by Timothy Zahn
“It is a new rank, a title given me by my current employers,” he said. “It refers to the ancient Filiaelian name for a bulwark, or a protector of the people.”
“Ancient Filiaelian, eh?” I commented. “We have people who like mining old languages, too. Anyway, the point is that I already know Ms. German is pregnant, which is why you were concerned enough about the air quality in her car to try to break into my compartment to see what I’d found out about that. I also know that you and Dr. Aronobal are escorting her from Earth to Filiaelian space. I just want to know why.”
He gazed at me for a long moment. I waited, keeping my best encouraging expression in place. Finally, he shrugged. “I suppose it cannot hurt. Several weeks ago Ms. German was assaulted near her home in the Western Alliance and impregnated by her attacker. Dr. Aronobal and I were already on Earth, seeking Human subjects for genetic testing, and we received orders to offer her our assistance and invite her to accompany us back to the Filiaelian Assembly for medical treatment and study.”
“Who exactly did these orders come from?” I asked.
“One of Dr. Aronobal’s superiors, I presume,” he said. “I was never shown the actual message. We offered Ms. German our assistance, which was accepted, and we are now returning to the Filiaelian Assembly with her.”
“Interesting timing, you being right there in the vicinity of this attack and all,” I commented. Actually, the timing struck me as more suspicious than interesting, but this wasn’t the time to go into that. “Dr. Aronobal’s part I understand, kindly physician and all that. Where exactly do you come into it?”
“To be honest, I am not entirely certain,” he said hesitantly. “I was asked to come out of retirement and accompany Dr. Aronobal to Earth as assistant and protector.”
“Someone thought she needed protecting?”
“Apparently so.” Emikai smiled suddenly. “It was apparently thought that I had the necessary skills for the position.”
“And correctly so,” I assured him, rubbing my throat. “So what kind of genetic testing are they planning for Ms. German?”
“That I also do not know,” he said. “But it must be highly urgent for us to have been hired to bring her all the way across the galaxy.”
“So it would seem,” I agreed. And that, I sensed, was all I was going to get out of him on this subject. Time to move on. “But as I was saying, my first assumption was that you were returning Master Colix’s ticket. But I know now that you stole neither the ticket nor the lozenges. Ergo, you must have come here for some other purpose.” I raised my eyebrows. “You were examining the bodies, weren’t you?”
He inclined his head. “I was attempting to do so,” he said. “You interrupted me before I could complete my investigation.”
“I presume you got far enough to notice the needle marks on the three Shorshians,” I said, mentally crossing my fingers. Ninety percent sure …“Anything interesting about them?”
He smiled tightly. “You would not ask unless you already knew,” he said. “Your unstated hunch is correct: the needle marks were made after the victims’ deaths.”
I felt my stomach tighten. “You’re absolutely sure about that?”
“I am,” he said. “I also suspect the tip of the needle is still buried within di-Master Strinni’s skin.”
“Not anymore, but it was,” I said. There it was, the last ten percent of doubt. “Thank you, Logra Emikai. I believe you’ve just helped me identify a killer.”
His eyes locked hard into mine. “Who?”
I reached into my pocket and tossed him his first-class pass. “Come to the first-class dining car tomorrow at ten o’clock,” I told him. “I’ll introduce you.”
“Thank you,” he said softly as he slid the pass into a pocket. “I will be there.”
“Good.” I gestured in the direction of the bodies. “In the meantime, I have a couple of final tests to run on the bodies. I was hoping you would assist me.”
He inclined his head. “I would be honored.”
An hour later, our tests completed, we left the baggage car. I dropped Emikai off at his seat among the sea of privacy-shielded sleepers and continued on forward. I hoped he would get a good night’s rest.
I hoped I would, too. But I still had one more task to perform.
I found Osantra Qiddicoj sleeping in the open, without his sleep canopy deployed. Qiddicoj himself was sound asleep, but the Modhri inside him was awake and alert and obviously waiting up for me. Our conversation took another hour, and when I finally dragged myself back to my own bed I had the whole, bloody story.
