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“Nice shoulders, but flat arse. Normal corporate type—struts around like he owns the world, but wouldn’t know how to handle himself in a fight. See how he juts his chin just so? Entitled like Kemp, but he seems to be actually listening to that woman, instead of just pretending to, so possibly marginally more intelligent. I’d let him suck my cock if he asked nicely, but I probably wouldn’t return the favour.”
Warrick shot him a look, but Toreth had made sure to lower his voice for Warrick’s ears only.
“What? You did ask for my opinion,” Toreth said.
“Your professional opinion,” Warrick said between this teeth.
“Well, you’ve had it. Of course, I just made deductions from his body language. If you want an actual assessment, I’d have to talk to him.”
Warrick said nothing, his eyes drawn back to their subject, and Toreth was startled to realise Warrick was considering it. Warrick seldom asked Toreth to accompany him to this type of meeting, and when he did, he generally left Toreth to his own devices while he talked to fellow corporates. Tonight had been no different—Warrick had spoken to Jeremiah Joneson alone.
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Toreth said. “What am I going to be looking for?”
“I heard rumours,” Warrick said, very quietly.
“And you couldn’t have mentioned this before?” Toreth said evenly.
“I wasn’t sure the source was reputable. But now that I’ve talked to him…” He trailed off. “I think—just meet him.”
“By all means, then, ” Toreth sighed, trying not to show his irritation at having to fly blind. As flattered as he was by Warrick deferring to him for once, he’d hate to fail to notice something important because he was paying attention to the wrong details.
They slowly made their way towards Joneson, Warrick greeting acquaintances while Toreth nodded with as much polite disinterest as he could muster.
“Joneson,” Warrick said, after catching the man’s attention. “I didn’t have the chance before. I wanted to introduce you to my partner.”
“Senior Para-Investigator Toreth,” Toreth cut in, offering his hand.
“A Para-Investigator!” Joneson said, with a huge grin. “How delightful!” He covered Toreth’s hand with both of his, his eyes darting up and down Toreth’s body. “I have to say, I’m a huge fan of your Division. The way you always manage to uncover secrets? Fantastic. I’m so proud that soon my tech will be able to help you!”
“Oh?” Toreth said, and he knew he hadn’t quite managed to conceal his surprise, even as he had taken the chance to disengage from Joneson’s grasp.
“Well,” Joneson said, glancing at Warrick. “I shouldn’t really say in front of a competitor—no offense meant, Warrick— but the deal’s practically done already, so no real harm, I suppose?” Joneson laughed loudly, pushing out his chest. “The Administration is buying a share in my company. They want to license my technology for use during interrogations— all the benefits of high-level waivers, and none of the drawbacks!”
Joneson was staring at Toreth intently, so Toreth decided to play along and ask: “Why, what exactly does your technology do?”
However, Warrick chose that moment to exclaim: “You’re licensing the PASIV to the Administration?! That can’t be profitable!”
Joneson’s shoulders stiffened and he slowly turned to face Warrick before saying: “I’m obviously not at liberty to discuss financial settlements, Warrick. Let’s just say it’s a honour to be able to do my part as a loyal citizen of the Administration.”
Warrick snorted. “I sure hope you’re not counting on private clients. Once it gets out how the Administration is using your technology, the general public isn’t going to want anything to do with it.”
Joneson pursed his lips. “My business analysts and I prefer to believe any endorsement by the Administration is an asset, not a liability. We have already planned a targeted advertising campaign that will radically change perception of our product.” He turned to Toreth and said: “I think a public servant like you understands where I’m coming from. Would you be interested in a preview? A practical demonstration would be much more effective than trying to explain to you what the PASIV is about.”
Toreth hesitated, then said: “You know what? I think I might take you up on that offer.”
The drive home was uncharacteristically silent, Warrick a straight line of disapproval next to him.
Toreth supposed he should do something about it if he wanted the night to end with a fuck, but the delicious food and drink had mellowed him. He could let Warrick stew for a little while more before putting him out of his misery.
Warrick, however, surprised him by admitting quietly: “I’d hoped he’d do something like that. He is said to have a thing for authority figures, and showing off for a competitor’s partner? He wouldn’t pass the opportunity up.”
