17 November 2186

"Roses," I said into my tabphone. "It was roses."

Hestia Smith shot me an affronted look. "How many times do I have to tell you? He moved the tulips!"

"I have the order typed here as peonies," my florist replied over the audio link.

How the hell could you manage to write peonies instead of roses?

At my side, Alex snapped his fingers, and the hood of his trench coat rose up to cover his head. "Mrs Smith, we've looked around and so have the PRBs. No one has broken into your flat."

Hestia shifted her glare to him. She'd reported a break-in just five minutes after Alex and I had arrived at the police station this morning. We'd spent the past week juggling numerous cases and court appearances, and after I'd snapped at Dixon one time too many, he'd decided that we should destress by attending a simple call-out like uniformed constables. Helpful or relaxing, it wasn't. Hestia had neglected to mention that the suspect was her dead husband until we'd got here.

Elderly, small, and dainty, but by no means a pushover, she'd watched us with quick bird-like eyes as we'd examined the flat. Not satisfied by our conclusion that no one had broken in, she'd followed us all the way outside the building. Now we were shivering in the rain while the PRBs buggered off back to the station.

"You signed it," my florist continued on the other end of the tabphone. "I have the e-signature here. Amber Rames."

"He moved my tulips! I saw Joe standing in my living room! He moved them to the coffee table because he knows I hate having them there, and then he left before I could call! I've told him, don't you ever come into my flat again --"

"It was definitely roses," I said.

"Tulips!" Hestia screeched.

I sighed and hoisted my tabphone further up my earlobe, hoping that the gleam of artificial sunlight against the glass might catch her attention. I'm not talking to you, daft bat!

I shouldn't have been talking to my florist either, but in the run-up to the wedding I'd developed a bad habit of answering calls without checking who it was. And once my florist had casually informed me that four bouquets of peonies had arrived, I hadn't been able to postpone the conversation. Our wedding day was just over a week away, and buying real flowers in 2186 was expensive. So I was going to get the bloody type I'd ordered.

"Mrs Smith," Alex said. "Joe has been dead for three years, and we've..."

"You signed for peonies," my florist repeated. "I sent this to you before they were dispatched, and you --"

"All right, I get it." I dragged a hand through my hair, feeling the November wind and rain wrap their chilly fingers around my scalp. "I signed without looking because I assumed that when I'd asked for roses, you'd written roses. I'm too busy organising the rest of my wedding and searching for spiteful ghosts to be making sure you're doing your job!"

"...and nothing has been disturbed," Alex finished. "We're satisfied that no one has broken into your flat, Mrs Smith."

"The tulips have been disturbed, boy!" Hestia said. "Why won't you listen to me? In my day, every report made to the police was taken seriously."

"Can't you send the peonies back and get me the roses?" I asked.

"Tulips!"

"I don't know if our exchange policy will allow that," my florist said. "And even if we did, I can't guarantee that they'd arrive before your wedding."

"This report has been taken seriously, ma'am," Alex said. "The PRBs have searched your flat, and we've interviewed your neighbours. No one has seen a man of your husband's description in or around the block today, no one has forced entry to your home, and the CCTV in the corridor has captured no one arriving except us."

"Ghosts don't show up on video cameras, boy," Hestia said as if my sergeant was stupid. "And they don't have to force doors to come in. My Joe just passes through the walls."

I pressed a hand against my forehead, trying to crush a budding headache. "You don't have to guarantee it, you just have to do it. I'm on duty now, so don't call me again until after five -- and don't call me until I have roses."

***

We finally escaped from Hestia Smith and trudged back down her road in the direction of the police station. It was almost ten now, but Socrico's lighting was still dim. The towering brownstone buildings cast dark patches over the road, and the metal walkways above us looked like menacing serpents. Much higher above them, looping train tracks gleamed under the artificial lights, although it was hard to hear the whoosh of trains over the screech of nearby trams and clatter of shoes on steel.

"We should charge her with wasting police time." I stuffed my hands in my pockets as we walked, trying to warm my fingers. "We're not the bloody Ghostbusters."

Amusement flickered in Alex's green eyes. "Maybe we should tell her to give them a call. What are peonies, anyway?"

"Besides being a type of flower I don't want in my bouquet, I have no idea."

He smiled and slid his arm around my waist. "Be careful, bridezilla. You might get your roses, or you might just scare the florist away."

"Bridezilla?" I raised an eyebrow. "If she thinks I'm scary, she shouldn't be in business. There must be worse brides than me. I'm not asking for a fairy tale, just the fucking flowers I've paid for!"

"Maybe peonies wouldn't look so bad?"

"I want roses because you bought them for me on Valentine's Day. Maybe peonies would look nice, if I knew what they looked like, but they wouldn't have the same --"

A scream pierced the city.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. We froze in place for a moment, then Alex tore his arm away from me and broke into a sprint. I ripped my pistol from its holster and followed him.

We ran down to the end of the road and around another bend, following the scream even as the sound rang and faded. Shadows clung to the sides of the street, and dark platforms crossed overhead. A woman was lying on her back in the middle of the concrete.

