about me now was my name and hair-color. That sidetracked Dad; he still hoped I’d get tired of it and give up the superhero life, become a reservist—a lot harder to do if my civilian identity got out.
“No worries, Mrs. C.” Shelly said. “I called in a favor. A friend paid a visit to the Block, and Blacktop remembers her as an older brunette now. And lots chestier.”
“Shell…”
“Not a big deal, really. He didn’t remove any memories. It’s like remembering you had the banana cream instead of the apple pie for lunch.”
Mom and Dad nodded agreement, but I resolved to have a talk with Shelly later. There were boundaries.
* * *
After that I got away with minimal fuss and aggravation, but there was no way I was going to classes. My superhuman healing ability would clear up the bruises before the day was out, but till then a battered little Hope Corrigan would raise way too many questions. So instead I changed into costume, using makeup to cover the bruising where it crept out from under the mask, and flew out to see Detective Fisher. A phone call might have worked, but what I was going to ask for probably broke half a dozen department regulations.
Shelly found him for me, hanging out at the corner of Clark and Taylor. He stood in the empty lot south of the AMLI 900 luxury apartment tower, beside the Mid-Am “for lease” signs.
“Astra,” he said when I landed. “You’re not on duty today.” For a miracle, he didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth—probably because of the Starbuck’s Coffee cup in his hand.
“Good morning, Detective Fisher—”
“Call me Don.” With his free hand he indicated the complete absence of other detectives or patrolmen. A few morning commuters saw us and slowed as they drove by. I waved, turning back to him.
“I don’t think so. Fisher?”
“That’ll do. What can I do for you?” He finished his coffee and lit up as I rolled my eyes. “And what happened?”
“What—oh.” I touched my made-up cheek. “A little fight out of town. Anything on the Moffat case?”
“We’re still looking for Mr. Ross. He might be able to tell us if Moffat was more involved in the robbery than we thought.”
“But you thought he was dead.”
“So we’ll find a body that could tell us something. Much as I’d like to talk shop, this is just my breakfast stop.”
I nodded. “I need access to Mr. Moffat’s apartment, for me and three others. Is it open?”
He looked at me. “It’s been swept and cleaned. The department turned it loose last Friday, so you could always just ask the building super.”
Who’ll probably say no. Neither of us said it. An impossible murder? Superheroes poking about? The last thing the apartment management would want was their tenants getting the idea that the building was superhuman-murder central.
“Could you…” Lean on the building super? Get permission to go back in? I so didn’t want to do a B and E.
“What is this about?”
Sighing, I told him.
He lit his second cig when I finished, exhaled.
“Blackstone. That explains a lot. Called me last week, asked for the case file. Didn’t want to go through Garfield.” The deputy superintendent of the Bureau of Investigative Services didn’t much like superhumans, and didn’t like having superheroes affiliated with the CPD even as private contractors.
I held my breath while he looked at me. Finally he nodded.
“Okay. When?”
“Tonight? Two of them are flying in from LA this afternoon, and Artemis has to wait till after dark.”
“I’ll call the super, and there’ll be five of us. Otherwise Garfield will have my badge.”
“Thank you!” I felt a million pounds lighter knowing I wouldn’t have to skirt the law. Giving him a mock-salute, I started to lift off, then stopped. “Detect— Fisher? What are you doing out here?”
“I’m looking for the man who wasn’t there.”
* * *
I had to be satisfied with that cryptic comment. Back at the Dome I settled in to write up an after-action report of Sunday’s fight. Since it hadn’t happened in the team’s jurisdiction or on Sentinels business, I didn’t have to explain why I’d been in LA, and now I got to be cryptic. I called the LA Guardians and got the file number on their report of the incident to append to mine; the review board that read my after-action reports could contact them or the LAPD, get their official write-up, and wonder about the rest. Then I pulled out my homework; the investigation had to wait till nightfall,