Toreth mulled that over for a minute, then said mildly: “And yet you met him alone because?”
Warrick heard the undertone Toreth had put in his voice and exhaled loudly. “Joneson’s company is not SimTech. They should have published studies about their technology like we did, but they didn’t. Just publicity brochures that tell nothing about their safety procedures, for instance. I have no idea how they managed to finagle an Administration contract. They must have sponsors in the higher spheres.”
Had the words come from anybody else, Toreth would have disregarded them as envious, but the way Warrick was staring resolutely out of the window told Toreth what Warrick’s problem was actually about.
“So, on one hand you want me to take a look at this PASIV, to compare it with the sim and see if there actually is something you have to worry about, but on the other you are afraid the PASIV’s technology is still in beta and might actually be harmful?”
Warrick winced. “I doubt the Administration would bother with just a prototype, but…the people who did try the PASIV? They said it was like dreaming. They had trouble telling the difference with reality.”
Toreth paused at that. “Isn’t that what you're trying to do with the sim?”
“We’re talking potentially illegal neural manipulation here,” Warrick said, a definite edge in his tone. “The sim instead terminates the program immediately when it notices memory integration errors. Apparently the PASIV blurs the lines on purpose.”
Toreth whistled. “Maybe that’s why the Administration never made a second attempt at taking control of SimTech.”
Warrick seemed to have reached the same conclusion: his face was pinched, his shoulders tense. Time to redirect Warrick’s thoughts, Toreth decided.
“You know,” Toreth said, “countersabotage training is standard in our Division.”
“Oh?” Warrick said, raising an eyebrow, finally turning his head to meet Toreth’s eyes.
“And I aced it,” Toreth said, spreading his legs. “You couldn't have picked a better candidate for this little test of yours.”
“Is that so?” Warrick said, quirking his lips.
“I can find out how real the rumours are without any kind of problem,” Toreth said. “Of course…”
“…I should probably thank you for all the trouble?” Warrick finished for him. He seemed amused.
“Well, when you put it that way…” Toreth smiled.
Warrick shook his head, but he was smiling back, and he did go down on Toreth right there in the car.
Toreth counted it as a win.
“Valantin?” Joneson said.
Toreth startled, then said, standing up: “It’s Toreth.”
“Of course,” Joneson said, shaking Toreth’s hand. “So glad you could make it. I hope you did not wait long?” he said, glancing at his secretary. Toreth echoed the movement, his eyes taking in the unusually strong build of the man.
“No, not at all,” Toreth said, automatically, distracted by how plush the lips of Joneson’s secretary looked.
“Please, come in,” Joneson said, leading Toreth to his office. “I would like to talk to you for a moment, then we can go to the demonstration room.”
Toreth declined the seat Joneson offered him, preferring to pretend interest in the view from the ceiling-to-floor windows. Joneson’s office was as pretentious as Joneson himself, a fact corroborated by the couch that took up almost the entire length of one side and seemed made, in Toreth’s admittedly nonexpert opinion, of real leather. Toreth wondered whether the Administration’s contract would keep covering for Joneson’s outrageously expensive spending habits.
“Toreth?” Joneson said. He’d sat behind his desk and was looking at Toreth inquiringly.
Toreth blinked, trying to recall whatever Joneson had said. He approached the desk, saying: “I thought you said trying to explain how the PASIV worked wasn’t very effective.”
“Oh, I stand by what I said,” Joneson smiled. “It’s not the PASIV I wanted to talk to you about. I was going to ask you about Warrick.”
Toreth’s brow furrowed. “What about him? And it’s Dr. Warrick, by the way.”
Joneson looked amused for a brief moment, then sobered. “I was very surprised to learn that such a shady individual with dubious morals was involved with an upstanding citizen like you, Valantin.”
“It’s Toreth,” Toreth repeated. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. Warrick is one of the best people I know.”
Joneson visibly relaxed. “Oh, I see. You don’t know, then. What a relief. Though, of course, the fact that he managed to avoid detection when his partner is a Para-Investigator makes him even more dangerous than I thought.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Toreth said, slamming his fist on Joneson’s desk.
Joneson looked at him calmly, then opened a drawer, took a hand screen and slid it in front of Toreth. “You might want to sit down. It’s going to be quite a shock for you,” Joneson said.
