“They work for the government,” said Max glumly.
“Not all of them,” I replied. “I’ll give you some names.” “You’re what we want!” insisted Max, looking like he half thought I might take a swing at him for his outburst but determined to get what he came for.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m still not interested.”
Max stood up, looking for all the world like he was getting ready to run, or at least duck, if I lost my temper. “We checked you out after the police recommended you,” he said in an unsteady voice. “You are 13,407 credits in debt. If you will accept the assignment, we’ll pay off all your debts and give you four thousand credits more.” He studied my face. “Are you getting interested?”
I did some quick mental math to see how soon they’d be throwing me out of my office and canceling my vidphone ad.
“Make it five thousand and you pay my own forensics expert and it’s a deal.”
“Done!” said Max.
I reached out to shake on it. He stared at my hand as if it might bite him, and then he reached out his own three-fingered hand. It trembled when I grabbed it, but he didn’t pull it away.
Max had been so certain he was going to hire some human that he’d retrofitted his ship with a pair of very comfortable human chairs and programmed his various computer systems to speak Terran.
We’d just taken off from Odysseus when the navigational computer announced that the trip would take seven hours if we made use of the MacNaughton Wormhole, or 183 hours without. Max insisted that I was in charge of all aspects of the investigation, including captaining the ship, so I told it to enter the wormhole and get us to Alpha Gillespie III as fast as possible. (Well, first I told it to get us to Graydawn, but like most unofficial names, it wasn’t in the data bank.)
“All right, Max,” I said, swiveling my chair and turning to him. “Time to fill me in.”
“I thought I did.”
I shook my head. “All you did was tell me what happened. Now I need some details. Who’s alive? Did anyone show up much earlier than the others? Are they all oxygen breathers? Do they have names?”
“Oh,” he said. “I guess you need to know all that, don’t you?”
“Well, there’s always a chance the killer won’t run up to me and confess the second I get there.”
“That is sarcasm, is it not?” asked Max. “I mean, killers are not inclined to run up to policemen and confess, are they?”
“Wrong time of year,” I said.
“But you don’t know what time of year it is on Graydawn.” “That was more sarcasm, Max,” I told him. “Give me the details, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Masters.”
“And call me Jake.”
“Isn’t that too informal?”
“I’m an informal kind of guy,” I replied. “Now how about some details, Max? For starters, what exactly does the Braaglmich Cartel do? I know they make spaceships, and I know they own about a quarter of the Democracy’s pharmaceutical industry, and I’ve seen their name a bunch of other places.”
“They also dominate a number of retail industries, dealing in basic human needs—soap, foodstuffs, things like that.”
“They must do pretty well,” I offered. “Not everyone needs a spaceship, but two trillion men and women need to eat and wash. Now tell me about the suspects.”
“The five vice presidents are each in charge of the cartel’s operations in major areas of the galaxy: the Rim, the Inner Frontier, the Outer Frontier, the Democracy, and the Thrale Coalition.” “So one of them is a human and one is a Thrale?” I asked. “Yes, Jake.”
“And the other three?”
“They, plus the new chairman, are all members of the Gaborian race, which is native to Beta Sanchez IV.” I didn’t say anything, and he stared at me for a moment. “Don’t you find it unusual that four of the six executives are Gaborians?”
“Only if the late chairman wasn’t a Gaborian. People—beings, make that—tend to associate with their own kind. And to hire their own kind as well.”
“He was a Gaborian,” Max confirmed.
“Figures,” I said. “And I assume that Beta Sanchez IV is neutral?”
“Yes, Jake.”
“Okay, so which one’s the new head honcho?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A vice president got elevated to the chairmanship. Which territory was his and who replaced him?”
“She was elevated over all five vice presidents, Jake.” “Sleeping with the chairman?”
“The chairman is dead.”
I sighed. “Was she having an affair with him?”
“An affair?” he asked, frowning. “You mean a public celebration?”
“I mean did they indulge in a sexual liaison?”
“I have no idea,” answered Max. “But I do know some things about Gaborians. They are not as neurotic about sex as humans. A sexual liaison would hardly constitute a killing offense.”
“Would it constitute a reason for promotion?” I asked. “In other words, if the new chairman achieved her position through sexual rather than business skills ...”
“I hadn’t thought of that, Jake,” admitted Max. “But it is an invalid premise. Her rise through the corporation has been meteoric, and justified by her record wherever she has been. She has been innovative, creative, and, above all, wildly successful.” “Okay, it was an idea,” I said. “Have any of these executives got names?”
