Free Stories 2014

by Baen Books

  "So Hansen was Outward Outreach's sole source of support?"

  "Not at all, although it is undeniable that he was by far the largest source of support. There are many contributors to Outward Outreach on individual or subscription bases, and many other sources of material or monetary support."

  "But Hansen's contribution was large?"

  "Very large. I am not at liberty to be more specific than that."

  "What's the point of all this?" Meredith demanded. "Hansen was killed by one of those werewolf monsters, and it was invited in by Hansen himself." She suddenly looked worried. "Unless... this is over his insurance?"

  "Insurance?"

  Vernon looked puzzled, while Felicia gave a tiny, almost unnoticeable start.

  "Hansen had a couple of large life-insurance policies taken out on him, one of them just a couple of years ago," Meredith said. "I thought perhaps the insurance companies might be thinking it was suicide."

  That was a wrinkle I hadn't thought about before. "Who are the beneficiaries of these policies?"

  "I... I am," Felicia said reluctantly. "For one, anyway."

  "And Vernon and I, for the second," Meredith said.

  Insurance policies wouldn't be connected to his will, I thought. If they have specific beneficiaries on the policy, his will couldn't take that away.

  I decided not to pursue this just now; I had all the info I needed on that front for the moment. "Looking at the publicity, I'd guess Outward Outreach isn't doing well now."

  Vernon shook his head. "Well, Adam would know the details, but no. Lots of cancelled subscriptions, withdrawn support. Hansen was the heart of the operation. We didn't have anyone even proposed as a backup; we thought he'd be with us for another twenty years." He looked gloomily down. "I should've found better defenses for his office. Thought I'd gotten the best."

  "Shadowgard's are the best," I said. "Well, there might be military ones that are better, but the way Hansen was going about it, there really wasn't much more that could have been done. So you selected his defenses?"

  "Not just the defenses; the whole automated office layout and things like that. It's what I do, you know."

  I did know that; Vernon ran an office automation and security firm, one he'd built up himself from a computer and electronics servicing business run from his basement. Made sense that his brother had hired him for the work. "And from my quick glance around, you did a good job, down to the modular control panel for the office functions. You designed that layout?"

  "The buttons? Yeah, that was mine. I guess it worked well enough. At least he managed to get the monster."

  "What if it did break down? How easy would it be to repair?"

  "Easy," Vernon said. "Like you said, modular. Any part of the systems, including the Shadowgard nozzles and tanks, could be pulled out and replaced in minutes. But it all worked, right?" He looked suddenly apprehensive. "Right? There wasn't any sign that someone... messed with any of it, was there?"

  I couldn't blame him for looking nervous; if anything had gone wrong, who'd be the primary suspect? "No, Mr. Guildermere, nothing wrong. It all seemed to have worked exactly as it was supposed to."

  "Oh. Whew." He relaxed. I noticed Felicia also leaning back, as though she'd tensed up herself. Hmm. That's interesting.

  Adam spoke up, with a slight furrow in his brow. "I notice, Mr. Wood, that you have not exactly answered Meredith's question. This is a terrible misadventure but it would seem that the facts are clear enough. I've granted you this time in the interests of cooperation with the police, who say you are a consultant, but I must confess that I don't see the point of this interview."

  "This is a murder investigation, Mr. Brown." As the others blinked or opened their mouths, I raised my hand. "As the Werewolf Trial established, werewolves are accorded the status of people. Thus, Mr. Lugosi's killing of Hansen makes this a murder, and Lugosi's own death in apparent self-defense requires investigation as well. The police and I are following all the required due process. It would be easier to just say that a monster killed him and he killed the monster and it's all over, but that would be treating the whole situation casually and unprofessionally."

  "Oh," said Meredith. "I... I hadn't thought of it that way. But you're right, of course."

  Felicia nodded. "It's the way Hansen would want it handled, too." She looked on the brink of tears again at the thought of Hansen.