Toreth squared his shoulders and looked down at Joneson, lowering his voice enough that it wouldn’t be picked up by a recorder. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, but I do know Warrick. And fair warning, you’re pissing me off.”
“If you know him so well,” Joneson said, matching Toreth’s voice, “then there’s nothing in there that he didn’t tell you about, right?”
Toreth paused, and saw the flash of victory in Joneson’s eyes. Joneson slid the hand screen closer to Toreth; Toreth took it.
Toreth started reading, and felt the colour draining from his face. It was all there: Kate, Marriot, all the way back to Tanith and Howes.
Someone started pounding at the door. Toreth was peripherally aware of Joneson using the comm to tell his secretary to make sure that he wasn’t disturbed, but he was having some trouble focusing.
“How…” Toreth croaked, after a long while. He cleared his voice and tried again. “How did you get this?”
Joneson shrugged. “When you’re in this business, you have to keep the competition monitored. Of course, I didn’t know he was in a relationship with such a handsome man as you.”
Toreth belatedly realised that there’d been no mention of him in the files, which should be impossible. Then he processed what Joneson had said.
“I’m his legal partner,” Toreth said. “I—had no idea. If this comes out, there’s no way I wouldn’t be dragged down with him.”
“It’d be such a shame,” Joneson nodded. He looked very earnest. Toreth wanted to wring his neck.
“Is there anything I could do to…convince you to keep this to yourself?” Toreth made himself say.
“Well, Valantin,” Joneson said, licking his lips. “You could start by sucking my cock.”
Being fucked by Joneson on the regular was one of the most boring experiences of Toreth’s life.
Joneson was very high maintenance, needing to be constantly told how good he was in bed, how he was the best fuck of Toreth’s life. He never made any effort to pleasure Toreth, assuming his cock in Toreth’s ass was more than enough for Toreth to come.
He also had a penchant for tying Toreth up and making him beg. The twentieth time Toreth had to cry: “Oh, please, Jeremiah, give me your cock, I need it so bad,” Toreth had seriously reconsidered his plan of getting enough dirt on the fucker to permanently discredit him. Surely no one would mind if he just killed the bastard? But his thoughts had then turned to Warrick (God, when had he last seen Warrick? He couldn’t precisely remember the day, or even what excuse he’d given Warrick to explain his prolonged absence) and the mental image of Warrick being interrogated for real, by someone else, had sickened him so much that he’d redoubled his efforts on Joneson’s cock instead.
He was on his knees under Joneson’s desk one day (the wanker loved to screw Toreth in his office, especially since people kept loudly trying to force the door open) when Joneson said: “You know, it’s such a pity Warrick has never let anyone access the sim’s source code. I would never have been interested in him otherwise.”
Toreth mumbled agreement around Joneson’s cock, the vibration making Joneson moan loudly. “Fuck, you’re so good at that!” He pulled Toreth’s hair, making Toreth wince. “Not that I could ever regret meeting you. But it sure would have been more convenient for Warrick if the sim’s source code was widely available. Valantin? Don’t you agree with me?”
Toreth slid his mouth off with a loud pop. “Of course, Jeremiah,” Toreth said. “If SimTech’s code was open source, nobody would be interested in Warrick himself.”
Joneson smiled brightly at him. “Exactly! I knew you’d get it, Valantin!”
What a stupid patronising asshole. Open-sourcing the sim’s code would mean that SimTech’s only business would be paid support, certainly not the kind of money that could ever have given Warrick his corporate status. And without said corporate status, Warrick would have been in trouble ages ago. That Joneson was even just trying to convince Toreth that it was in Warrick’s best interest to undermine himself spoke volumes of the man’s intelligence.
The room shook, startling Toreth out of his thoughts. “Are they still doing repairs? I swear, it’s getting worse rather than better,” Toreth said.
“Yes, yes,” Joneson said, sounding peeved. “Just get on my cock already,” he ordered, slapping Toreth’s ass.
Toreth was about to comply, when the pounding on the door resumed. “Are you sure…” Toreth started to say, but then the door was kicked in.
“Sara?” Toreth said, incredulously, even as the rest of his team converged on Joneson and started to beat him up. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Toreth,” Sara said, urgently. “You need to wake up!”
