Manhunt on Tau Ceti 4 (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 6)

by John Bowers

  She checked her watch again. This wasn’t getting her anywhere. At least she knew that nothing important existed beyond the castle, but that didn’t help much. She hadn’t been all the way around the building, but the only entrance seemed to be the wooden door facing the road. If she was going to get inside—if that was even a good idea—she would have to backtrack.

  With a sigh of resignation, and once again questioning her own sanity, she turned and headed back through the woods.

  Chapter 19

  The Train to Hardwood – Tau Ceti 4

  The trip back to Hardwood took longer than the trip down to Orosi. The train consisted of twelve freight cars and two for passengers, and had to climb the mountain. Nick gazed out his window as the scenery crawled past at a mere fifteen miles per hour. He appreciated the rustic beauty of the frontier world, but damn if these people didn’t need to invest in some mag-lev technology.

  He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was early afternoon in Hardwood and he’d had a fairly productive morning. He mentally ticked off what he had learned as he tried to fit it into what he already knew.

  Bert Carter, head of the local union, definitely had some kind of tie to Ken Saracen. The proof was in the three thugs he’d sent to capture Nick. Sam, Charlie, and Joker were Saracen’s men.

  In spite of that, Nick was inclined to believe that Bert Carter wasn’t an immediate threat, probably not even a criminal. He was a fairly typical union boss, willing to use intimidation to further his aims, but not a terrorist. His connection to Saracen was still unclear, but most likely Saracen was using Carter’s union to further his own goals.

  Connie Ventura had been a surprise. Nick hadn’t expected to run into the FIA on TC 4 and wasn’t a hundred percent sure he could trust her, but so far had no evidence to place her under suspicion. Her appearance in the diner had come at exactly the right moment and her intervention had probably saved him half a day of wrangling with the local police authorities…and she had told him where to find Saracen.

  According to Connie, Saracen now went by the moniker of Ken Tinker-Smith, and he lived just up the road from Hardwood, in Lago.

  Now that he knew—if Connie was right—where Saracen was located, he had to move carefully. He also had to move quickly. He had no doubt that Saracen knew he was on the planet, because the three stooges he’d left naked in the street would tell him—if they hadn’t already. Once he got back to the hotel, he would hook up with Victoria and lay plans. Saracen would be coming after him, so it was imperative they get out of Hardwood as quickly as possible.

  Right now he was exhausted. He had slept badly the night before and the morning had been stressful, so…

  He tipped his hat forward, rested his head against the window of the rail car, and dozed.

  Orosi – Tau Ceti 4

  After a quick lunch with Nick Walker, Connie Ventura made a show of giving him a cousinly hug, followed by a big smack on his cheek. They were, after all, family.

  Nick had been excited to receive the information she had for him. She fervently hoped it would help him catch the man responsible for his fiancée’s murder, but had been very clear about one thing—once she passed on the information, she placed a hand over his and peered directly into his eyes.

  “That’s it,” she said in a quiet voice. “That’s all I can do for you. You and I don’t cross paths again, at least on this planet. Are we agreed?”

  Much to her relief, he nodded his acceptance. He seemed like a nice enough guy—once you got past the bluster and the six-guns—and she felt terrible about his loss, but she was already as deep as she needed to be. She didn’t need him jeopardizing her mission.

  When they parted, he ambled off toward the train station and she headed back to work.

  She was two blocks short of her destination when a police car slid to the curb at her side. Officer Williams leaned out the passenger-side window.

  “Connie! Hold up a minute.”

  She stopped and turned, surprise in her eyes.

  “Get in the car, Connie. Chief Blankenship wants to see you.”

  “What about?”

  “He didn’t say. Did say it was important.”

  She frowned and glanced at her watch.

  “Can’t it wait? I have a date with him tonight, and we can talk then. Right now I need to get back to work.”

  “Not my call. Chief said bring you in, so I’m gonna bring you in.”

  She tossed her head with annoyance. He stepped out of the car and pulled open the rear door. Without further debate, she got in. Williams returned to the front seat.

  “It probably won’t take long,” he said.

  “It better not. If I get fired…”

  Her heart thumped. She always faced the possibility of discovery, identified as an FIA agent, and though such an event wouldn’t necessarily put her in danger, it would constitute a mission failure. She had no idea what this was about—it was probably something innocent—but anything that varied the routine of her job was nerve-wracking.

  She sighed aloud to show the officers how annoyed she was, but said nothing else until they arrived at the police station. They parked on the street and escorted her up the front steps of the building, Williams leading the way and his partner, Dickens, trailing. They marched through the front lobby, through a wing gate into the main office, and down a hallway toward the Chief’s office. Connie made eye contact with several people—she knew everyone in the building—but didn’t smile. No one spoke to her.

  Williams tapped on the Chief’s door and then opened it. He stepped aside to let Connie enter first, then closed the door when the Chief nodded at him. Connie took two steps toward the big desk and glared at the man behind it.

  “What the fuck, Roger? I do have a job, you know, and if I get fired for being late—”

  “Sit down, Connie. You want some coffee? Ice water?”