Back when I worked for Westali, the hours leading up to a high-profile arrest were generally cluttered with a million last-minute details. There were warrants to get, backup to arrange, logistics to plan, loopholes to anticipate, and bolt-holes to plug. If you did everything right, the arrest itself was almost anticlimactic. If you did anything wrong, the whole event was likely to blow up in your face.
But here on the Quadrail, where Spider authority was absolute and bureaucratic red tape nonexistent, none of those details was relevant. As a result, I got to spend eight of those final hours asleep. A more restful sleep than I’d had since Bayta and I had first been summoned to the second/third dispensary to watch Master Colix die. It was finally almost over.
I really should have known better.
———
It was ten minutes to ten, and Bayta and I were just finishing a light breakfast, when Emikai arrived. “I trust I’m not overly early?” he asked, glancing around the dining car as if he expected the killer to be wearing a sign announcing his identity.
“Not at all,” I told him, standing up and offering Bayta my hand. She didn’t need my help, of course, but Filly cops were genetically engineered toward courtesy, and my show of politeness toward my partner might buy me a few points when it came time to shake him down for more information. “The rest of the group should be assembled,” I added as I gestured to the entryway. “Shall we go?”
I led the way four cars to the rear. Kennrick and the three remaining contract-team Fillies were indeed there, sitting in a circle and talking earnestly. For once, there were no dealt cards sitting in front of the group. “Greetings to you, Esantra Worrbin,” I greeted the head of the group. “And to you, Asantra Muzzfor, and you, Asantra Dallilo,” I continued, nodding to each in turn. “I appreciate your giving me a few moments of your time.”
“What’s he doing here?” Kennrick growled, eyeing Emikai darkly.
“I asked him to join us,” I said.
“And he got free how?”
“It was actually pretty easy once I’d cut his ropes,” I said. “The reason I asked you all here—”
“Without consulting any of us first?” Kennrick interrupted. “Our opinions and concerns don’t matter?”
“Actually, no, they don’t,” I said. “The reason I asked you all here was so that you could bear witness to the end of the ordeal. I finally know the identity of the murderer.”
Muzzfor sat up a little straighter. “You’ve found him?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “Why did you not say so earlier?”
“Because until last night I wasn’t a hundred percent sure,” I told him. “I thought—”
“Last night?” Muzzfor echoed. “And yet you waited until now to speak? How many more of us might have died in the dark hours because of your lack of haste?”
“You aren’t in any danger,” I assured him. “Not anymore. The contract team was indeed the target, but not for the reasons we all thought.”
“A moment,” Worrbin spoke up. “If this matter concerns the contract team, all members should be present. Master Tririn and Dr. Witherspoon must be summoned.”
“He’s right,” Kennrick seconded. “And as long as you’re going to get them passed up from third, you might as well go the whole dit rec mystery route and have the rest of the suspects join us, too.”
“Which suspects are those?” I asked.
; “All of his friends,” Kennrick said, nodding toward Emikai. “Dr. Aronobal and that Human girl, Terese whatever.”
“Terese German,” I said. “Actually, she’s not a suspect. Never was, really, if you think about it.”
“Why not?” Dallilo asked, gazing down his long Filly nose at Emikai.
“Because di-Master Strinni and Usantra Givvrac were killed here in first class,” I said. “Ms. German didn’t have access to this part of the train.”
“Dr. Aronobal did, though,” Kennrick persisted. “She and Dr. Witherspoon were making the rounds between here and third all the time.”
“True,” I agreed. “Still, I think we can dispense with their company for the present.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “So, Kennrick. You want to tell everyone why you killed them? Or shall I?”
NINETEEN
I’d said it so casually that for the first couple of seconds no one seemed to get it. Then, almost in unison, Worrbin and the others turned to look at Kennrick. “You’re not serious,” Worrbin said, sounding stunned. “Mr. Kennrick?”