  "But I understand Mr. Brown's underlying objection, and I think we're done for now. If I have any more questions I'll contact you."

  The four left with various farewells. I observed from the window as they went to their cars.

  The conference room door opened. "Anything interesting?" asked Jeri.

  "A few... what was it Sherlock Holmes said? A few suggestive facts, but nothing conclusive. I've got a few things you can research for me that might give me what we need — plus some analysis that's just up my alley." I listed them off, and Jeri nodded.

  "That shouldn't take too long." She looked out the window. "What did you see?"

  "Felicia Santos didn't drive herself here," I said thoughtfully. "She came here — and left — in the company of Vernon Guildermere."

  Chapter 6: Night Before Christmas

  "Mmmmm," Syl said, leaning over the smoker. "That smells wonderful, Jason."

  I lifted the lid to take a look. The ham was looking a lovely deep red-brown from the smoke and the glaze I'd applied. "It does. Then tonight I put in the turkey."

  "Ready for Christmas, then?"

  "I guess." I closed the smoker. "Verne won't be eating any of this, but the Plunketts plus a large chunk of Verne's household will."

  She put a hand on my arm. "You're still tense, Jason. That case —"

  "—will be resolved tomorrow, I think."

  "You don't look happy."

  I rolled my eyes, then sighed. "No. No, I'm not, if things play out the way I think they will. This was a trainwreck any way I look at it, and it'll be worse by the time it's over, I think."

  "It's not your responsibility to worry about that part, Jason." Her voice was emphatic. "Did you figure out what really happened?"

  "I think so. I just need to check one more thing... which should be about ready."

  Syl followed me into my study, where I had a computer with a secure mirrored connection to my work machines. I brought up the screen from the image analysis package.

  "That's part of the footage from the attack," Syl said. "I thought you'd already looked that over."

  "Visually, yes. But there are things that don't show easily to the naked eye, even on replay, but a machine can see things that we don't." I looked at the current frame, and already my trained eye could see the difference. "And this is one of those things."

  "You mean the screen? But you could see that before."

  "Not the screen. Over next to it. Here, and here."

  Sylvie squinted, then closed her eyes. "Oh. Oh, dear. There isn't any good explanation for that, I suppose."

  "None." I pulled out my phone, hit a well-known number.

  After one ring it was answered. "Winthrope here."

  "Jeri, it's a go. I'll need them all at my office tomorrow morning."

  "Tomorrow? But that's —"

  "I don't want this hanging over me or anyone else any longer. Tomorrow at ten in the morning."

  Jeri sighed. "Merry Christmas to us both."

  "Yeah."

  Syl didn't say anything as we went back out and set up our Christmas Eve dinner. But her not saying anything meant more to me than anything anyone else could say; she was simply there for me, and that slowly made me able to smile at her again, halfway through the meal. She smiled back, and while I still wasn't looking forward to tomorrow morning, I could suddenly taste my food again.

  After dinner we cleaned up, I took out the ham and put the turkey in to smoke overnight. "Ready to hang the stockings?"

  She giggled. "Is this silly or what? We're grown people and neither of us Christians, and we'r
e making sure to hang up stockings so a jolly fat man will come down the chimney and stuff them if we've been good."

  "My family had the same tradition. I promise not to try to sneak a peek at 'Santa' if you do."

  "We'll take turns not peeking, then." She kissed me, and we went upstairs — with each of us going downstairs once more, of course.

  Finally I got ready for bed. "This doesn't seem to be working."

  "Give it time," Syl said. "Most people don't lucid dream at all. It takes practice."

  "But that's sorta what I mean. It can't be that simple — just thinking 'I will control my dreams' — or everyone would do it, right?"

  "Will most people focus on that thought, and only on that thought or related ones, for at least half an hour before going to sleep, every night, for weeks? That takes motivation, Jasie. I promise you, this will work, if you stick with it."

