“Of course, ma’am.” Sanchez led the others out of the room. The curious looks from the quartermaster’s staff followed them out into the parade ground.
“You’re heading straight to the Golden Goose?” Jan asked.
“There’s nowhere else we need to go,” Chip confirmed.
“Do you mind if I tag along? I want to try to get things straight in my mind.”
“Sure. I think I’m feeling a bit the same.”
*
The four women sat around the table at the rear of the inn’s taproom. Virtually identical frowns creased their foreheads as Jan went over her account again. “I entered the bunkhouse first and held the door for Bergstrom. She told me to check the lockers, since I knew which was whose. She stood behind me as I went down the row. When we got to Katryn’s, her knife belt was hanging up, but the sheath was empty. I was the one who took it out. I…I really don’t see how Bergstrom could have touched it first. Are you sure she admitted murdering Ellis?”
Chip and Katryn exchanged a pained grimace.
“Well, I don’t know if she did in so many words,” Katryn began.
Chip shook her head. “She must have. There is no one else. Before leaving Roadsend, I had a word with Quartermaster Adebayo to ask if Bergstrom went out of the briefing room at any stage that night. She told me about Bergstorm going to get the book, but she also put Takeda in the clear. She claims that she stood at the window in the officers’ quarters and watched Takeda walk across the parade ground to her bunkhouse after showing the statements to Bergstrom. Adebayo hadn’t thought it was important enough to mention in her original statement to the Militia. It means that Takeda couldn’t have slipped off to the stores first.”
“Unless Adebayo is lying to protect Takeda,” Sanchez suggested.
“I doubt it,” Jan said. “I think Adebayo really did like Ellis, and I can’t see what reason would unite her and Takeda.”
“You’re certain nobody left the White Swan during the course of the evening?”
Jan stared at the ceiling as she called on her memory. “It was crowded that night; people were moving around. Someone might easily have slipped out for ten minutes or so.”
“It’s returning the belt to the bunkhouse that’s the problem,” Chip said. “Whoever it was couldn’t have walked around the front of the barracks without being seen by the sentries at the gate, and the back was flooded.…I know, a boat!” she exclaimed in excitement. Then her shoulders sagged. “No. She would still have to climb over the glass on the wall. It had to be someone who was inside the barracks.” Chip slumped despondently in her chair.
“Bergstrom, Takeda or Adebayo,” Sanchez summed it up. “I think you have to go with Bergstrom. She certainly had the best motive.”
Jan disagreed. “Adebayo is the one Ellis trusted. I’d be surprised if she voluntarily handed her trail knife over to either of the other two—certainly not Bergstrom. They hated each other.”
“Not surprising, with Bergstrom’s role in the massacre.”
Jan shook her head. “And that’s another thing. Are you also sure Bergstrom said Ellis knew she was the one who tipped off the Butcher? Because several of Ellis’ close friends died in the fight, and I can’t believe Ellis wouldn’t have turned her in.”
Chip looked to Katryn, but this time, Katryn’s eyes were fixed on the distance, and she had paid no attention to Jan’s words. “Katryn? Have you thought of something?”
“I don’t know. It’s…” Katryn’s frown deepened. “It’s just occurred to me that the murderer was taking a chance on Ellis’ having her trail knife with her. Since we weren’t allowed to wear them outside the barracks, most of us had taken to leaving them in our lockers when we didn’t need them. And strangling her as a backup plan wouldn’t have been nearly as effective in framing me.”
“She probably made a point of asking Ellis to take it with her,” Chip replied.
“But why?” Katryn said. “I mean, yes, if it was someone in the patrol who was in the White Swan. They all had to leave their knives behind when they went out. But what reason would Bergstrom, Takeda or Adebayo give for not taking her own knife along?”
“Was Ellis wearing her knife when she spoke to you in the stables?” Jan asked.
Katryn shook her head. “I can’t remember.”
“Then perhaps Ellis wasn’t the one to take her knife into the stores. Maybe the murderer took it earlier in the evening and put it there, ready to use as the final insult—killing Ellis with her own knife.”
