“Yup, that’s her. Well, she was murdered last night on her way home from work.”
“What?”
“They just identified her in the news. She got back to her apartment building after work, got off the elevator, and somebody shot her twice in the back of the head.”
“Oh, my God. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. It was actually in the news earlier that someone had been murdered. There was a huge police response. Imp City PD, Imperial Police, Imperial Guard, and – get this – twelve shuttles full of Imperial Marines. I saw that in the news last night. Well, they just identified the victim. It was Vash.”
“Twelve shuttles of Imperial Marines?”
“She’s been working at the Imperial Palace on the Empress’s personal staff the last couple years. I guess they take this sort of thing pretty seriously. Still, the news is saying it’s probably a random crime. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Boy, I’ll say. Hey, if you see any more come in on the news, let me know, will you, Abby?”
“Sure, Bruce. I gotta go tell everybody else. See ya.”
Trumbull left, and Fairfield searched the news and found the article. He read about last night’s murder with increasing agitation. He couldn’t believe they had just killed her. Assassinated her, more like.
Some people didn’t work out in the test plan department. It necessarily took coordination with the manufacturers to be able to field cost-effective weapons. The perfect weapon didn’t exist, and, if it did, they couldn’t afford it. There were over a billion Imperial Marines! Some capabilities, and their testing, would simply be too expensive to field to so many soldiers.
A balance had to be struck between a weapon that was perfect, but couldn’t be deployed because they couldn’t afford them, and a weapon that was not up to the physical realities of the battlefield. That was their job, and the feedback from the manufacturers on costs and trade-offs was critical in striking that balance.
Of course, the fact that the manufacturers paid substantial gratuities to the senior managers involved in the acquisition process could have led to completely unacceptable weapons being approved and purchased, but Fairfield thought he had struck a good balance there in the test plans coming out of his department.
Some people, though, were purists. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable. Vasilisa Medved had been one such. Asked to sign off on a negotiated test plan, she had refused. When she had been down-marked on her performance appraisal, she told him to go fuck himself and quit. That’s OK. Some people weren’t cut out for the test plan group.
Then, two years ago she had apparently been hired into the Empress’s personal staff. That was what he had heard, anyway. And he had heard about the Imperial subpoenas issued by the palace last month. News of that had swept through the organization like wildfire. All the subpoenas dealt with test plans, specifically with the test plans that had come out of his department. Fairfield wasn’t concerned about that. His conscience was clear about the test plans. He felt they were a good balance between what was possible and what was affordable, and he could justify them on that basis.
Then a week ago, one of his superiors had called to talk about the subpoenas. He had noted that all the subpoenas addressed test plans that had come out of Fairfield’s department, were written using technical terms of art, and were specific in terms of the documents requested. It was obvious to him the Empress and her staff had to be getting help from someone in Fairfield’s department, either current staff or someone who had left. He had asked if Fairfield had any ideas about who that might be, and Fairfield told him it was probably Vasilisa Medved.
But Fairfield didn’t expect them to kill her!
Now he was a material witness to conspiracy to murder. They had killed Vash Medved already just over the subpoenas. They certainly wouldn’t balk at an extra murder here or there to avoid the gallows for her murder.
All day long, Fairfield felt like he was walking around with a target on his back. By quitting time, he had made his decision. He left work and took a different path, which is why he didn’t get picked up by the Imperial City Police Department officers who had been deployed to arrest him on his way home. For he didn’t go home. He went to the Imperial Park East entrance to the Imperial Palace and presented himself to the clerk there.
“My name is Bruce Fairfield. Please inform Her Majesty’s personal secretary that I wish to turn state’s evidence in the murder of Vasilisa Medved.”
Claude Perrin was at dinner with his wife in the cafeteria below the Residence Wing floors of the palace when he got the VR from the clerk at the Imperial Park East entrance to the palace. He sent an after-hours “Excuse me” message to the Empress, who responded.
“Bruce Fairfield is at the Imperial Park East entrance, Your Majesty. He’s declared state’s evidence. What would you have me do?”
“Nothing, Mr. Perrin. I’ll take care of it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Dee, Sean, Bobby, and Cindy were at dinner in the Empress’s private dining room. Tonight’s dinner was Chicken Cordon Bleu with a fettuccelli pasta and asparagus tips, with a garden salad. They hadn’t started dessert yet, but it would likely be cannoli.
“Bruce Fairfield just present himself at the east entrance and declared state’s evidence,” Dee said. “Where should they take him?”
“The Imperial Guard detention rooms in the Imperial Research building,” Bobby said without hesitation.
“Detention rooms?” Cindy asked.
“If he wants to turn state’s evidence, that means he thinks he’s guilty of something,” Bobby said.
Dee used the VR to ring the officer of the watch in the Imperial Guard’s dispatch center.
“Bruce Fairfield has turned state’s evidence. He waits in the Imperial Park East entrance. Take him into protective custody and hold him in a detention room in the Imperial Research building.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Dee dropped out of VR to address her table companions.