  “No! I want to get back to work. I have stack of shit on my desk that I need to get done by the end of the day.”

  Chief Roger Blankenship, a husky man in his mid-thirties with a buzzed haircut, merely gazed at her.

  “Sit down.”

  The way he said it made her heart beat faster. Her expression never changed, but she sat down in the chair facing his desk.

  “What the hell is this about? Can’t it wait until our date tonight?”

  “No.”

  He sat staring at her. She scowled and unslung her purse, which she placed on the floor beside her chair. She heaved an impatient sigh.

  “Okay. What’s so important?”

  “You never told me you had a cousin.”

  “What?”

  “I said—”

  “I heard what you said. But what the hell? Everybody has cousins. You probably have one or two that I don’t know about.”

  Blankenship ignored that.

  “How the hell are you related to Nick Jones?”

  “Nico? He’s my cousin. Didn’t Williams and Dickens tell you? They were going to arrest him for some petty bullshit, but I talked them out of it.”

  “He assaulted three men earlier in the day, pulled a gun on them, and stole their clothing. You call that petty bullshit?”

  “Yes, I do. He told me what happened. They attacked him first. They’re lucky he didn’t kill them.”

  “Well, that isn’t the story they told.”

  “Oh, come on, Roger. You know those three—they’re punks, every one of them. I don’t know why Bert Carter even hired them.”

  “Punks or not, they have the same rights as everybody else. And it’s their word against his.”

  “His and mine. I believe Nico’s version.”

  Blankenship’s eyes hardened and he glared at her a moment, his shallow breathing an indication of mounting anger.

  “Your name is Ventura. His is Jones. Jones doesn’t sound very Spanic to me.”

  Connie rolled her eyes.

  “His father was a gringo, his mother was Spanic. She was my aunt. What el
se do you need to know?”

  “If he’s your cousin, and the two of you are so cozy, why didn’t you recognize him last night?”

  “Last night?”

  Roger Blankenship fingered the purple bruise on his forehead.

  “He was the cowboy whose girlfriend gave me this. Maybe you didn’t recognize him?”

  Connie frowned, then shrugged.

  “I saw the cowboy hat, but I was too far away, and the light wasn’t good. I never saw his face.”

  “You didn’t recognize his voice when he questioned Carter?”

  She shook her head. “That warehouse has an echo. Everyone’s voice was distorted.”

  She glanced at her watch.

  “Is there anything else? I need to get back to work.”

  Blankenship stared at her for a moment, then nodded.

  “Yeah.” He pressed a button attached to the side of his desk. “Our date tonight is cancelled.”

  The office door opened and Williams stepped inside.

  “You buzzed for me, Chief?”

  “I did.” Blankenship nodded toward Connie. “Put her in a cell.”

  Williams looked almost as shocked as Connie Ventura.

  “Seriously?”

  “Roger!” Connie shouted. “What the hell!”

  “What charge, Chief?”

  “Suspicion. That will do for now.”

  Williams stepped into the room and reached for her arm, but Connie was on her feet, her dark eyes blazing.

  “Suspicion of what? Having relatives? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

  Williams gripped her arm, but she shook him off. She turned on Blankenship again.

  “I want an explanation, Roger!”

  Blankenship got to his feet, his own face red with anger.

  “Nick Jones is an alias,” he told her. “His real name is Nick Walker, and he is not your cousin. He only arrived on the planet yesterday and he’s already caused a great deal of trouble.”

  “Well—y-yes, he just got in from the Federation, but—”

  “Stop lying. I don’t know what his game is yet, but I’m willing to bet you never set eyes on him before last night…and now you’re protecting him from a police investigation.” He pointed a finger at her. “That raises all kinds of questions about you. Until I get the answers, you’re sitting in a cell and our date is cancelled.”

  Williams gripped her arm again and this time she didn’t resist. Williams pulled her toward the door.

  “Sorry, Connie, but orders are orders.”

  She kept her eyes on Blankenship. His expression mirrored feelings of anger and a sense of betrayal. She dropped the angry woman routine.

  “You’re on the wrong side of this, Roger,” she said. “You’re working for the wrong people.”

  He scowled. “Who the hell are you?”

  “You don’t need to know, but if you ever believed I was one of the good guys, then you were right. Just make sure you don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

  His mouth clamped tight. He nodded at Williams.

  “Get her out of here.”

  Hardwood – Tau Ceti 4

  Nick slept fitfully on the train. The railcar bumped and swayed and he never really got into a sound slumber, but it was better than nothing; the train pulled into Hardwood two and a half hours after leaving Orosi.

  Nick stirred when the train rattled into the station and jolted to a stop. He yawned and checked his watch, then sat watching as the other passengers, no more than twenty in all, exited the car. He was the last one to step down onto the platform and was a little surprised to see that most of those ahead of him were still waiting to enter the station. Two sheriff’s deputies he had met the night before—Hugo Barnes and Billy Stanfield—were flanking the door, letting the passengers through one at a time. Two or three minutes later it came Nick’s turn.

  Billy Stanfield’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of him.

