AfterNet 01 - Good Cop Dead Cop

Street Mall and parked the car on Wynkoop Street, not too far from the site of the rave, coincidentally.
    “You could have parked closer,” Munroe said.
    “What? Now you don’t want to … oh, of course, there’s a light breeze.”
    “Did you say that in a sarcastic voice?”
    “Yes I did. Come on, the walk will do you good.”
    Munroe almost felt cold moving through the wind with his partner, occasionally ducking behind her to draft in her slipstream. In a few minutes, they were approaching the Tattered Cover bookstore, which was brightly lit in contrast to the restaurants and stores closed for the holiday.
    “I wonder why they’re remaining open,” she said.
    Munroe had regained her side. “The notice said they just wanted to do something for the disembodied that had no home to go to. It’s co-sponsored by the AfterNet.”
    “See, Denver’s a nice place, just like your Seattle. Now I’m using my treacly sweet voice, by the way.”
    “I bet it still sounds sarcastic. And I’ve never said anything bad about Denver.”
    The terminal reported her response as unintelligible, but Munroe guessed it was in the nature of “harrumph.”
    Yamaguchi held the door open for her partner, who immediately felt the store’s AfterNet hotspots. She knew her partner. “Go mingle while I get some coffee.”
    Munroe went to the periodicals hoping to bump into some acquaintances, living or dead. Several living people were already online, sitting in comfortable chairs, banging away at their laptop computers. He logged into the field and found David, the dead TC employee, with whom he often discussed jazz.
    “Alex, glad you stopped by.”
    “Thanks, David. Big turnout?”
    “Last time I checked, more than 500 online.”
    “How many are you talking to?” Munroe asked. David was infamous for holding multiple conversations.
    “You’re number … uh … 24.” David had been a long time TC employee. He’d been a homeless drug addict for a number of years before being hired. Since his death, he never budged from the store, except for occasional visits to the other branches. He had become the store’s liaison to the disembodied world, and still worked for the store. A lot of people made a beeline for the Tattered Cover when they died.
    “Hey, I’ve got to go in back and see if there’s a package. Why don’t you take over and dissuade this moron’s opinions about Tijuana Moods ?”
    Within a few minutes, Munroe was deep into an impromptu Mingus chat.
    Yamaguchi was on the second floor, skimming a book about AfterNet field mechanics. She’d already found Munroe in the periodicals, talking about jazz with his buddies. She couldn’t understand the appeal of what she considered arcane music to a bunch of deaf dead people, but it pleased her that he still found it interesting. He apparently was defending the merits of some obscure album. He hadn’t even noticed her online and was as happy as a pig in slop.
    She, on the other hand, kept glancing around her. She always felt uncomfortable in stores while in uniform. Chatting up salespeople or talking to citizens she could always justify to herself as community outreach. But when you start shopping, the public saw you as a lazy cop who’s pursuing personal business on the job. Of course, seasoned cops, like her partner, were forever chiding her about her scruples.
    The second floor was mostly empty, however, and she had let her guard down.
    “Wow, heavy reading,” a man said, almost in her ear.
    She turned and bumped into the speaker, dropping her book. She didn’t like the fact she had let someone get that close without her noticing. And most citizens wouldn’t get that close to a cop.
    “Sorry,” the man said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.” He bent down to retrieve the book.
    “No, that’s OK.” She got a good look at him. He wasn’t tall, maybe 5’7” but nicely proportioned in his black leather jacket. He had a buzz cut that clearly showed his hairline, which wasn’t receding. What she could see indicated he had brown hair. And he had nice blue eyes that nicely contrasted his dark looks.
    “‘AfterNet Field Mechanics Explained,’” he said, while handing her back the book. “That’s pretty technical.” He had an Irish accent, or at least it sounded sort of Irish. It was intriguing, whatever it was.
    “Is that an Irish accent, or what?”
    “Mock Irish,” he said, sounding more Midwest now. “It’s the accent I use when I … I’m a