“Absolutely serious,” I assured him, watching Kennrick closely. His eyes were just starting to widen with shock as the words sank in. Exactly the correct reaction, with exactly the correct timing. The man was good, all right. “Would you like to make a statement, Kennrick?”
“Yes,” Kennrick said, coming out of his pretended paralysis. “I want to state that you’re completely and certifiably insane. Where in hell do you get off making outrageous accusations like that?”
“Truth is never popular, is it?” I said regretfully. “Fine—if you don’t want to tell them, I will. The point is—”
“Just a moment, Mr. Compton,” Worrbin interrupted me. “I have no great personal affection for Mr. Kennrick, but you cannot simply make public statements like that without proof in hand. Have you such proof?”
“Let’s take this one step at a time,” I suggested. “The point is—”
“I knew it,” Kennrick muttered under his breath. “I knew you didn’t just quit Westali. Loose damn cannon—they fired your butt, didn’t they?”
“The point is,” I said, raising my voice a little, “and the point we all missed, was that the murders had nothing to do with the contract itself. They were, in fact, an experiment. A field test to see if a new kind of murder technique could be slipped through Spider security and used aboard a Quadrail.”
Around us, the car was starting to quiet down as more and more passengers tuned in on our conversation. “What is this technique?” Muzzfor asked.
“Nothing I care to talk about in the open,” I said. “But trust me, it works.”
“And I presume you’ve got an explanation for how Usantra Givvrac and the three Shorshians died in entirely different ways?” Kennrick demanded. “Come on, Compton. Playing detective can be fun, but you’re way over the line with this one.”
“Actually, I believe Usantra Givvrac’s death was mostly accidental,” I said. “Collateral damage, as it were, from di-Master Strinni’s murder.”
Muzzfor stirred in his seat. “Esantra Worrbin, I submit that this is not the proper venue for such a sensitive discussion,” he said, looking significantly around the car.
“Agreed,” Worrbin said grimly. “We must find a place with more privacy.”
“We can go to my compartment,” Kennrick offered. “There’s enough room there.”
“Or you can just confess and surrender now,” I suggested. “Once you’re properly secured, I can go over the details with the others at their convenience.”
Kennrick snorted. “If you think I’m going to confess to something I didn’t do, you’re crazy.”
“I further submit that if there is to be a medical discussion that Dr. Witherspoon be asked to join us,” Muzzfor continued.
“And Dr. Aronobal, too,” Kennrick added. “She and Witherspoon are the only ones with access to hypos.”
I felt a surge of relieved affirmation. I’d hoped he would fall for that one. “And how exactly did you know the three Shorshic bodies had hypo marks in them?” I asked.
If this had been a proper dit rec mystery, Kennrick would have inhaled sharply as he belatedly realized the folly of his revelation. Unfortunately, here in the real world, he was right on top of it. “How else could the poison have gotten into their systems?” he retorted without hesitation. “Besides, whoever jumped you and Witherspoon wanted that replacement hypo for something.”
“He’s correct,” Muzzfor said. “Such obvious deduction is hardly proof of any wrongdoing.”
“No, the murderer wanted the hypo for something, all right,” I confirmed. “But not as a replacement. Kennrick knew I was sniffing around the other possible methods for introducing poison into someone’s system, and he decided he needed to send me off in the wrong direction.”
Worrbin grunted. “You make no sense.”
“Actually, I make perfect sense,” I countered. Kennrick’s expression, I noted, was still walking that realistic path between bewilderment and outrage.
But there should have been something else there, too, a hint of concern as I backed him slowly into a corner. Only there was no such concern that I could detect.
What did he know that I didn’t?
“His best shot at a wrong direction was to make me think the cadmium that killed Master Colix and the others had been injected,” I continued. “So the night I was attacked he hid under the sleep canopy in di-Master Strinni’s vacant seat, knowing either Dr. Aronobal or Dr. Witherspoon would eventually show up in answer to Osantra Qiddicoj’s call for medical help. It was just my bad luck I decided to stick with Dr. Witherspoon that night. Kennrick waited until we’d passed, clobbered both of us, and stole the hypo.”