And with that, she produced a pistol out of nowhere and shot Toreth in the face.
Toreth gasped loudly and woke up on Joneson’s leather couch.
He was naked, and an IV drip was hanging from his arm, connecting him to a metal suitcase. Two more drips were connected to the suitcase, and Toreth’s eyes followed them to Joneson himself, sitting unconscious in a leather chair, and to a slim young man Toreth could not recall seeing before.
Toreth was about to rip the needle out of his arm, when the door to Joneson’s office slammed open, and Joneson’s secretary came in running, promptly locking them all in.
“You may have very few projections,’’ the man told Toreth, “but boy, are they vicious!”
“What the hell is going on?” Toreth asked.
“A dream within a dream,” Joneson’s secretary started saying, but Joneson picked that moment to start convulsing.
“We’re out of time,” Joneson’s secretary said. “He’s going to wake up any moment now. Just remember: when you wake up, pretend you’ve forgotten everything that happened down here. You’re a Para-Investigator, you’re used to all kind of drugs, we can make it believable.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you why?” Toreth said, not bothering to conceal his anger.
“Because I’m getting you out of this nightmare,” Joneson’s secretary said, as he shot Toreth in the heart.
Toreth woke up with a start. He tried to get up from the padded couch he was lying in, but a hand pushed him back, gently but firmly.
“Please, sir, do not get up just yet. You must have had a bad reaction of some kind. Please let us finish running some tests first.”
The voice was female, probably belonging to the lab assistant Toreth had met earlier. His head was swimming a little, so he decided it was in his best interests to comply.
He blinked his eyes to clear them. He tried to scan the room to get a sense of his surroundings, but from his position he could only watch the young woman tap on her monitor: the side panels on the couches must have been engineered to prevent a subject from seeing who else was currently connected to the PASIV.
He remembered everything now: getting to Joneson’s company building, being vaguely explained how the PASIV worked, accepting to hook up to the machine.
The anger he had kept under control so far made a violent comeback. He’d been so stupid. So full of himself because of his training, and he’d completely missed the most telling details: he hadn’t been able to focus, or to remember how precisely he’d ended up in Joneson’s office.
A part of him had known something was wrong, though, Toreth reasoned. That must have been why his mind had conjured the images of Sara and his entire fucking team.
Still, there was nothing to be gained by accusing Joneson of attempted sabotage. Toreth had dug that grave himself, giving Joneson all the information he lacked. Christ, what was he going to tell Warrick?
Better to pretend he didn’t remember much of the entire experience, as Joneson's secretary had suggested.
Joneson’s secretary. Had that been the man himelf, or just some kind of…what had they been called, projections? The advice he’d given Toreth was sound, but given the dubious source Toreth couldn't help being wary.
“How much longer is this going to take?” Toreth said, when he couldn’t take the stillness any longer. He could hear a conversation taking place in another corner of the room. Joneson must have connected to the PASIV shortly after Toreth himself, so that was probably his voice.
“Just a little bit more,” the assistant said, even as Joneson himself appeared in Toreth’s line of sight.
“Para-investigator!” Joneson said. “I heard you’ve had trouble with the PASIV?”
Toreth had to give the man credit on his acting skills. If Toreth hadn’t seen with his own eyes the man connected to the machine in the dream he’d just woken up from, he would have believed Joneson was actually surprised.
“They tell me I’ve had a bad reaction to the PASIV drugs,” Toreth shrugged, making a valiant attempt at a smile. If it came out a little wan, he could blame it on the circumstances. “I’m a Para-Investigator, we often volunteer for testing new pharmaceuticals. I tried some just this Thursday, perhaps a lingering after-effect?”
“Oh, dear,” Joneson said. “That is definitely something we must consider before the Administration contract comes into effect! So you’re telling me you didn’t enjoy the experience at all?”
“I’m sorry to say it’s all very hazy to me,” Toreth said. “Nothing at all like the sim,” he couldn’t resist adding, just to enjoy the downward curve of Joneson’s lip.
Toreth had picked Saturday morning to accept Joneson’s invitation because Warrick’s schedule that day had been free: he’d looked forward to coming back home to Warrick and recounting his experience with the PASIV.