  "I wish it'd work tonight. I really don't want to spend Christmas half awake," I said as I settled back into the cushions. But I knew she was right; Syl usually was. Nothing worth doing was easy to learn. So I took a deep breath, let it out, and focused. These are MY dreams. They are a creation of MY mind. I am the one dreaming, and so I can control these dreams. They have no power over me; I have power over them. These are MY dreams...

  Chapter 7: Denouement

  I stepped out of my back office and into the larger meeting room. Everyone was there — Jeri Winthrope with two deputies, Vernon Guildermere, Meredith Guildermere, Adam Brown, and Felicia Santos. In addition, there were two other people — one man and one woman — who I didn't know, but I could guess just from the suits and the body language what they were. Someone's ready to lawyer up. Good for them.

  "Thank you all for coming," I said as I entered. "My apologies for interrupting your Christmas; I'm interrupting mine, too, so I'll try to make this brief. I see we have some new faces at this meeting."

  "This is Dan Mason and I am Peri Crane, of Webster, Crane, and Mason, Mr. Wood," said the woman, rising and shaking my hand. Her grip was steady as her gaze.

  "One of our best local firms; I know it well," I said. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Crane, Mr. Mason," I shook Mason's hand in turn.

  "Our pleasure," Dan said. "We're here as retained counsel for Vernon Guildermere, Meredith Guildermere, Felicia Santos, and Adam Brown, in case legal advice becomes necessary."

  "Understood." I wondered who'd called them, and who was footing the bill. Well, it wasn't going to matter much.

  "Now, can you tell us why you've had us dragged here on Christmas morning?" Vernon Guildermere's tone was, understandably, a lot less tolerant than it had been in our prior meeting.

  "Dragged? I'm quite sure none of you were forced to come here, and in fact that would be criminal, since none of you are charged with anything," I said. "But yes, now I will tell you why you were asked to come here at this time."

  I sat down and glanced around the meeting table. "Hansen Guildermere was a wonderful, if possibly somewhat overeager and naïve, old man who had a dream: to unite, not just humanity, but all the thinking, living beings on Earth. To do that, he founded Outward Outreach, opening branches not just here but in a dozen cities across America, with plans to expand beyond our borders soon. He consulted with me on these ideas many times, to the point that I feel somewhat responsible for what happened to him — even if I did warn him multiple times that the Werewolves were not candidates for his outreach plans.

  "Some of his work was already bearing fruit; he had had communication from... several non-human persons who were attempting to verify his good will. This was vastly encouraging to him, to the point that he believed that he was truly on the right track — enough to commit himself totally to this work."

  "We know all of this," Felicia snapped. "Well, except maybe your guilty feelings, but —"

  "Please, Ms. Santos, let me do this my own way. I have my own reasons." She settled back slowly. "Thank you."

  "At first glance, this situation seemed straightforward, if tragic: Hansen somehow got in contact with a real Werewolf, using the alias of Cheney Lugosi, who pretended to be willing to talk. Said Werewolf then got himself killed while assassinating Hansen.

  "Unfortunately, I had reason to know that it was not that simple."

  Peri Crane raised her hand slightly. "Could you explain that, Mr. Wood?"

  "There are details I will not tell you at this time, Ms. Crane, but in short, I know for a fact that no Werewolf would ever come to Morgantown to commit a murder, no matter the provocation. After the defeat of their King, Virigar, this town is completely off-limits to them. This Wolf was already skirting the spirit of that ban by being here."

  "Oh," said Felicia suddenly.

  "Exactly, Ms. Santos. If we accept that the Wolves take such a ban seriously — and they do, I assure you — then this Cheney Lugosi was at worst here to simply amuse himself listening to a foolish idealist's words and lead him on for a bit, and at best sincerely hoped to find a way that he, at least, could truly live in peace with our people.

  "But that meant that Cheney had no intention of killing or even injuring Hansen Guildermere when he entered that room.

  Felicia's face showed she was near tears again. The discussion couldn't be easy for her, but she did not make a sound.

