Author/Uploaded by Michael Kaufman
Contents Title Page Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 ...
Contents Title Page Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Epilogue Acknowledgments Also Available by Michael Kaufman Author Biography Copyright Guide Cover Start of Content Title Page Dedication Chapter 1 Epilogue Acknowledgments Copyright Pagebreaks of the print version Cover Page iii v 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 ii iv THE LAST RESORT A JEN LU MYSTERY Michael Kaufman To Chloe, with admiration and love. 1 Friday, March 3, 2034—15:28:01 “I never killed anyone before.” Yeah, that’s what they all say when they’re staring at prison through their big brown eyes. But I admit, the hedge fund CEO had us both convinced, Jen and me. A freak death by an errant ball at a snooty golf course. Despite being a Timeless, the man looked unwell. His skin was now the color of liverwurst that had been left out too long in the sun. He charged from the posh meeting room toward the restroom. Second time since we had brought him up to the clubhouse. My boss: Jen B. Lu. Age thirty-eight. Washington, DC, police detective. Me: Two years and nine months. Biocomputer implanted into her neocortex. “What do you think, boss?” Jen said, “I think he should take golf lessons before he kills anyone else.” “She’s not dead yet.” “No,” Jen agreed. “Not yet.” When the hedge fund president finally staggered back, dabbing the corners of his narrow mouth with a blindingly white handkerchief, we ran through it all again. That’s your most basic police questioning technique: get them to repeat their story 150 times and try to spot discrepancies. It’s one of the many areas where I run circles around humans. Of course, it also lets the bad guys lock in their stories, but no mind. Trebook said, “As I told you twice—” “Sorry, Mr. Trebook, I need to make sure we capture every detail while things are fresh in your mind.” “—when you’re on the tee box—” “On the fifth hole.” “Of course on the fifth damn hole.” He glared briefly, his normal rich-guy moxie starting to bubble up. “From up there, you can’t see the place we found her.” “You knew she was playing in front of you.” “Yes. As I have also already stated several times.” He shot Jen a look that couldn’t have withered a daisy, let alone my boss. “We saw her in the starter’s cabin. And it’s her regular time. Everyone knows.” “Did you speak to her?” He looked uncomfortable. “No.” “She was by herself?” “Right. No service unit. But the fifth hole descends steeply at about a hundred and fifty yards. She was down there, out of sight.” “Isn’t that risky? Hitting your ball when someone could be there?” “Our tee times are fifteen minutes apart,” he said with a voice so smug it made me itch. “Is that good?” The high roller rolled his eyes, apparently recovering from his abject whining and now reclaiming his natural superiority. He fuzzed a hand back and forth over his close-cropped hair like a little boy might do after his first trip to a barbershop. Seventy-six years old, but looked about twenty-four. Not a good-looking twenty-four—his lips were far too skinny, his mouth far too small, and his ears looked like someone had slapped iceberg lettuce leaves onto the sides of his head—but not everyone can be as handsome as me. “Most good private courses,” Trebook said, “send out groups at eight- to ten-minute intervals. At a course where you might play”—here he sized Jen up and down as if calculating her net worth—“you’d be packed in every six minutes. Here we believe members absolutely must have the course to themselves. Fifteen minutes ensures this. And the fact that she was playing alone meant she should have been well ahead of