PD. Trying to get through to Detective Bruer.”
    â€œBruer’s in the john, Detective Silver of Saigo City PD. I’m his partner. Can I help, or you want me to have him call?”
    David grinned, thinking that if Mel