He was instead subdued as the car reached their complex. He had no idea how to breach the topic to Warrick without looking the worst kind of incompetent, and weren’t he aware time was of the essence in this kind of damage control, he’d have much preferred a prolonged visit to Sara’s apartment.
There was also the temporal disconnect he’d experienced inside the PASIV to contend with.
He’d tried dyschronos before, especially since Warrick’s burgeoning interest in them, but the PASIV was on a different level altogether. Dyschronos left you unable to correctly perceive the passage of time, but Toreth had lived entire weeks without Warrick inside the PASIV. He felt his absence acutely, even as his mind was aware he’d actually seen Warrick a mere couple of hours earlier. He’d have to make sure he didn't behave like a pathetic fool.
This was probably why, when he found Warrick reading in their living room and his breath skipped, he said, quickly: “Warrick, I screwed up.”
Warrick blinked as he raised his head from his hand screen, then said: “Welcome back. I’d ask you if it was a pleasant experience, but judging from your expression I’ll make an educated guess and assume it wasn't.”
Toreth wanted nothing more than to fuck all the eloquence out of Warrick, but made himself say: “No, it bloody wasn’t,” before he poured himself a large glass of whisky, sank on the couch next to Warrick and told him everything.
When he’d finished, Toreth risked the glance he hadn’t dared while he was speaking and found Warrick’s eyes tightly shut, his nostrils flaring.
“Warrick?” Toreth hazarded.
“One moment,” Warrick said, in a tone Toreth couldn’t recall hearing before. He’d known Warrick would be mad, but he shouldn't have underestimated how much, given the sim was involved.
“I can fix it,” Toreth said, trying to sound more confident than he was. “I know it was a rookie mistake, but…”
“A mistake,” Warrick repeated.
Toreth paused. “Well, yes. All the details that were in those reports—only the two of us could know them. The PASIV must have populated the hand screen with what I know, and that’s how Joneson found out. You…” Toreth’s voice stuttered. “Surely you don’t think I would ever tell somebody else everything? Willingly?”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” Warrick said, raising his voice. “I would just like to understand why in the world somebody blackmails you, then takes advantage of you and tries to brainwash you, and yet you think it’s your fault?”
Toreth opened his mouth, then closed it. “I was trained for this,” he reminded Warrick. “I should have recognised the signs and reacted accordingly.”
“Which you did,” Warrick stressed. “You got out of the situation as soon as you could, which must have been significantly earlier than Joneson expected, considering how pedestrian his attempt at performing inception on you was.”
“Inception?” Toreth asked.
“He wanted you to steal the sim’s source code. And since he knew you’d never do it under normal circumstances, he tried to plant in your head the idea that my life would be better if the code was out of my hands.”
“Nobody in their right mind would ever believe that!”
“With the right drugs and more time? Who knows what would have happened. I can’t believe I practically delivered you to him!”
Warrick was shaking, and Toreth realised he might have gotten the problem wrong.
“Is this about the sex?” Toreth asked. “Because it was lousy, but very boring. And I did volunteer, so no big deal.”
“Don’t,” Warrick said, and there was an edge in his voice that Toreth couldn't identify. “You told me at the gala that you wouldn't want to blow him. And we both know how much you enjoy being tied up.”
It’s not bad with you, Toreth almost said, but didn’t think Warrick was in the right frame of mind to appreciate it.
“It wasn’t even real,” he settled for, in the end, but it sounded weak to his own ears. It had seemed real enough at the time; Toreth just didn’t understand why Warrick was all twisted up about it.
“Listen,” he tried. “The point is, Joneson now knows everything. And I can fix it, but—”
“Oh, that,” Warrick said, and it was like Toreth had flipped a switch, because Warrick’s voice was suddenly cool and controlled. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it?” Toreth repeated.
“I did mention I’d heard rumours about Joneson, did I not? Well, since apparently the source is eminently trustworthy, I’m going to take them up on their offer.”
“Warrick,” Toreth said, as level as he could. “We went through this last time, didn’t we? You shouldn't—”
“Just give me two days,” Warrick said, and nothing Toreth said for the rest of the afternoon could move him.
Two days later, Jeremiah Joneson was found dead in an apparent suicide. This would have been more believable if his company’s entire headquarters hadn’t been ransacked, his technology stolen.
