Lee Shores

by Rachel Ford

  When the guard returned for the bowls, Maggie asked, “When are we going to see our lawyer? When are we going to hear the full charges against us?”

  He ignored her, though, and went about his business as if the question hadn’t even been posed.

  The midday meal followed the same pattern. This time, the sludge was orange in color. Frank guessed it was some kind of soup. It was a little warmer than breakfast, but not much, and not much more flavorful, either.

  And still, we’d heard from neither our advocate nor the Kudarian authorities. It wasn’t until late afternoon when an escort of guards arrived, heading for Frank’s cell. His questions – though I could not understand what he said, his tone was one of inquiry – were rebuffed, and he was marched out in cuffs.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I wondered aloud.

  Maggie put an arm around me. “No idea.”

  The inmate across the hall, a burly Kudarian man, shouted something. His snarling expression and angry tone were enough to overcome any language barrier, and for the first time I was almost glad we didn’t have our translators. I got the gist; I didn’t need the words too.

  “Ignore him,” Maggie said, feeling me tense at the verbal onslaught. “Come on.”

  She urged me back to one of the cots. We’d spent the day alternating between sitting on the cot with our back against the wall, and pacing the tiny enclosure until we were footsore. Now, we resumed our seated positions.

  Not for long, though. Another baton-wielding posse of green uniforms marched down the hall, and this time their destination was our cell. “On your feet,” someone commanded in passable English. “Face the wall.”

  I didn’t need a second urging. Not with the way I still ached from head to toe after yesterday’s beating. I did as I was instructed, and heard the gate unlock behind me. A moment later, hands seized my wrists, slapping them into the now familiar manacles.

  Then, they spun me around, and someone said, “Move.” To emphasize the point, a hand pressed hard between my shoulder blades. Fire shot through the welts striping my back, and I winced, but complied as quickly as my legs would allow.

  Maggie caught my eye as we exited the cell, and smiled reassuringly. “It’ll be alright, babe.”

  A shove and a sharp exclamation from the guardsman behind her quieted us both. We marched in silence through the same corridors we’d traveled the day before, and some, I thought, new ones.

  I barely dodged a glob of saliva from one of the inmates we passed. Another prisoner earned himself a volley of threats when his errant spittle landed on one of the members of our escort.

  At last, though, our journey ended. We were brought to a series of doors, and Maggie was hauled toward one and I toward the other. “Hey,” I said, panic suddenly rising in my chest. It was one thing to be going wherever we were going with Mags at my side. But alone? “Where are you taking her? Hey! What’s going on?”

  I was rewarded for my outburst with another warning and a smack upside the head.

  “Leave her alone,” Maggie called. “Where are you taking her?”

  Our protests were futile, though. She was dragged off, to one of those closed doors I presumed, and I to another. Blind fear took over my reason, and as the door slid open, I braced myself against the frame with my feet.

  I was no match for the guard behind me, though. When his shove didn’t do the trick, he simply seized me around the waist and carried me in. Then, quite unceremoniously, he dropped me to the ground.

  I caught my footing before I tumbled, and for half a moment I stood rooted to the spot, shaking with fear.

  I wasn’t quite sure what I expected to see, but the chamber that awaited certainly was not it. It was a mild gray room, holding a table with chairs on either side of it. In one of those seats sat a reedy Kudarian in a crisp silver tunic. He watched me with curious, unblinking eyes.

  This was, I realized, an interrogation chamber. I suppose I had expected something more medieval, more brutal. There were no instruments of torture here, though, no racks or iron maidens, no pincers or clippers or anything else.

  Just a very startled bureaucrat and a recording device, capturing my inauspicious entry. The guard behind me pushed me forward. “Sit,” he said.

  I headed for the chair opposite my interrogator. His eyes never left me, and as the guard pushed me into the seat, he said, “Remove the restraints.” He said it in English, too; very good English at that, with crisp enunciation and careful cadence.

  It prompted a query in Kudarian, disbelieving, I thought, to judge by the tone. But the bureaucrat only nodded, repeating, “Remove the restraints.”

  The guard leaned over the back of my chair, and then I felt my hands slip free of the cuffs. I breathed a sigh of relief, appraising my interrogator now with grateful eyes.

  He was older, I thought, but not old: somewhere in the later half of middle age. His features were mild, the ridges of his forehead not quite as pronounced as some of the Kudarians I’d met so far. There was, all in all, a gentle look to him.

  “That is, I hope, more comfortable?” he asked, in the same cultured accents.

  I nodded slowly. “Who are you?”

  “I am Investigator Kilar. And I’ve been assigned to your case to ask you some questions about the last few days.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  “No. I’m an investigator. We’re a separate branch.”

  “But your questions are about the murder?”

  He nodded. “That’s right.”

  “Who was murdered?” I asked. “They told us on the ship that’s why were arrested. But I don’t even know who has been killed.”

  He studied me for a moment, then said to the guard, “You can leave us. I have nothing to fear from Miss Ellis. Do I?”

  “No,” I assured him. “Please, I just want to know what’s going on.”