“Well, that’s an interesting development.”
“I think he figured out that, if they’re willing to kill Vash over some test plans, that they won’t hesitate to kill him as a material witness to a conspiracy to murder,” Bobby said.
“Why have we gotten to killing everybody all of a sudden. This is nuts,” Sean said.
“And sad,” Cindy said. “I kept waiting for Vash to pop her head in today, or to spot that crazy-red hair of hers in a meeting or something. It was just yesterday she was here.”
“But what a day. I am completely exhausted,” Dee said.
“Have you reconsidered my advice?” Bobby asked.
“No, Bobby. I won’t strike at the Council before they strike at me. We aren’t even sure the Council is involved.”
“I’m sure.”
“But there is no proof. I will not strike at them without proof. And this is still not an attack against the Throne, per se. I won’t be the one to make that final step of escalation.”
“You may yet regret that.”
“I know, Bobby. I know. But the Empire is a belief system as much as it is anything, and I will not strike at them without proof. It puts my authority at risk, and the whole Empire at risk thereby.”
At Fairfield’s insistence, the clerk had seated him out of sight of the front windows of the palace entrance. It was almost twenty minutes later that two Guardsmen showed up.
“This way, sir.”
“Thank you,” Fairfield said.
They took the people mover to the Imperial Research building station, then the Guardsmen led him across the basement and into the cell block area. They were met by a captain.
“We are placing you in protective custody, sir.”
“That’s fine, Captain. Thank you,” Fairfield said.
They led him to a locking room with an opaque wall and door, not open bars, so he would be out of sight. There was an overstuffed chair, and a task chair and
desk, in addition to the bed, and the bathroom was a separate, private room.
“Have you had dinner yet, sir?”
“No. I came straight here from work.”
“I’ll see that you get a dinner tray, sir.”
“Thank you, Captain. I would appreciate it.”
The guardsmen left, and Fairfield collapsed into the overstuffed chair. He had been strung tighter than a drum all day, and he could finally relax.
Dee, Sean, Bobby, and Cindy had retired to the pool deck, but Dee didn’t change into her suit, so Cindy didn’t either.
“No laps tonight?” Sean asked.
“No, I’m too exhausted,” Dee said. “I’d probably drown.”
“That would be embarrassing for the Guard,” Bobby said. “The most guarded person in the galaxy, and she drowns in the Imperial pool.”
They sat, thinking over the events of the last twenty-four hours. Finally Cindy spoke up.
“You guys know everything that’s going on, but I’m not getting regular updates. Can you tell me what happened today? Are we making any progress?”
“Oh, yes,” Dee said. “The recording analysis people went through all the recordings and think they found the shooter and his spotters. They sent that information out to the forensic people, who were going through the contents of all the public trash bins in Imperial Park West.”
“All of them?” Cindy asked.
“Yeah. The Marines picked them all up last night,” Bobby said.
“And the forensic people found the gun, the disguise, and the box,” Dee said.
“Disguise? Box?” Cindy asked.
“He was disguised as a delivery man, and carried a box with him both to and from the shooting,” Dee said.
“He probably was carrying the gun in the box,” Bobby said. “Open on the back, against his chest.”
“And the forensic people found them, in all those trash bins, in one day?”
“The recording analysis people told them which trash bins to check,” Bobby said. “The Marines recorded the location on each bag as they collected it.”
“Those will all go off to a DNA lab. And then Lieutenant Colonel Peabody told us who gave him the orders to be in the area,” Dee said. “In advance of the shooting.”
“He told us? Voluntarily?” Cindy asked.
“Yes and no,” Dee said. “I told him that he would tell us voluntarily, or he would be withholding evidence, which was aiding and abetting treason. We would then drug the evidence out of him and shoot him.”
“You told him?” Cindy asked.
“Yes. Apparently he didn’t believe the Guard when they told him we would drug him to get his answers if we had to. Something about those drugs being illegal because they caused brain damage. I went down there to explain to him that those drugs were made illegal by the Throne, but were not illegal to the Throne, and I wasn’t much concerned if they left him brain damaged because he would be shot for withholding evidence anyway. Apparently he believed me.”
“I would have believed you,” Sean said. “I’ve seen you angry.”
Bobby chuckled.
“Yeah. No kidding,” Bobby said.
“And would you have?” Cindy asked.
“Oh, yes. No question.”
“And who gave him his orders?”
“General Kershaw, the planetary commander of Imperial Police for Sintar.”
“What were the orders?”
“He was to conclude that the shooting was a random violent crime. And if there was evidence that contradicted that conclusion, he was to ignore it or destroy it.”
“And this was in advance of the shooting?”
“Yes,” Dee said. “By more than three hours.”
“Kershaw. That bastard. I want to shoot him myself.”
“Hey! No cutting in line,” Bobby said.
“What is your name?”
“Bruce Peter Fairfield.”