“I was in my compartment,” Kennrick said in a tone of strained patience. “The Spider who came for me will testify to that.”
“By then you were, sure,” I said. “After you got the hypo, you slipped past the activity in the dispensary and beat it back to your compartment so you could pretend to be asleep when we sent for you.”
I looked back at the three Fillies. “But later that night, once things had calmed down, he went back to the morgue and made needle marks in the bodies. He also made sure to break off the needle tip in di-Master Strinni to make us think that was the reason the murderer needed a replacement hypo. After that, he probably just dumped the rest of the hypo down the toilet into the reclamation system.”
“You say he wanted you to think the poison had been injected,” Muzzfor said. “What makes you think it wasn’t?”
“Because I availed myself of the services of Logra Emikai,” I told him. “He’s a former law enforcement officer who specialized in forensic investigations, and he confirmed that the hypo marks had been made postmortem.”
The three Fillies looked questioningly at each other. “Is that the sum of your evidence, Mr. Compton?” Worrbin asked.
“Isn’t it enough?” I countered.
“No, it is not,” Worrbin said flatly. “I’m not convinced.”
I grimaced. That wasn’t really surprising, I conceded, given that Kennrick had avoided all my guilty-reaction traps and I couldn’t afford to give them my actual evidence. “I’m sorry to hear that,” I told Worrbin. “But that’s certainly your privilege. This was just a courtesy call anyway.”
“What do you mean, a courtesy call?” Worrbin demanded, his blaze darkening ominously.
“I mean that I really don’t have to convince any of you of Kennrick’s guilt,” I said. “Here inside the Tube, the Spiders are in charge. Thank you for your time—we’ll take it from here.”
“Like hell you will,” Kennrick said, standing up.
“Don’t try it, Kennrick,” I warned, motioning Emikai to step in a bit closer. “It’s two against one, and we’re both former cops.”
“This has gone far enough,” Worrbin said, his voice suddenly gone lofty and imperious with the weight of thousands of years of Filiaelian history and thousands
of planets of Filiaelian geography. “This Human is associated with us, and through us with the Filiaelian Assembly. I forbid you to imprison him without incontestable proof of guilt.” He pointed to Emikai. “I further call upon this former enforcement officer to support my decision.”
“Logra Emikai is with me,” I reminded him.
“Not any more,” Emikai said softly.
I turned to look at him, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “We’re not in Filiaelian territory, Logra Emikai,” I reminded him carefully. “You’re not required to obey their orders.”
“Unfortunately, I am,” Emikai said. He looked decidedly unhappy about it, but there was no wavering in his voice. “He is an esantra of the Filiaelian Assembly. No matter where in the galaxy we find ourselves, I have no choice but to uphold his legal decisions.” His eyes flicked to Worrbin, then back to me. “It is what I am,” he added.
And so it was. Retired or not, he’d been genetically engineered to be a cop, and the absence of his badge and gun didn’t change that.
I looked back at Kennrick. His arms were crossed over his chest, a righteously indignant expression plastered across his face, a hint of a smirk lurking behind his eyes. Was Worrbin’s interference the back door he’d been counting on? “You want proof, Esantra Worrbin?” I asked. “Fine.” I held out my hand toward Kennrick. “Your reader, please.”
Kennrick’s expression didn’t change, but the subtle smirk was suddenly gone. “Why?” he asked.
“Give it to me and I’ll show you,” I said.
“Not a chance,” he said flatly. “All my personal records are on it.”
“Consider this a subpoena,” I said. “Let’s start by showing them who Whitman Kennrick really is.”
Kennrick looked at the Fillies. “Esantra Worrbin?”
Worrbin looked at him, then at me, then back at Kennrick. “Give him your reader,” he ordered.
Kennrick’s lips puckered, but he nodded. “Fine,” he said. “But let it be noted that this is under protest.” He reached his right hand into his jacket, got a grip on something, and started to pull his hand back out.
