by E. R. Torre
“Yes sir,” Holland said.
12
Inquisitor Damien exited the Hotel.
The block around it was cordoned off and groups of onlookers just behind the perimeter ropes gazed at the police presence. At the sight of the Inquisitor, several of them –both media reporters and civilians– screamed out questions. Inquisitor Damien ignored them and stepped to his vehicle.
Beside it was First Lieutenant Chandler. She was a lean, fit woman with black hair and pale green eyes. She held a Cig Stick but didn’t draw from it, instead allowing its steam to rise up and disappear into the air.
“We received another message from the Council of Twelve,” Chandler said.
“Don’t tell me. It’s another strongly worded reminder of the temporary nature of my work here.”
“The way they’re talking about Inquisitor Torano you’d think he was the greatest investigator in Phaecia. Anyway, you’re right. They called to tell you to stand down. Right now.”
“Even if there is no one in charge of the investigation until Inquisitor Torano arrives in another couple of days? What sense does that make?”
“Maybe the Council is upset you didn’t inform them you were coming here before leaving Corregidor.”
“If Inquisitors were to check with their superiors every time an emergency cropped up in their territories, the Phaecian Empire would descend into chaos.”
“Agreed,” Lieutenant Chandler said. “Yet I do not have to remind you that regardless of the senselessness of their orders, we are all sworn to follow the Council’s dictates.”
Inquisitor Damien nodded.
“If it makes you feel any better, Inquisitor Torano studied criminology during his early years.”
Inquisitor Damien let out a laugh.
“You’re saying he’s more experienced than I am?”
“What’s so funny?” Lieutenant Chandler asked.
“Nothing. I’m sure Inquisitor Torano will pursue this case to its proper conclusion and welcome whatever modest progress we’ve made to guide him there.”
“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Chandler said. “So are we ready to go back?”
“Not just yet,” Inquisitor Damien said.
“But your orders—”
“I’m not disobeying orders, Lieutenant,” Inquisitor Damien said. “As of this moment, I consider our investigation into Janice Grajan’s death finished.”
“You do?”
“Yes. By now Justice Grajan surely knowns I’m here. It is only proper I tell him personally I won’t pursue the case any longer.”
“You’re skirting the Council’s orders,” Chandler said.
Inquisitor Damien’s laid his hand on Chandler’s shoulder. It was a more intimate gesture than he intended and he quickly withdrew the hand.
“Justice Grajan just lost his wife. He deserves to know where the investigation, and my place in it, stands. Or doesn’t, as it were.”
Lieutenant Chandler nodded though the frown remained on her face.
“Be careful, Inquisitor,” Chandler said. “You tread dangerous ground.”
The room deep within the Police Station was small and uninviting. The paint on its walls was bland and the air stagnant.
Sitting before a table and facing the room’s only door was Justice Grajan. His head was in his hands and his wife’s dry blood splattered his suit. A vapor cig in an ashtray let out a trail of smoke. It disappeared into the air system above.
At either side of the Justice were a pair of bodyguards. They were heavily armed and very quiet.
The door leading into the room slid open and Inquisitor Damien entered.
“I will talk to Justice Grajan,” Inquisitor Damien said. He eyed the Security Guards. “Alone.”
The Security Guards looked at each other and their charge.
“We were ordered to await Inquisitor Tora—” one of the guards began.
“You would disobey the orders of an Inquisitor?” Justice Grajan said.
The guards wavered but remained in place.
“Sir?”
“Just give us a few minutes,” Grajan said. “Please.”
The Security Guards offered the Justice a small bow. They stepped past Inquisitor Damien and out of the room. The door closed and sealed behind them. Inquisitor Damien reached for the extra chair before the table and sat opposite the grieving candidate.
“I should be thankful the Council of Twelve deemed our small insignificant world important enough to send not one but two Inquisitors to look into my wife’s death,” Grajan said. “Although your presence, as I understand it, is at its end.”
“You’re correct,” Inquisitor Damien said. “The Council of Twelve have recalled me.”
“May I ask why?”
“I have no answers.”
“This Inquisitor Torano, what is he like?”
“He’ll make a more than adequate replacement.”
Justice Grajan shook his head very slowly. His eyes were red and the emotions within him had boiled over many times in the past couple of hours.
“My wife was assassinated,” Grajan said. “I don’t want adequate. I also don’t want an Overlord puppet.”
“Sir—”
“I’m a favorite to win the election,” Justice Grajan said. “Should I be fortunate enough to do so, I become the representative to your Council for all of Davilia. You know what our major export is, Inquisitor?”
“Mineral ores.”
“Yes,” Justice Grajan said. “We have enough to meet the Empire’s increasingly heavy demand for the production of warships. Warships needed to keep pace with the military buildup the Epsillon Empire is engaged in at Erebus. To say the least, Inquisitor, I’m potentially a very important man to the Council of Twelve and yet here I sit, covered in my wife’s blood while two stories below medics poke her body. I’m expected to sit patiently for two more days while the Overlords’ choice of Inquisitor to investigate her death makes his way to Davilia. And the most humorous thing of all is that here you are, perfectly able to take on the job and yet are under orders not to. What am I to make of this? Are the Overlords that dissatisfied with you or is it I that merits this contempt?”
