Jax returned the smile. He felt like he was in the middle of a slow-moving spaceship collision. Like two vessels, neither with any thrusters, drifting toward each other at a crawl. Nothing to do but wait and watch the events unfold; and pray that you’re on a vessel whose Life Support stays intact.

A concerned look suddenly crossed her face. “Stanford?” she said softly, not looking directly at the man. “That card I gave you didn’t have my home address on it.” It was clearly a statement, but she quickly turned it into a question. “Did it?”

Runstom didn’t say anything. Jax thought he looked as guilty as if he held a smoking gun. So much for those undercover instincts.

The silence spoke volumes. “How did you find my house, Stanford?” she asked, quietly but firmly. “My address – it’s not listed publicly.”

Runstom sighed wearily. “Jenna. Jenna Zarconi. Do you work at Vitality Systems, in plant number 11?” The question came out wooden and clipped. “Are you an inspector? An inspector of Life Support systems?”

Jenna Zarconi’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I am. How did you know that?” she asked under hushed breath. “I didn’t tell you any of that last night.”

“I know, Jenna.” Runstom leaned forward, cradling his wine glass in his hands. “It’s the case.” He looked at her and then looked at Jax.

“What are you talking about, Stanford?” Zarconi said. She looked at Jax, then back at Runstom. She arched her back as if to stand, but remained sitting. “Who are you guys?”

Runstom was still looking at Jax, as if giving him permission to take a whack at directing the conversation. “Jenna,” Jax said. “Do you know anyone who,” he started, faltering. Out of context, it seemed like a pretty ridiculous question. “Do you know anyone who goes by the nickname ‘X’?”

The green-skinned woman dropped her glass. It landed on the soft carpet without breaking, and all three of them jumped out of their chairs. She bent down and fussed about with a napkin, trying to sop up the few drops of wine that had been left in the glass.

She stood up slowly, keeping her head low, and spoke into her chest. “Yes, I know X.”

“How do you know him, Jenna?” Runstom asked. Jax could hear the struggle between being a consoling friend and being an interrogating cop fighting it out in his voice.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Jax said. “We’re just looking for answers.”

She lifted her head. A tear was running down one cheek, giving it a bright, green stripe. “I … do work for him. Sometimes.”

“What kind of work?” Runstom prodded.

“Well,” she said, hesitant. “Usually programming. Nothing outright malicious. But writing programs that …” she paused and swallowed.

“That are subversive in some way?” Jax asked. He could have asked her to finish her thought, and maybe she’d be more specific, but he was getting more and more nervous and wanted to move the conversation along.

Zarconi didn’t answer the question, but she nodded briefly. Runstom turned around and walked to the window. He was quiet for the next few moments, and Jax and the woman stared at his back.

“Jenna,” Jax said cautiously. “Our investigation has led us to believe that someone wrote a program.” He took a step toward her, trying to draw her attention away from Runstom. She turned to face him after a few seconds, and he continued. “A specific program, written to work on a Life Support system.”

She looked at Jax and nodded so softly it was almost imperceptible. She didn’t say anything out loud.

Jax went on. “Our investigation has led us to cross paths with a few people who contributed in some way to a crime. Each of these people seemed to know only their own part. Their own job. They were apparently not aware of the overarching crime. They were all manipulated in some way by someone. Someone they each referred to as X.”

She sniffed. “Do you know who X is?” she asked, her voice quiet and croaky.

“No,” Jax said, frowning. “No. We don’t.” He paused, meeting her eyes again. “Do you know the real identity of X?”

Jax watched the woman. Her head didn’t shake or nod in any direction. Her lips trembled, and more tears formed in the corners of her squinting eyes. He thought she looked afraid. Very afraid.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jax felt ashamed for being unable to push her. She obviously knew X, and they needed to get it out of her. He didn’t know what else to say to her. He felt like he needed to open her up more. “Did X force you to write the program?”

“Yes,” she said, creakily.

“Did he force you to follow me?” Runstom said loudly. Jax and Zarconi turned to look at the officer, who was still staring out the window.

“What?” she said.

Runstom turned around. “Listen, Jenna,” he said sharply. “We can help you. But you have to be honest with us.” He took a step forward and she stared at him, frozen. “It was no coincidence we met at the bar yesterday. Grovenham is not that small.”

“Okay,” she said, blinking back tears and clearing her throat. “I know X. I’ve known him for a few years.” She paused, her face twisting. “We used to be lovers.” She swallowed, then added, “And partners.”

“You mean, like business partners?” Jax asked.

She looked at him and frowned. “You could say that.” She turned back to Runstom. “But I left. I wanted to get out of that. I wanted to go straight, live a real life.”

“But he never left you alone,” Runstom said.

“Yes,” she said. “He did. For a while. But then he started calling. Asking me to do things for him. He never asked me to leave my home or my job or anything. He just asked me to write code once in a while.” She blinked and wiped half-dried tears from her face. “He always pays me. And he doesn’t take no for an answer. He has—” She paused and swallowed, as if the next word were stuck in her throat. “Evidence.”

“Of your participation in past crimes,” Jax guessed. After the words came out of his mouth, he realized that was supposed to go unsaid.

“Yes,” Jenna Zarconi said. “But it’s worse than that.” She looked at each of them, and Jax could see fear on her face. “He’s a cop. He’s ModPol.”

Runstom’s face contorted. “X? X is goddamn ModPol? No way.” He folded his arms across his chest. “No goddamn way.”

“Stan,” Jax said excitedly. “That makes perfect sense! The exploited people, the cover-ups. The way those detectives were so ready to close the homicide case.” The look on Runstom’s face – like he’d just been hit across the jaw with a bombball plank – made Jax wish he’d held back his excitement about the revelation.

“Shit.” Runstom shook his head. “Goddamn Porter.” The officer seemed to be talking to himself more than the others. “Didn’t even show up to the crime scene. So quick to be done with the case.” He shook his head again, closing his eyes. “But still. I can’t believe it.” He opened his eyes and glared at Jenna Zarconi. “No.”

“It’s true,” she said, almost whispering. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but it’s true.”

“Did you know the target?” Runstom said, suddenly changing the subject.

“What do you mean?” she started to ask.

“You know what I mean,” Runstom said sharply, cutting her off. “The program was designed to hurt someone. Someone specific. You knew this. Out of the thirty-two victims, only one was the real target.” He tried to steady his voice. “Did you know who that target was?”

She seemed to think the question over. “Yes,” she said, finally. “Yeorg.”

“I’m sorry,” Jax said. “Did you say ‘Yeorg’? Who – or what – is Yeorg?”

“He was the other partner.” She sat back down in her chair. Jax sensed a rather long story was coming, so he sat too. Runstom remained standing. “When we started out, we were small time. X, Y, Z,” she said. “X, Yeorg, and Zarconi.”

Runstom walked around the edge of the room, coming to a stop somewhere behind Jenna Zarconi’s chair. Jax watched him pull out his notebook and quietly flip it open. He didn’t get out a pen, he just read.