  Kilar waved the prison guard away, and, with obvious hesitance, the other man went. Then, he said, “I will tell you what we know. But, first…” He gestured to my face. “What happened there?”

  I flushed. “It was nothing.”

  He frowned. “I see. The men here, perhaps, forget that you are human, and not as resilient as our fellow Kudarians.”

  I flushed a little deeper. “It’s fine. I – I saw my friend. When they said someone was killed, I was afraid it was him. So when I saw him alive, I didn’t think: I just went to his cell.”

  “Your friend? This would be F’er ark inkaya?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You thought he was dead?”

  “I had no idea. But I didn’t know who else it could be. We don’t know many people here.” This, of course, brought the most pressing question to the forefront of my mind. “But Investigator, who was killed?”

  He sighed. “A young lady: Kia arn nikya.”

  I gasped. “Kia?”

  “You know her, then?”

  “Yes. Her and her brother, and to a lesser extent, her father.”

  “How do you know them?”

  Hell. How do you explain something like our bizarre manner of acquaintance with the Nikyas? “Uh…her parents and Frank’s had talked about a betrothal.” I figured it would be best to leave it there, without the more confusing and scandalous details.

  “Frank?”

  “F’er.”

  “Ah. An alias, then?”

  I frowned at the loaded word. “A nickname.”

  He nodded again. “I see. And so you were acquainted with the victim because of the rejected betrothal?”

  “Yes. How did she die? What happened?” I was still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that she was actually dead. The last I’d heard, she and Frank were going on a second date. She’d been a healthy, vibrant young woman, in the prime of her life. How could she possibly be dead?

  “She was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” I repeated. “My God. Who would kill her?”

  “That’s what we’re here to find out,” he said,
just pointedly enough to remind me that he was here to interrogate me, not enlighten me.

  “Investigator,” I said, “I had nothing to do with it. None of us did. I didn’t even know she was dead until just now, when you told me. I still don’t know how she died. You have to believe me: we had nothing to do with this.”

  He watched me for a long moment. “I hope that’s true, Miss Ellis. But my job is to gather the facts, whatever they are. If you’re innocent, the best thing you can do is be forthcoming: the truth always clears the innocent.”

  I nodded. “Whatever you need to ask,” I said, “ask. It’s not much, but I’ll tell you what I know.”

  Chapter Forty

  Investigator Kilar had many questions for me, and I did my best to answer them. Some directly pertained to the case. Others seemed less relevant. He wondered about Frank’s betrothal, and did not take kindly to my suggestion that this was a question better put to the Kudarian.

  “I thought,” he said, “you were going to tell me everything, Miss Ellis? Is there something of the truth you do not wish me to know?”

  “Of course not, Investigator. It’s just…it’s Frank’s personal life. It has nothing to do with the case.”

  “Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “You have a great deal of faith in your friend, Katherine Ellis. But usually in such cases, when an engagement is broken and one party ends up dead, the other is involved. Especially if it was a young man who was jilted.”

  “Frank wasn’t jilted,” I protested. “No one was jilted. And it was Frank who didn’t want to be married.”

  “Tell me more about that. I’m not quite sure I followed. So he lied to his mother and father, and High Priest Akura about being engaged to the human? He lied to all his guests and family, and held a fraudulent betrothal ceremony?”

  My face flushed. “It…it wasn’t exactly like that. The ceremony was already arranged. The Inkayas – well, sprang it on him, the day of.”

  “I see. So he decided lying was the best possible option at that juncture?”

  “You don’t understand. It was spur of the moment. They wanted him to be married, so this kept them happy and bought him a little time. It was harmless.”

  “Hm. And the deceased, how did she take that?”

  “Uh, well enough. She was surprised, but relieved, I think. She told Frank she didn’t want to be married to a stranger either.”

  “Did F’er tell you that?”

  “No,” I said. “I heard her say it, at the café.”

  “I see. So your belief is that she did not mind being thrown over the day of her betrothal ceremony, just hours before the event?”

  “I don’t think she liked it, no,” I said. “But I don’t think that was the kind of engagement she wanted either.”

  He nodded slowly, making a note on his notepad. “Is it an accurate summary of your position that the entire thing was orchestrated by F’er ark inkaya? That it was his decision, not hers, to terminate their betrothal?”

  “It was never a recognized betrothal,” I corrected. “Not yet. But, yes, it was Frank who put the kibosh on it.”

  His questions led him to the Black Flag, too. What kind of business did we conduct on her? Would I say that everything we did was within the confines of the law? Would I call our business as privateers ethical? How would I describe the crew’s relationships with one another?

  “I don’t see how any of this is relevant,” I protested at last.

  “Alright,” he nodded. “Allow me to be more direct. Are you and Mister Inkaya now, or have you ever been, in a sexual relationship with one another?”

  I blinked at the question. “No. Of course not.”

  “And what about Captain Landon and Mister Inkaya?”

  “No.”

  “You’re absolutely certain?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you and Captain Landon?”

  “We’re engaged. We’re going to be married. So, yes, of course we have a relationship.”