“Perhaps it’s a bit of both.”
“Thank you for your honesty,” Justice Grajan said. “So is that it, Inquisitor? This is all you’ve come to tell me? Surely you were here long enough to find something?”
Inquisitor Damien didn’t argue the point. He lowered his voice and said:
“Anything I tell you…”
“Will remain between us. What have you found? Even if it’s common knowledge. Tell me what you’ve learned!” Grajan’s hands came to his face and he caught his breath. “Please.”
Inquisitor Damien pulled his chair closer to the table.
“The shooter was a man named Raul Morffi,” he said. “He lived alone in a converted storeroom on the roof of the Cheval Hotel. Other than the Hotel staff, he had little interaction with others. Those few he did know and associate with thought him a good man.”
Inquisitor Damien spread his left arm out and activated the computer embedded in his trench coat sleeve. A holographic display appeared and floated above it.
“We found these pamphlets in his apartment,” Inquisitor Damien continued and pointed to what was shown on the display. “Revolutionary texts. Personal liberty. Anti-plutocracy. Much of it frowned upon by the Council of Twelve.”
“The texts are common around these parts,” Justice Grajan said. He waved his fingers before the holographic display and scrolled through the material. “As for the vids, they’re hardly illegal. That’s all you have?”
“In some parts of Phaecia it’s enough to get a person arrested,” Inquisitor Damien said.
Despite the sadness and shock, Justice Grajan let out a sharp laugh.
“For better or worse, Davilia is a planet of free thinkers,” the Justice said. “The Council of Twelve has so far tolerated our views because things don’t get too out of con
trol. As for these pamphlets and vids, would it shock you if I were to say I have a larger collection of them in my own home? Having them within sight doesn’t mean I’ve considered arming myself and starting a revolution. It just means I keep myself informed.”
“I’m surprised you admit this, Justice.”
“To the Council of Twelve, my positions lie on the edge of being too far out. To the people of Davilia, they aren’t nearly far enough.”
“You seek middle ground,” Inquisitor Damien said.
“I guess,” Justice Grajan said. “A philosopher once said the middle of the road is the easiest place in which to get run over. Perhaps he was right.”
Justice Grajan shook his head.
“Do you think this man Morffi acted alone or was he involved with others?”
“At this moment, evidence points to him being a lone gunman.”
“Really?”
“Yes sir.”
Justice Grajan shook his head.
“Maybe we didn’t need any Inquisitors here at all. Our own police could have come up with what you have.”
“I don’t disagree,” Inquisitor Damien said.
There was something in the Inquisitor’s tone that caught Justice Grajan’s attention. The widowed candidate frowned.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“Justice?”
“I’m a politician, Inquisitor,” Justice Grajan said. “I’d be a damned poor one if I couldn’t read people. Especially those sitting in front of me. What is it Inquisitor?”
Justice Grajan leaned forward.
“This room is clean,” he said. “There are no bugs or vid cameras and the walls are thick enough to prevent long range scanners from penetrating. Whatever you tell me will be between us.”
Inquisitor Damien nodded.
“Morffi was dressed in a military Camouflage suit. The weapon he used was a Mikel Rail Rifle. The rifle had no serial numbers and her lines were near perfect. We’re reasonably sure it was printed. It would take a very sophisticated printer to make such a weapon.”
“We have no such printers on Davilia for that very reason.”
“Unless one was smuggled in, you do not,” Inquisitor Damien agreed. “Regardless, a camouflage suit, even an older generation one like what he wore, and a printed rifle are quite expensive.”
Grajan’s eyes lit up.
“How much did this Morffi make? How much did he have?”
“Not nearly enough to afford even one of those items.”
“You think Morffi had contact with off-worlders?”
“At this point, its speculation,” Inquisitor Damien said. “As I said before, all other evidence suggests he didn’t have the connections to secure such items.”
“Yet somehow he did. What else is there, Inquisitor?”
“There is the matter of the shot itself.”
“The shot?” Justice Grajan repeated. “What do you mean?”
“Pardon me for being blunt, Justice, but it was an incredible shot. Everyone assumes you were the killer’s target but given the shot’s distance and level of difficulty…”
“I don’t understand,” Justice Grajan said.
“The projectile hit your wife through the heart, Justice,” Inquisitor Damien said. “Again, my pardons for being blunt, but such a shot is near impossible to make given the poor lighting and distances involved. While it’s tempting to think you were the target and the shot missed you and hit your wife, I don’t think that’s true. I believe the killer was after your wife.”
“The killer wanted to… to kill my wife? By the Gods, why?”
“I don’t know,” Inquisitor Damien said. “But if this is true, there’s something else to consider.”
“What?” Justice Grajan said.
“I’ve known many snipers in the Phaecian military, Justice. Some were remarkably skilled in their profession. I can count on one hand the number who could have made the shot.”
“So Morffi…?”
Inquisitor Damien shook his head.
“We have no evidence he trained with, much less even fired, a rail gun.”
Justice Grajan thought of this. The dazed sadness in his face was replaced with something else. He fell back in his chair and his hands covered his face.
