ARC: The Buried Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

reputation around here.”
    “Yet I know nothing about you. Tell me about your background, Inspector.” She eyed him as she pronounced the last word, sounding it out. He blushed.
    “I completed my training the week before last with a batch of five other recruits. Top marks in procedure and investigation.” He hesitated, shifting on his feet.
    “And?”
    “Studies in murder and assault cases. Naturally.”
    “Before that.”
    Sundar massaged a spot on the floor with his toe. “My background is, you could say, a bit unorthodox. I’m not sure it’s particularly interesting, Inspector.”
    “I’m not asking for conversation’s sake.”
    “Ah. Well, in that case, I came from a four-year career in theatre.”
    Malone’s eyebrows shot up and her lips tightened. “Why the career change?”
    Sundar stopped fidgeting. “Too much memorization. I’d gotten into it for the improv.”
    “I see.” She paused, considering him. “Our first order of business is to question the sweeps. Richards will have detained them in the east wing.” She trailed off, tapping a black-gloved finger to her chin as she began to turn.
    “Yes, the holding lobby on level four. Follow me, please.” He nodded and led the way down the narrow hall. She scowled at his back but, with a sigh, allowed him to lead her through the station she knew so well.
    The smaller corridor’s plain, gray walls tightened around them. The hall curved steadily, concentric with the rotunda, a line of eye-level gas lamps visible for a dozen yards at a time. Passing offices and branching hallways, Sundar began briefing Malone.
    “I monitored them until I came to meet you, and I don’t think they’re involved. They were working on the same schedule as usual – their supervisor came by, and I checked that with him, of course.” The inspectors took a left and descended a short flight of stairs. “They’ve been pretty quiet, but not too quiet, if you know what I mean. Anybody left to their own thoughts in one of those holding rooms would be.” He glanced at her, hoping for agreement. “They’ve done a number on the tea and biscuits we left them, and I haven’t caught any fidgeting or whispering. Really, I think they just happened to be at the right place at the right time. For us, I mean.” The inspectors entered a small, cluttered room with a downward-facing window built into the far wall. “They didn’t show the usual signs of trying to hide something, Inspector.”
    Malone gave Sundar an appraising glance and glided over to the window. It was common for sweeps and other groundskeepers to stumble upon crime scenes. Wandering all corners of Recoletta at any given hour, day, and especially night, the groundskeepers formed a veritable army of maintenance men and women who emerged from their homes in the poorer districts in shifts, cleaning public spaces, relighting torches, and charging and replacing radiance stones as needed.
    Unfortunately, with the exception of whitenails, groundskeepers were the most difficult to interview. That they reported such a high percentage of crimes often cast them in suspicion. That they received the lowest wages in the city only deepened public distrust. The groundskeepers heartily returned these sentiments, but criminal penalties against failing to report a crime, not to mention the knowledge that such an omission would only worsen their precarious reputation, compelled them to grudgingly come forward.
    Two grimy men with circles under their eyes and haggard expressions sat twitching their beards in a bare, colorless chamber. The combination of artful lighting and a one-way mirror concealed the observing window, and Malone watched as the sweeps sipped from mugs of lukewarm tea and chatted in monosyllables, their eyes hooded by the lights and their exhaustion.
    She folded her arms and looked at Sundar’s reflection in the glass. “Show me your top marks in investigation.”
    “Of course.” He ducked out of the observation