Sanchez shook her head. “No. There was the confrontation with the sentries on the gate when Ellis tried to take it off-site. And that happened after everyone’s position was accounted for.”
Chip jolted as though she had been slapped around the face.
“What is it?” Katryn asked.
“I’ve just...” Chip broke off and held out her hand to fend off the questioning looks. “Give me a few seconds.” Her face scrunched in thought. The others watched impatiently, but at last, Chip’s frown disappeared. Her hand dropped. “I’ve worked it out.” Chip’s voice was almost too soft to hear. “We’ve been looking at the wrong trail knife.”
Chapter Twenty-Two—The Future
The entire 12th Squadron was assembled on the parade ground. The sky was clear, but it was too early for the sun to have any warmth. Dolokov stood on the raised platform at the front of the officers’ block. Chip and Sanchez were at the foot of the steps to one side, while Katryn was a little way off, next to the quartermaster’s staff. Dolokov was speaking, telling the squadron about Bergstrom’s death. The Rangers did not stir in their lines, but more than one woman’s eyes strayed repeatedly in Chip or Katryn’s direction.
As she waited for Chip’s turn to come, Katryn tried to evaluate her own feelings. Chip’s explanation the previous night had fit all the facts neatly. Too neatly. Katryn was not sure that she totally trusted the conclusion, but it would soon be put to the test. She looked at the members of her old patrol standing at attention behind Jan, and at one face in particular: the woman Chip was certain had murdered Ellis. The woman who had deliberately framed her for the murder, not caring what would happen.
Katryn’s jaw clenched. She half hoped Chip was right so that all the doubts would be ended. She half hoped Chip was wrong so that she would not have to watch the consequences destroy someone she knew, no matter how well-deserved the punishment. Looking at the face of the woman, Katryn was a little surprised to realize that she had no lust for revenge.
Dolokov finished her part of the announcement. “The matter of Sergeant Ellis’ death is not yet fully resolved. However, Sergeant Coppelli from the 23rd has something she wishes to say about it.” Captain Dolokov nodded to Chip, her face showing some reservation. Like Katryn, the captain had felt the explanation was too contrived, but she had been willing to let Chip have her chance—after a little pressure from Sanchez.
Chip mounted the steps and turned to face the squadron. “I don’t know how many of you are aware that I have been looking into Sergeant Ellis’ death. Since Private Nagata joined my patrol, it has obviously been of some concern to me. I managed to produce various theories. Most of them have been shown to be unworkable, and one of them led to the confrontation with Lieutenant Bergstrom. However, I think I have finally gotten to the bottom of it and want to tell you how I think the events surrounding the murder went.”
There was a faint rustle among the Rangers, with the simultaneous drawing of breath. Chip waited for silence and then continued. “The murder was planned in advance. The first steps were made during the afternoon, when the murderer was working in the stores. She had already decided when, where and how she was going to murder Sergeant Ellis, and she had worked out not just how to get around the fact that no one was allowed to take her knife out of the barracks, but also how to make it work in her favor. She made sure that no one was watching; then she hid her own trail knife in the stores. It didn’t need to be a well-concealed spot; on top of a
stack of crates would have done.
“As soon as she was finished in the stores, she went straight to the bunkhouse and put her empty belt in her locker. Presumably, if someone had noticed that her knife was missing, she could have pretended she had left it behind by accident. At that point, she wasn’t irrevocably committed to the crime. However, the empty sheath was not spotted, and the murderer went on to arrange a secret meeting in the stores with Sergeant Ellis, probably saying she suspected Private Nagata of stealing, since framing her was part of the plan.” Chip’s eyes flicked briefly in Katryn’s direction. Quite a few others copied the action.
“That night, the murderer left with the rest of B Patrol to visit a tavern in town. She had already talked people into going to the White Swan, which had quick access to the rear door of the stores. The patrol stopped off on the way to talk to Private Nagata in the stables. The murderer made an excuse to return alone to the bunkhouse, where she took Private Nagata’s knife and put it in the empty belt in her own locker. Then she went to the tavern with the others. Sergeant Ellis also put in a brief visit to the White Swan, probably to co-ordinate the meeting in the stores.