  “I see.”

  “But what the hell does this have to do with anything?”

  “I’m simply trying to establish character and look at all possible motives.”

  I shook my head, rubbing my eyes. We’d been at this for a long time, and it was starting to wear on me. “Look, Investigator, we don’t have a motive. We all liked Kia. We hoped her and Frank would hit it off.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes. So if you’re thinking one of us killed her in some fit of jealousy or whatever, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  He nodded slowly. “So you would have been disappointed if she turned him down, following their dinner?”

  I frowned. “A little, sure. But she didn’t. And if you’re suggesting I’d kill someone over something like that – or that Frank would – you’re out of your mind.”

  He crossed his arms, but in the moment I didn’t regret the vehemence of my words. This was even more outlandish than his jealousy theory, and I wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “I told you, Miss Ellis, I am simply trying to understand the nuances of this case. I am suggesting nothing.”

  I snorted. “The implications of your questions are clear enough, Investigator.”

  “I must examine all possible angles.”

  “Possible angles, sure. But that’s just preposterous. Frank would never harm anyone. He’s not that kind of guy. And he wasn’t turned down. The date went well. They were meeting again yesterday.”

  “So I understand,” he nodded.

  “Then you know he had no motive to harm her.”

  “I know that you believe that, Miss Ellis. Or, rather, that you say you do.” It was my turn to cross my arms, and he shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I do believe you.”

  “So you’ll release us?”

  “I don’t mean that I’ve reached any conclusions. I only mean that I believe you when you say you believe Mister F’er’s version of events.”

  “But you don’t?”

  “I did not say that either. Now tell me, Katherine, how familiar are you with poisons?”

  “Poisons?” I repeated. “Not very. I mean, I’ve used rat poison a few times. But beyond that…” I shrugged.

  “I see.”

  “Was she poisoned then?”

  “Those details will be disclosed at the appropriate juncture.”

  I scowled at him. “I’m being questioned for her murder. How could there possibly be a more appropriate juncture than that?”

  He ignored the question. “Have you heard of a plant called Crocus sativus?”

  I frowned in thought. It sounded vaguely familiar, but, then, plant taxonomy was not my strong suit. “I don’t know,” I said. “Not off hand, but maybe.”

  He made a quick note in his book. “It is an Earth plant.” This was said in a questioning tone, as if my lack of familiarity were somehow suspect.

  “There’s about a half a million species of plants native to my planet, Investigator. You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not familiar with all of them.”

  “So you would not say, then, that you’ve ever eaten saffron?”

  I shrugged again. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t remember eating it. It’s a spice, right?”

  He nodded. “A rare spice.”

  “Then I probably haven’t eaten it. Unless it was in something and I didn’t know about it. I mean, that’s possible.”

  “Are you aware, Katherine Ellis,” he asked, his head turned toward his notebook but his eyes fixed on me, “that saffron is extremely toxic to Kudarians, and can result in death if ingested even in tiny quantities?”

  I blinked. “No, I was not aware of that, Investigator.”

  He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Very well. Moving on: tell me how you and Mister Inkaya first met, please.”

  We went in circles for hours, covering every aspect of my time so far on Kudar and Maggie’s and my decision to leave when we did. That led us back to the Black Flag, and the kind of work we did. The in
vestigator seemed to have a poor opinion of privateering. I couldn’t hold that against him. God knew, I’d given Maggie plenty of grief for it when we’d met, too.

  Still, it was frustrating to explain over and over that we operated within the boundaries of the law, that a privateer was a far cry from a pirate, and so on.

  Finally, he closed his notepad, nodded, and said, “Well, I think that is all I need, Miss Ellis.”

  I blinked. “Do you mean you’re done? Are we getting out?”

  “I will make my recommendation to the chief magistrate tomorrow morning, after I’ve had an opportunity to review all the witness statements.”

  “So we’re not getting out tonight?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  I tried to bite down on the frustration welling up inside me. I had a little while left of this man’s time – probably, a very little while – and more questions than before. “We’re supposed to have a lawyer,” I said. “When do we get one?”

  “If you need one, it will be provided.”

  “If?”

  “I haven’t made my recommendation yet,” he reminded me. “And the chief magistrate has not yet made his decision. You will only need a lawyer if one or both of us decides you are implicated in this crime.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Investigator Kilar’s recommendation came through the next morning as he’d promised. To my surprise, he suggested release for all three of us. For Frank, he urged a bond, but for Maggie and me, he did not. In the first, he said there was insufficient evidence at the moment to warrant holding him. Regarding me and Mags, he wrote that he saw no evidence or motives linking us to the case.

  This was, then, decidedly mixed news. It meant Frank was still a suspect, but – for now anyway – we were not. I was thrilled, of course, at the prospect of release, but the idea that they still considered him a likely killer after interviewing us all was mortifying.

  In the end, though, it was a moot point. The Investigator’s recommendations were struck down, and release was denied on all counts. We would continue to be held while the case against us was built. Whatever Investigator Kilar believed, then, the chief magistrate remained unpersuaded.