“Certainly.”
“Are they an official secret?”
“I thought I would wait to introduce you, and that way you could associate the name with the being.”
“Max, we’re going to be stuck on this ship for six more hours. If you haven’t got six hours of details to give me, let me have their names.”
“The Thrale is Toblinda, the human is Malcolm Shea, the three Gaborian vice presidents are Kchang, Ktee, and Kmorn, and the new chairman is Ktamborit.”
“She’s got extra syllables,” I noted.
“I gather she just added them,” replied Max. “She was Ktam, but her new position allowed her to add to her name.”
“Strange custom,” I said, ignoring our own custom of sharing surnames after marriage. “How about the victim?”
“It gets confusing,” said Max. “He was Kdineka, but now that he’s dead and no longer in a position of power he’s once again Kdin.”
“And that’s everyone who’s on the planet?”
“No, there’s also Kdin’s physician.”
“Another Gaborian, I presume?”
“Yes. His name is Bdale.”
“With a B, not a K?” I asked.
“He’s a doctor,” said Max, as if that explained it.
“All right,” I said. “So we’ve got seven suspects.”
“I thought we had five.”
“You think a doctor has never committed a murder?” “Doctors save people,” said Max sincerely.
“Doctors are subject to the same greed and fear and lust and out-and-out stupidity that affects non-doctors.”
“I see,” said Max, who sounded like he didn’t see at all. “But surely Ktamborit is not a suspect.”
“She was there. He was killed. She’s a suspect.”
I’d never seen a beachball shrug before. “Well, that’s why we hired you. We know nothing about murder and the motivations that would lead someone to such a heinous crime.”
“Of course you do,” I said. “You just haven’t been asked to apply what you know.”
Another shrug. “Probably you are right.”
“Now tell me about the crime scene. Have you cordoned it off?”
“The crime scene?” he repeated in puzzled tones.
“The place where Kdin was killed.”
“It will be of no use to you, Jake,” said Max.
I grimaced. “You’ve walked all over it.”
“Certainly not. But he collapsed and died almost six hundred meters beyond the dome. Visibi
lity on Graydawn is extremely limited, and the winds whip across the surface at an average of forty kilometers per hour, often double that at night. And he has been dead for almost three days. There will be nothing to discover there, Jake,” he concluded apologetically.
“All right,” I said. “There’s a second crime scene.”
“There is?” he asked, surprised.
“If we can’t learn anything from where Kdin died, maybe we can learn something from where his protective suit was tampered with—or at least, at the most likely place for it to have been tampered with.”
“Ah! The area where they keep the protective suits!”
“Why are you smiling?” I asked.
“I left a team of Order Keepers on Graydawn, and I instructed one of them to guard the suits and let no one near them. I did something right!”
“I’m sure you’ve done a lot of things right,” I said. “Keeping the muscle in orbit was probably the most important of them.”
“Really?” Max’s alien smile got bigger.
“One of these seven is a killer. Six of the seven employ armed bodyguards whose loyalty is more likely to be to them than the law. We don’t need them bucking for promotion once we make an arrest.”
“I knew it was a reasonable thing to do!” said Max, looking as proud of himself as an animated beachball can look.
“You’re not stupid, you’re just inexperienced,” I said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I acknowledge the truth of that.”
“Sometimes the quickest way to solve a crime is with a pair of fresh eyes that don’t know what to look for, that bring a new perspective to the problem,” I said. “Any time you have an idea, don’t be afraid to come to me with it. I can use all the help I can get.”
“I will, Jake.” He extended his hand, and this time when I took it it wasn’t trembling. “I’ve never had a partner before. This is going to be most exciting.”
“If we both live through it,” I said.
The trembling started again.
We emerged from the wormhole and reached Graydawn an hour after that. The whole planet was shrouded in a chlorine fog that looked more green than gray. I didn’t want to chance an instrument landing with no spaceport helping us out with coordinates, so I radioed the retreat and told them to send up the shuttle.
While we were waiting for it, our sensors spotted the other ships in orbit, and a thought occurred to me.
“Max,” I said, “there aren’t too many places a legitimate executive is going to find his muscle. Check and see if any of them ever worked homicide or forensics.”
“I thought you’d contacted your forensic expert,” he said.
“I did. But he’ll be another day, and he won’t show up here first anyway. I sent him to your world, where they’ve stashed the body and the suit. Who knows? There might be something here your people have missed. The sooner we look for it, the better.” “I’ll get right on it,” said the rotund alien.