“By the Gods,” he whispered.
Justice Grajan’s hands came down and balled into fists. The sadness was replaced with anger.
“I see,” he said.
“Justice?”
“I see,” he repeated. His eyes were suddenly upon Inquisitor Damien. His voice was low yet filled with anger. “Tell the Council of Twelve I appreciate their concerns.”
“Justice, what is—?”
“Tell them I am thankful for their care and appreciate everything they’ve done to this point. Tell them… tell them when I’m elected, I’ll make the Empire proud.”
“What is it Justice? What are you—”
“Don’t play the innocent, Inquisitor,” Grajan spat.
Even as the words left his mouth, Justice Grajan realized Inquisitor Damien didn’t know what he was talking about. The Justice closed his eyes and flopped back into his chair. He let out a loud laugh.
“I see,” he said and wiped a tear from his eye. “You’re just the messenger, aren’t you? An honest one at that. They expected you to talk to me, Inquisitor, and you did. You told me exactly what they wanted me to hear.”
Grajan sat up straight. He again wiped his face and tried to smile.
“Thank you for coming,” he said. “I’m sure my family will be well cared for when Inquisitor Torano comes. I’m sure I won’t experience another tragedy so long as I follow the Council’s dictates.”
The Justice reached out and took Inquisitor Damien’s hand. He shook it and sat back down.
Inquisitor Damien nodded. He stepped to the door leading out of the room. It opened automatically and the Inquisitor walked out. The Justice’s security guards stepped past Inquisitor Damien and flanked the candidate.
Inquisitor Damien looked into the room one last time.
Justice Grajan’s face was buried in his hands. He shook as he cried.
13
Inquisitor Damien emerged from the back door of the Police Station.
He fought to keep his emotions in check. This wasn’t the first time he was caught in political maneuvering but the fact that he was broadsided so completely infuriated him.
Justice Grajan was right: Inquisitor Damien played his role as surely as if he was following the Council’s script.
They know me better than I know myself.
Inquisitor Damien stopped walking.
Overhead, police patrols flew from their home base and in different directions. At the far end of the parking lot stood Lieutenant Chandler. She was beside their vehicle and waited to take Inquisitor Damien back to the Parisia Starport. From there, it was back to the Salvo.
My role here is done, Inquisitor Damien thought.
Yet he couldn’t let it go.
He thought of Janice Grajan and the angle of the shot that killed her. He pictured the assassin standing instead of crouched down and holding that heavy rifle against his shoulder while making that incredibly accurate shot.
They were here.
The thought sent a chill through his body. He suspected it, of course. That’s why he hurried here from Corregidor. He’d found and followed evidence of their presence from system to system and built enough to draw a terrifying picture. Here, in Davilia, there was no longer any doubt he found the next link in this single, miraculous rail rifle shot.
Despite his anger he felt a sliver of hope. His quick arrival meant there was a chance, albeit small, that his prey was close. Perhaps close enough to finally—
Easy, he thought.
Inquisitor Damien resumed walking. Halfway to his vehicle, he felt a pair of eyes were upon him.
Inquisitor Damien slowed then stopped. He surveyed the parking lot. A group of police officers shared a vapor s
tick and laughed at a joke. Another officer ran her hands over her uniform, straightening it out. Yet another headed away from them all, a thick tan file in his hands. He entered a police cruiser occupied by a female officer and in moments their vehicle’s turbines kicked on and it rose into the air.
The man was there, beyond the rising vehicle and on the streets just outside the Police Station’s lot.
He was an average looking individual, perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, and was dressed in a light blue suit. He had thin black hair sprinkled with hints of grey. His skin was pale and he stared directly at Inquisitor Damien.
Inquisitor Damien and the stranger’s eyes locked.
Inquisitor Damien sensed great danger about the man. So much so he reached for his belt and gripped the handle of the fusion gun holstered on it. The man didn’t react to any of this and, to Inquisitor Damien, it was all the more frightening.
Inquisitor Damien took a step forward. He intended to confront this man but stopped when his communicator buzzed.
For a fraction of a second Inquisitor Damien looked down at his belt and the device. His head came back up and, to his surprise, the man was no longer there.
Inquisitor Damien swore. He grabbed the communicator and answered the incoming call.
“This is Inquisitor Damien.”
“Inquisitor, this is Inspector Holland,” a low voice said.
“Yes Inspector?”
“Sir, are you still in town?”
“For the moment. I’m off to the Starport.”
“Before you go, could you meet me? Please. It is very important.”
“Where?”
“19th and Lenora Avenue. Its two blocks from the Cheval Hotel. We found something you should see.”
“I’ll meet you, but not there,” Inquisitor Damien said. “Meet me in the lobby of the Cheval. Keep out of sight until I arrive.”
“Yes sir.”
Inquisitor Damien turned toward his vehicle and Lieutenant Chandler.
A pair of officers emerged from the station and approached him. When they were near enough, Inquisitor Damien stepped forward and seemingly accidentally bumped into the officer nearest to him. Inquisitor Damien’s right hand moved quickly. It removed an item from the officer’s belt.