  "The second theory was that the Werewolf, Cheney, was extremely nervous, on a hair trigger — as well he might be in that situation — and when Hansen did something to startle him by unexpectedly causing the screen to lower from the ceiling, Cheney instinctively struck out."

  "This was superficially supported by the video footage, and honestly, we would have liked to leave it at that. But we couldn't."

  "Why not?" Vernon Guildermere asked. His tones had moderated somewhat, and had a wary note to them.

  "Because werewolves — as I risked my life to prove — are people, with exactly the same rights as we have. I could not ignore the possibility that Cheney Lugosi and Hansen Guildermere were both victims," I said.

  "And that video footage raised its own questions. I've watched that clip a couple dozen times, and I honestly can't really see when and how Hansen could have activated the Shadowgard defenses. That would have required him to recognize that Cheney was attacking, understand the danger he was in, and then react by pressing the deployment button — all in the few instants available — and then push himself away from the desk, trying to escape.

  "I can barely envision it as a sort of accident, in which he happens to hit the big red button as he's pushing backwards, but his hands didn't look like they were in the right position; they look much more like he was already raising them, for defense or protest."

  "But... well, he did activate them," Meredith said, puzzled. "Obviously, or that thing wouldn't have died. So what does it matter?"

  I nodded. "Yes, that was the question. Did it matter at all? Whatever the trigger, the Werewolf had attacked, Hansen defended himself, both died. A tragic accident in one way or another.

  "But what if it wasn't an accident at all?"

  Adam Brown slowly turned to face me more fully. "You can't be serious."

  "I am very serious. In point of fact, nothing that happened in that office was an accident. It was a very carefully planned murder — a murder of the werewolf calling itself Cheney Lugosi. Hansen's death wasn't necessary, but for the purposes of this crime it was certainly a bonus."

  "What?" Meredith was half on her feet. "What purposes? How could that be a murder? I... explain, Mr. Wood!"

  "The first and most obvious motive is money," Jeri Winthrope said. "Hansen Guildermere was worth three-quarters of a billion dollars, but he was planning on dumping virtually all of it into Outward Outreach. Since he had no children of his own, it is the people in this room who could be expected to be the biggest losers in that instance — his brother, his sister, his fiancée and right-hand woman, and close friend as well as Chief Financial Officer of Outward Outreach."

  "Exactly," I said. "His will had several conditions in it,
but the most interesting here is that while he left everything to Outward Outreach, the ownership — though not control — of Outward Outreach was divided among those same heirs. Which meant that if Outward Outreach failed and was liquidated, the assets would be divided among those four people."

  I looked around; the four in question were frozen in silence, while the lawyers were visibly tensed to jump in as soon as I made anything approaching an accusation.

  "Hundreds of millions of dollars; motive enough. Plus, as mentioned at our first meeting, even if Outward Outreach itself continued onward, there were very substantial insurance policies that would pay out upon Hansen's death. But of course, none of that mattered if this was just an accident. Yes, this event might well be a deathblow to Outward Outreach — Hansen was its heart and soul, and this spectacularly lethal failure in judgment would hurt the cause directly as well — but the question was how this could be a murder, and not an accident."

  I gestured with my remote control and the lights dimmed slightly. A screen at the end of the conference room lit up with the scene of Hansen's office, with the human Cheney Lugosi sitting across from Hansen. I let the clip run, but stopped it just before the blood started. The others gasped or winced even so; seeing a Werewolf transform and lunge at an old friend couldn't be pleasant.

  "It is clear from this that as soon as the projection screen starts to descend, Cheney transforms and attacks. How, then, could this be an assassination of Cheney? Simple. There is and was already one weapon ready-made for that assassination in the room: the Shadowgard silver spray defense. If Hansen had triggered that at the same time as the screen deployment, it would have been seen as a direct attack on Cheney, who transformed in a last-minute attempt to defend himself or at least get revenge on his killer."