The Doomsday Brunette by John Zakour & Lawrence Ganem

Author:John Zakour & Lawrence Ganem [Zakour, John; Ganem, Lawrence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-625670-49-6
Publisher: Jabberwocky Literary Agency, Inc.
Published: 2004-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

30

Once back in the real world, it occurred to me that I had spent more time the past two days talking with the supporting cast of Foraa’s murder than I had talking with my own client. I’d gotten all kinds of background information on the Thompson family dynamic and the events leading up to the murder, but I didn’t really have Ona’s take on any of it.

HARV netted Ona’s computer to set up some face time between the two of us. Her schedule was tight, as you might imagine, but the computer agreed to squeeze me in between appointments (I was happy to see that proving her innocence was such a high priority). So late that day HARV and I returned to Ona’s and met with her in her office, which was at the absolute center of the ziggurat.

Now, I’ve been in large offices before but Ona’s office was different. It took large and moved it exponentially in a strange sort of way. It was big by normal standards, about fifteen meters square, but hardly awe-inspiring, at least in terms of length and width. Height, however was a horse of an entirely different color.

“I don’t see a ceiling,” I whispered to HARV as we entered.

“It’s there.”

“Is it invisible?” I said, craning my head upward. “Maybe that’s Ona’s little jab against the glass-ceiling concept.”

“On the contrary, the ceiling is platinum in color, and fashioned to simulate the ornate tin ceilings found in early 20th century architecture.”

“How come I can’t see it?”

“Because it’s high,” HARV said.

“High?”

“One hundred seven meters.” HARV replied. “At the pinnacle of the ziggurat.”

“Why would anyone want a ceiling that high?”

“An architectural conversation piece, I suppose. This office holds the record for being the highest ceilinged single room on earth.”

“They keep track of those things?”

“You know better than to ask me that, don’t you?”

“I guess so.”

“By the way,” HARV said, “Don’t drop anything of import into her wastebasket. The rumor is that it’s three kilometers deep.”

Ona was in the office as we entered and she waved us over to the desk at which she sat, at the far corner of the room.

“Zach. Over here.”

HARV and I met her at the desk and she raised herself ever-so-slightly out of her chair to shake my hand.

“Thanks for meeting with us, Ona. You remember HARV, my assistant.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Thompson.”

“And a pleasure to see through you again, HARV.”

HARV’s face dropped a bit and he gave himself a quick once over to check the density of his hologram.

“It was a joke, HARV,” I whispered.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” HARV huffed.

Ona sat back at her desk and straightened her outfit, a very white low cut jacket over a pale blouse, as a pair of tiny grooming-bots hovered around her head. One quickly combed her hair, the other touched up her make-up. It was only then that I noticed the camera bot, floating just in front of her desk.

“Are we catching you in the middle of something here?”

She

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