“What is your position?”
“I am the Manager of the Small Weapons Test Plan Design Group in the Department of Defense.”
“Small weapons are what, exactly?”
“Rifles, pistols, hand-held mortar launchers. If one man carries it, and it’s a weapon, that’s us.”
“What is test plan design?”
“Any weapon type the Department of Defense buys has to undergo testing to determine if the weapon meets the specifications. That test is carried out according to a test plan. We design those test plans.”
“You said you are turning state’s evidence, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Turning state’s evidence is something someone does when they are guilty. What are you guilty of?”
“I am afraid that I may have been an unwitting accessory to the murder of Vasilisa Medved.”
“Explain that, please.”
“Up until four years ago, Ms. Medved worked in my group. She had been with us five, six years. Something like that. She became disenchanted with the way we did business, she came into my office and told me to go fuck myself and quit.”
“That’s how she said it?”
“Oh, yes. I guess she went to work for an appliance manufacturer or something. At least that’s what I heard later. Then sometime a year or so back, I heard that she was working on the Empress’s personal staff. In the Imperial Palace.”
“How did you hear that?”
“I don’t know. It was the rumor at work, I think. Some friends there she had kept or something.”
“All right. Go on.”
“When these subpoenas came out a month or so back, the news of that went around as well. All the subpoenas were about test plans that were designed in my group. I had no problem with that. There are good reasons for the decisions we made, and they’re solid designs. But I got a call from one of my superiors asking about the subpoenas, were they going to be a problem, that sort of thing.”
“What did you tell him?”
“What I just told you. That I wasn’t worried about them. Then he speculated that the Empress and her staff must have had some help drawing up the subpoenas, because they were very technical, they used various terms of art from our design process, and they called out specific documents.”
Fairfield stopped here, and was wringing his hands.
“What did you say to that?”
“I told him it was probably Vasilisa Medved, and I understood she had gone to work in the palace. So I identified her, but I didn’t know anyone was going to kill her. I swear. I thought the substance of the conversation was over. You know, how worried are you about these subpoenas, and all that. He was just speculating at the end about who might be working with the Empress’s legal staff to draw up the documents, and I said, oh, it was probably her. And now they’ve killed her. How the hell do you figure anybody would do that? But then I heard the news today that she’d been killed, and it immediately clicked. I mean, it was only a week ago that conversation took place. It didn’t take much brainpower to put two and two together. But they killed her, and I was a part of it.”
“And so you came here.”
“Yes. If these people are willing to kill that poor girl over some test plans, they’re not going to balk at killing an old man who’s a material witness to conspiracy murder. And if they killed me, you would never know how they knew who it was. That I told them. That I have her blood on my hands.”
“Who was it who called you a week ago and asked you who was working with the Empress’s legal staff?”
“Todd Whitmore.”
“What’s his position?”
“He’s the Director of Acquisition Testing in the Department of Defense.”
“Is he your immediate superior?”
“No. He’s my boss’s boss. Jerry Fallon is my direct superior. He’s the Senior Manager of Weapons Test Plan Design.”
“I thought you were the Manager of Weapons Test Plan Design.”
“No. I’m the Manager of Small Weapons Test Plan Design. You also
have Medium Weapons and Mobile Weapons and Shipboard Weapons. All those other areas.”
“Oh, all right. I see. And then who is Todd Whitmore’s boss?”
“I’m not sure whether he reports directly to Henry Wilkins or if there’s another layer in between. That’s way above my pay grade.”
“Who is Henry Wilkins?”
“He’s the head of Defense Procurement. He reports to Lord Pomeroy, I think. There may be another layer in there, too. Wait. There has to be at least one more level. The head of Logistics and Planning. That would be Seth Gordon.”
“All right. That’s all I have for right now. Do you mind staying overnight here, in case we have more questions in the morning?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. I would just as soon stay here until this plays out and you have the murder solved. Right now I feel like a target. Somebody’s going to start thinking about cleaning up loose ends, and my name is on that list.”
DNA
“Good morning, General Daggert.”
“Good morning, Your Majesty.”
“What are we going to do about the DNA analysis, General Daggert? That is not an in-house capability, and using the Imperial Police is out of the question.”
“I recommend that we use the Imperial City Police Department, Ma’am. We’ve worked with them closely in the past, and there’s no love lost between them and the Imperial Police. Major Dunham and Detective Gorski in particular seem to be working well together.”
“Very well. You may proceed, General Daggert.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
Daggert hesitated, then plunged in.
“Your Majesty.”
“Yes, General Daggert?”
“Your Majesty, I have been reminded of a couple of items we already knew about, but which now seem relevant to this investigation. The first is that Lord Pomeroy and Chief Stanier of the Imperial Police are good friends, and have been for years.”
“Really.”
“Yes, Ma’am. They go out to dinner together occasionally, and the frequency of those dinners has picked up in the past four years. Since your accession to the Throne.”
Usurper Page 20