“Totally corporate sabotage,” Chevril said over coffee. “You know, if I didn’t know your man, I’d think he might have a hand in it,” Chevril added, squinting at Toreth.
Toreth, who knew he hadn’t been assigned the case because Chevril wasn’t the only one who’d had that thought, had already practiced the delivery of his response. “Please, give me a little credit. I wouldn’t pick such a stupid man for my partner.”
Chevril snorted, but he did seem appeased, at least without any evidence to the contrary.
Toreth nevertheless spent the rest of the day deliberately avoiding even thinking of Warrick, and then found a plausible excuse to go home early.
His stomach plummeted when he found Warrick already at home, whistling out of tune and finishing preparing what seemed to be a banquet for two.
“Warrick,” Toreth started to stay, but then he didn’t know how to continue.
“Ah, Toreth! Perfect timing. What do you think of this?” Warrick said, placing some kind of hors d’oeuvre on Toreth’s tongue before moving back to the kitchen counter.
Toreth chewed automatically. “Delicious,” he said, though he had no idea what he’d just swallowed. He took Warrick by the wrists, turning him so that Warrick’s back was against the counter and they were face to face.
Warrick was regarding him so quizzically Toreth for a moment thought that he’d been wrong, that it was just a monumentally fortuitous coincidence. But he had thought that once before, in the beginning, while Howes was leaving Tillotson’s office.
“Why did you do it?” Toreth asked.
Warrick tilted his head to the side. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head. “I guess I deserve this,” he said, eventually.
“Deserve what?” Toreth asked.
“You wouldn’t have asked, before” Warrick said quietly, his shoulders in a downward curve.
Toreth stiffened, realising what Warrick was referring to. He couldn’t deny it, however. He let go of Warrick, taking a step back.
“I know it’ll take time to regain your trust, at least as far as these matters are concerned,” Warrick continued. “But I want you to know that I’m aware it was wrong of me to break my word to you and I don’t want to do it again.”
Toreth snorted. “Nice resolution. It’ll last till next time your company or your family is in trouble, and then all bets will be off, again.”
“Toreth,” Warrick said, sharply. “SimTech employs an excellent pool of lawyers and a very efficient—and ruthless—Security team.”
Toreth frowned.
“I didn’t do it because he attempted corporate sabotage,” Warrick said, closing the distance between them and staring at Toreth intently. “I wouldn’t have needed to. I did it because he saw something of mine, wanted it, took it and used it ill.”
“That’s not…” Toreth broke off, looking away. He scratched his jaw, then tried again: “That’s not the impression I got last time you contacted a sab team.”
“This time it was the sab team who contacted me. I believe you spoke to one of them? Tall, broad shoulders?”
“Fucking secretary,” Toreth cursed, and really, he should have guessed.
“They believed I could be persuaded to finance their way out of the Administration if they managed to convince me of the dangers of the PASIV.”
“They weren't wrong, were they?” Toreth said, bitterly.
“I did turn them down at first,” Warrick said, mildly. “But then I reconsidered. And I asked for a little more in return.”
Toreth shook his head. “I’ve never wanted, never asked you to…Can’t you just show some fucking self-preservation instincts for once?”
“Oh, I assure you, they’re the best. Nothing will turn up in the investigation.”
“There is no such thing as a perfect crime, Warrick. Believe me, I know,” Toreth said, thinly.
“I suppose I couldn’t stand it,” Warrick said, losing Toreth again.
Toreth gestured his incomprehension, and Warrick continued: “That he tied you up. That he ruined it further for you.”
Toreth exhaled loudly, hearing what Warrick had decided was safe to say, but listening to what Warrick would have wanted to say, and had decided was best not to mention.
He could try to explain to Warrick again that the entire experience had meant nothing to him; but in light of what Warrick had done, it was, perhaps, uncalled for.
“You know, I’m not the control-freak that you are,” Toreth settled for saying.
Warrick nodded. “I noticed. Even last time, when you did let go, it wasn’t the ropes or the lack of control that did it for you.”
Toreth eyed Warrick warily as Warrick grasped Toreth’s shirt, pulling Toreth down to whisper in his ear: “Let me take care of you.”
Toreth shivered, shut his eyes. Then he said: “Why not?”
Chevril’s investigation never did get anywhere.