“When enough time had passed to allow Sergeant Ellis to get back, the murderer slipped out through the rear exit of the tavern. Sergeant Ellis had set out the bridge and helped her climb in. All that she needed was to divert Sergeant Ellis’ attention for a few seconds, pick up the knife from where it was hidden, and stab Ellis in the back. Then the murderer took the key and left via the rear door. Locking the door from the outside did not require much agility. There is a convenient row of thick iron bars to stand on, and they are designed to stop people from climbing in, not out. The murderer jumped down and went to rejoin her comrades in the tavern.
“The last step in the plan was the part that relied most on luck. The murderer wanted to be present when the body was discovered, and someone might have stumbled upon it by accident before the patrol returned from the tavern. However, luck was with her, and she got the opportunity she wanted. The lighting in the stores was not good, so no one noticed that when she bent over the body to check for a pulse, she slipped the key back into Ellis’ pocket.”
By now, all of B Patrol had worked out the name of the Ranger Chip suspected. Nikki even turned her head slightly to peer in Bo’s direction. Pat was standing next to her and was glancing sideways with a genuine expression of dumbstruck amazement. Bo kept her eyes fixed rigidly ahead, but she looked as though she were going to be sick. Katryn studied her dispassionately and then turned her gaze away. Bo was guilty. Her face said it as clearly as words. Whether the last part of Chip’s plan would provide the evidence was scarcely necessary.
Chip went on speaking. “The murderer’s plan worked perfectly. Everything fell into place for her. Everyone went where she wanted them to and saw what she wanted them to. Nobody spotted the things she didn’t want noticed. But there was one problem: She’d assumed that all trail knives are identical.
“I guess it hit her first thing the next day, when she had the chance to get a good look at the one she’d taken, and she realized the very same thing Private Nagata did when the murder weapon was shown to her. Nobody would confuse the two knives. Private Nagata had been a Ranger for less than six months; her knife was almost brand-new. The murderer had served for years, and her knife was visibly worn.
“She was in an awkward spot. It was possible that no one would look closely enough to spot the switch, but the murderer dared not count on it. The chances were that pretty soon, the search would be on for a veteran Ranger with an unexpectedly new knife. At this point, the murderer knew she had to switch knives again, but she was stuck for options. She didn’t want the new owner to notice, just in case the search never came; neither did she want to throw suspicion on any of the Rangers in her patrol. She didn’t want the investigators to start wondering how someone who’d been in the White Swan might have committed the murder.
“There was only one person whose knife she could take. So the murderer slipped into the sergeant’s room and swapped Sergeant Ellis’ knife with the one she’d taken from Private Nagata. This worked well enough in misleading the investigators into thinking that Sergeant Ellis had been stabbed with her own knife. It meant that the plan to frame Private Nagata failed, but it also meant that the murder went unsolved, which was nearly as good from the murderer’s point of view—especially when it was so easy to convince most of the squadron that Private Nagata really was the guilty one.”
Katryn looked over the ranks of Rangers, noting the ashamed expressions dotted around and matching them to her memories. But they were all watching Chip in fascination—all except for Bo, who was staring up at the roof of the officers’ block with dead, hopeless eyes. Had she already taken the final logical step and realized what was coming next?
“Where the search for the switched knife went wrong was that it looked for a Ranger with a knife that was too new. What they should have been looking for was a Ranger with a knife that was too old.” Chip pulled her own knife from her belt and held it up. “I have been a Ranger for eight years, and this is reflected in the degree of wear on my knife. The person I suspect of murder has been a Ranger for a similar length of time and, therefore, should have a knife in a similar state to mine. However, Sergeant Ellis had been a Ranger for eighteen years. The difference won’t be so marked compared with a new knife. There’s a limit to how polished a handle can get. But her knife should still be visibly more worn. Captain Dolokov…” Chip turned slightly to face her. “You have served for slightly longer than Sergeant Ellis, but your knife should be roughly comparable. What I propose is for Lieutenant Sanchez to take our two knives and compare them with those belonging to the Rangers who were at the White Swan the night Sergeant Ellis was murdered.”