  “Nick! What are you doing here?”

  “Just came in from Orosi. What’s going on?”

  Barnes, with a severe expression, glanced at Nick’s guns, then narrowed his eyes.

  “What were you doing in Orosi?”

  “I met with a couple of people, had some lunch, and did a little touring.”

  “Who did you meet with?”

  “A couple of people. What’s going on?”

  “Did Sheriff Thomas know you were going to Orosi?”

  “I didn’t realize I needed his permission. Or yours, either. What the fuck is going on?”

  Barnes wasn’t impressed. He glared at Nick a moment, then stepped aside. Nick stepped through the doorway into the station lobby, which had been cleared of everyone but law enforcement. Two strands of blue ribbon had been set up to form a pathway from the train platform to the front door; the last of the passengers were just leaving the building.

  Billy Stanfield pointed toward the ticket counter.

  “We had a murder this morning.”

  “A murder! Who got killed?”

  “Ticket agent. Man named Jones.”

  Nick frowned.

  “Harry Jones?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know him?” Barnes had followed Nick inside.

  “I met him this morning. He sold me a ticket to Orosi.”

  Nick stared at a group of men clustered near the ticket window. Sheriff Thomas was there, along with deputies Hanson and Scott and two or three people Nick didn’t know. One carried a medical bag. A pool of blood had spread from behind the ticket counter onto the main floor. Scott was taking holovids of the crime scene.

  “When was he killed?”

  “You tell us,” Barnes grumbled. “What time did you talk to him?”

  Nick turned to face him. “Seriously?”

  Barnes shrugged. “We haven’t had a murder in this town for over ten years. Now you show up and bang. You’re the only stranger in town, so…”

  “I came through about seven this morning. You can check the train schedule. I was on the first one to Orosi.”

  “Can anybody verify that?”

  “Sure. Ask around.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “And I told you. If you don’t believe me, then get off your lazy ass and do some police work.”

  Barnes began to swell with indignation, but Billy Stanfield interrupted him.

  “He couldn’t have done it, Hugo. He just got off the train and it happened less than an hour ago.”

  “Could have been his wife. Nobody’s seen her all day.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Nick told him.

  “No? Then where is she?”

  “How the hell should I know? She was going to do some touring and I left her early this morning.”

  “When you see her, tell her we need to chat.”

  Nick scowled and turned to Stanfield.

  “How was Jones killed?”

  “Looks like somebody stuck a knife through the window and got him in the throat. There’s blood everywhere.”

  “In the throat? Then you should be looking for somebody who got sprayed. Arterial blood shoots out like a fountain.”

  “How would you know that?” Barnes demanded, “unless you’ve done it?”

  “I read a lot.”

  “Lemme see your hands.”

  Still annoyed, Nick nevertheless complied. He held out both hands for Barnes to inspect, turning them one way and then the other.

  “No blood,” he said. “No cuts. And I don’t carry a knife.”

  “You could have ditched it. And washed your hands.”

  “Oh, shut the fuck up! I just got off the damn train like Billy said. You were outside when I did, so believe your own eyes, why don’t you.”

  Nick turned and started toward the cluster of men at the ticket counter.

  “Where the hell you going?” Barnes called after him.

  “To file a complaint with your boss. You’re welcome to come with me.”

  He walked over t
o the group and stopped short of the blood pool. Thomas saw him coming and intercepted him.

  “Jones, where you been? You know anything about this?”

  “Why would I know anything about it? I just got back from Orosi.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  “Tracking a fugitive. That’s why I came to this planet.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Barnes. “I would appreciate it if you’d teach your poodle here what a trail smells like. He seems obsessed with the idea that I did it.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “No offense, Jones, but we have to ask.”

  “I understand that.”

  Thomas glanced back at the crime scene. The body wasn’t visible from where they stood—Harry Jones had fallen behind the ticket counter. Nick saw blood spatter on the ticket window and two or three streaks on the wall behind the counter.

  “Who found him? Did anybody see it?”

  “Nobody we’ve talked to saw anything. Couple of ladies came to buy tickets for the train and he was just lying there, staring at the ceiling.” Thomas turned to him again. “You have any experience with murder investigations?”

  “I’m not a detective, but I’ve worked a few. Okay if I take a look?”

  “Sure.” Thomas led him around behind the counter. “I could sure use your help. It’s been years since anything like this happened around here.”

  Keeping clear of the blood pool, Nick knelt as near the body as possible. Harry Jones lay on his back, tilted slightly to his right, with his eyes open. A look of absolute surprise was frozen on his features, as if he had never seen it coming. Nick had seen that look a thousand times on Alpha Centauri during the war, usually when someone was hit by a sniper. Jones’s shirt was soaked in blood from the throat to his crotch. The wound was on the right side of his neck, a single jab that apparently sliced through the carotid artery and probably the jugular as well. Blood had spurted under high pressure across the ticket window, then up the wall behind him as he fell. Half a dozen heartbeats would have been all it took to empty his vascular system, or at least reduce the pressure to the point that it no longer gushed out in a fountain.