Alex reached her first, his tabphone already against his ear. I was one step behind, sighting down my pistol into the darkness.

I dropped when I reached her, landing on my knees in a pool of blood and rainwater. I noticed the knife in her chest at the same time as I pushed my jacket against the wound; noticed her bleary eyes at the same time as I reached for her wrist.

"You can't go that quickly." My fingers found her fading pulse. "We've called an ambulance. You're going to be okay."

But I knew that we were too late.

***

The PRBs turned up not long after the rain had stopped and the paramedics had arrived. My older sister, Doctor Cassia Rames, and her robot assistant were among them.

The street had been transformed with electro-tape, journalists, and curious crowds, but she passed it all without breaking a stride. She turned a few heads, even in her forensic suit. While she hadn't hit the headlines, it was public knowledge that she and Crown Prosecution Service barrister Miles Grant had recently divorced, and with a single status attached to her platinum blonde hair, blue eyes, and full lips, she was quite a catch.

Too bad for Socrico that she had more interest in dead bodies than men right now.

Alex was a few paces away, giving instructions to the PRBs. I was looking through the victim's national profile on my ilenz, but I powered it down when Cassia reached us. "Morning. Victim's name is Ruby Beaumont. She's twenty-four. Unmarried. Unemployed. Her parents live in New London, but she has a younger sister, Jade, based here. I need to make this quick so that I can inform --"

"I heard you were with her when she died." Cassia's gaze swept beneath my defences with the efficiency of a scalpel. "Are you okay?"

Guilt ebbed through me as I pulled the electrodes away from my right temple. Ruby's life couldn't have been saved no matter what we'd done, but responsibility had still settled on my shoulders. With every life lost, it always did.

I shrugged. "The weapon is obviously a knife, but I didn't want to look closely at it until you'd examined the body."

Cassia rolled her eyes at my blunt avoidance and knelt beside Ruby Beaumont. She had been a beautiful woman, smooth-skinned, with hair like Goldilocks that fell to her waist. Her fake fur coat was unzipped, each side pulled neatly away from the knife that had been plunged through her jumper into the top of her chest. Skinny jeans clad long, slim legs. A red handbag was lying by her side.

My gaze slid to the knife again.

Alex came back while Cassia examined the weapon in situ. "It looks like a wedding cake knife. It's got something engraved on it."

My sergeant rubbed the stubble across his jaw. "I thought wedding cake knives were blunt, to scoop the cake up with."

"They often come in sets of two with a sharp one to use for cutting." I sighed. "I wish I didn't know that."

Cassia was still squinting at the blade. "Iberia and...someone. But I can't make out who she's marrying."

"Or not marrying." Alex looked at the body again.

"No, the victim's called Ruby Beaumont," I said. "I don't know who Iberia is, but I'll find out. What else can you tell us, Cassia?"

"It hit the aorta. Time of death I could only guess at, but you'll know better. I suppose you didn't see anyone hanging around when you arrived?"

If only. I clenched my jaw. "No. Whoever it was had already gone. They just stuck her and ran. I've checked her bag, and nothing seems to be missing: she still has her tabphone, and there's a pretty bracelet tucked inside, too. So I don't think she was mugged."

A shout rang over the crowd, and I turned around. A young man was pushing his way through the huddle of people on the other side of the electro-tape.

"Alex," I said, "call City of New London police and get them to inform Ruby's parents."

I strode towards the man. He had cropped, dark hair and a cleft in his chin, and huge muscles strained under a waterproof jacket. He might have been attractive in a blunt, rugged way had he not glowered at everyone he passed.

When I reached him, he was already in the process of ducking under the electro-tape. As he straightened up, he caught his head on it and scowled as an electric shock bolted through his system. It only seemed to have the effect of poking an angry bear with a stick.

"Sir," I said. "This is a crime scene. You can't --"

"The fuck I can't." He tried to swerve around me. "That's my friend --"

I moved to block him. "You knew Ruby Beaumont?"

"Ruby?" He jerked to a stop. "Oh, God. That's Ruby? Are you sure?"

I turned around and looked at the crime scene. Ruby's long, golden hair against the concrete was nothing if not eye-catching. "Yes, we've identified her electronically."

He paled. "I thought it was her sister. Oh, God..."

"Jade Beaumont?"

"Yes, that's right." He glanced at me, his gaze sharpening. "Are you sure? You can't make a mistake with your system?"

"I'm sure. Could you tell me your name, please?"

"Levi Ford."

"Levi, if you're a friend of Jade, do you know where she is now?"

"She should be with Iberia, getting ready for the wedding. God, she'll be devastated."

"Iberia?" That name again. "Who --"

My earpiece buzzed.

"Excuse me." I turned my back on Levi and tapped it twice to answer the call. "Rames speaking."

"Amber, this is Dixon. Bad news. We've got another body, and you're the only person I can send over there."

"Another?" I frowned. "But, sir, I'm not finished here."

"Get Alex to oversee things. The victim's a journalist -- you might have heard of her. Iberia Mills?"

I turned back to look at Levi, my frown deepening. "Yes. I just heard her name thirty seconds ago."