Dolokov nodded. It was pure theater; the plan had been agreed to that morning. Sanchez mounted the steps and took the two knives; then she walked down toward B Patrol. Jan had taken the lead and drawn her knife. She held it balanced across her palm for inspection. Sanchez made a show of looking at it for purposes of completeness before moving on to Tina and Sal, who were also presenting their knives.
At the end of the front row was a Ranger, new to B Patrol, who had taken the post of corporal. In response to the questioning look, Sanchez shook her head to confirm that she was not a suspect and need not show her knife. Sanchez walked around her and moved on to the second row—first to Nikki and then to Pat.
Bo had not moved. Sanchez stopped in front of her. For long, drawn-out seconds, they stood like statues. Finally, Sanchez reached out and took the trail knife from Bo’s belt.
Bo’s eyes closed, and her head dropped, shaking in disbelief or disavowal. Sanchez examined the knife for a few more seconds, pursed her lips and returned to Dolokov on the top of the steps. The captain also studied the three knives and then looked back to the assembled squadron. “Sergeant Sivarajah. Leading Ranger Hassan is under arrest for the murder of Sergeant Melanthe Ellis of the 12th Squadron. Remove her sword and any other weapons, and see that she is secured in the lockup immediately.”
Bo was led away, wide-eyed and stumbling like a lost child. A confusing snarl of emotions beset Katryn as she watched her go.
*
The lockup was small and virtually identical to the one in Roadsend. Bo sat alone on the end of one of the bunks, huddled against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. She peered up as Katryn stepped through the outer door of the cell. Her expression was twisted in anguish but held more self-pity, Katryn judged, than remorse or shame. Recognizing her visitor, Bo pulled herself up and let go of her knees, but she still presented a picture of pathetic despair.
“Katryn? Is there any news?” Bo asked.
“Dolokov is going to hold the court-martial tomorrow morning.” Katryn made sure that there was no trace of smugness in her voice. It was not hard; she did not feel any.
“I know that.”
“Then you know as much as I do.”
> “Then why…” Bo’s shoulders slumped and she swallowed. “Do you hate me?” Her voice was a dead whisper.
Katryn stopped to consider the question. It was not an easy one to answer. She felt that she had the right to hate Bo, especially when she called on the memories she had tried so hard to forget: the beating in the latrine block and the grim satisfaction on Bo’s face while she was smashing her fists into Katryn’s ribs and stomach. But Katryn also remembered sitting in the lockup at Roadsend, fighting to keep panic and despair at bay—a fight that Bo had already lost, judging by the look on her face. It gave Katryn an unsettling feeling of empathy.
At Katryn’s silence, Bo leaned her head back against the wall and looked at her with a sideways stare. “You’ve come to gloat. Will you enjoy watching me hang tomorrow afternoon?”
“No.” That was an easier question to answer, but only as she spoke did she realize that with it, they both acknowledged the inevitable. If Bo had struck out in a fit of anger, she might have gotten away with a lesser punishment, given Ellis’ record and the provocation, but not with the calculated planning, and certainly not with framing someone else to die in her place for the crime.
“So why are you here?”
“I wanted to know why you did it. I know you hated Ellis. So did I. But why kill her when I was the one she was picking on? And why frame me for it?”
“I was sorry about you, but…”
But not that sorry, Katryn mentally finished the sentence for Bo. “So why didn’t you kill her before?”
Bo’s head dropped. “I had nine years of being her victim. You know what that’s like. I got all the shit that was going. Every move I made was wrong; at best, I got laughed at. After two years, I stopped trying, and it made no difference.” She glanced up at Katryn. “I should have told you there was no point trying to get your kit clean. Whether you took five minutes or two hours, you had the same chance of sentry duty. You might as well have not bothered. The rest thought I was a joke. So I made myself the patrol clown, but it hurt.
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