He began contacting the ships, while I had the computer transfer all the information we had on the cartel and its veeps to a small glowing cube that I put in a pocket. I had it make a second one, and handed it to Max. He looked up after a few minutes. “There are three former police officers,” he announced. “But none of them ever worked homicide.”
“Any telepaths?”
“No.”
“Too bad,” I said. “We could have used a mind reader.”
“I suppose we could send for one,” offered Max.
I considered it, then shook my head. “No. There are only a handful of telepathic races in the galaxy, and everyone knows what they look like.”
“What difference does that make?” asked Max. “I mean, if I was a telepath, I would be able to read your thoughts whether you knew what I was or not.”
I couldn’t repress a smile. “I can tell you haven’t had much crime on your world.”
“I don’t understand, Jake.”
“Unless we can get a telepath who works for the cops, whose loyalty is unquestioned, he could look into the killer’s mind and see a silent offer of five million credits to finger someone else— after all, five million is probably just pin money to these six. Or he could see an image of himself being dismembered by the killer’s muscle the second he leaves the planet if he tells what he knows.” I shook my head. “No, if his integrity isn’t already established, we can’t take the chance.”
“I think I chose the right person to head the investigation,” said Max admiringly. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“That’s probably why I’ve lived so long in this goddamned business.” I lit a smokeless cigarette. It tasted sour—the first few drags always do—and looked around the ship. “Is there anything else we have to do before the shuttle arrives?”
Max uttered the code for the armory in his native tongue. The door irised and he reached in, found a pair of burners and a pair of screechers. They were made for alien hands, but I decided I could use them, and I took one of each, while he appropriated the other two.
“How about a pulse gun?” I asked.
He looked. “There aren’t any.”
“Five’ll get you ten they were sold on the black market by an underpaid civil servant.”
“No member of my race would do that,” he assured me. “You’d be surprised what members of any race will do when they get the chance,” I said.
“I don’t imagine we’ll need all this firepower anyway,” said Max. “I ordered my assistants to confiscate all the weapons in the retreat.”
I just stared at him.
“All right,” he said uneasily. “What did I miss, Jake?”
“This didn’t start out as a murder investigation,” I explained. “Everyone but the killer thought it was a heart attack or something similar. Your people took the body away for a quick autopsy and kept the six execs on Graydawn just as simple routine. No one knew until a couple of hours later that it was murder.”
“Of course!” he said suddenly. “The killer knew what the medical examination would show, and he had plenty of time to hide a weapon!”
I nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.”
What passed for his chest puffed out until I thought he might explode. “Thank you, Jake.” He stared at me thoughtfully. “Is there any way to codify the basic rules of your trade, some list I can refer to?”
“There’s nothing official, but I’ll give you some rules, and if you always keep them in mind, you should do okay.”
“Fine!” he said eagerly. “What are they?”
“Rule Number One is that everyone lies; guilty or innocent makes no difference. Rule Number Two is that nothing is ever as simple as it seems. And Rule Number Three is that the odds are always against the killer.”
“Why?”
“Most killers are new to murder. They’ve never done it before, and they tend to make beginner’s mistakes. Homicide cops deal with murder every day of the year. It’s old hat to them. They’ve seen it all, and they know how to spot those mistakes.” “But I don’t.”
“You’ll learn,” I said. “In the meantime, that’s why you’ve got me along.”
Max stared at me with a typically inscrutable alien expression. Finally he said, “Did anyone ever take a shot at you, Jake?” “From time to time.”
“No one ever shot at me,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if someone did.”
“Relax,” I said. “It’ll probably never happen.”
“But it’s happened to you,” he said nervously.
“It goes with the territory when you’re private,” I explained, trying to ease his fears. “No one cares if you kill a private eye, but kill a cop and they’ll turn the galaxy inside out hunting you down. People think twice before they shoot a cop.”
Max sighed, and little blue puffs of vapor shot out of his nostrils. “When I listen to you, I feel so overmatched.”
“If I didn’t think you’d pull your weight, I’d leave you on the ship,” I
said.
“Thank you, Jake,” he replied. “You just told me that everyone lies, but it is a lie that I appreciate.”
I was about to reply when the shuttle arrived, reached a long arm out to our hatch, and gave us a protected walkway so we didn’t have to get into our spacesuits.
“Wow!” I exclaimed as we entered the shuttle. “Kdin knew how to treat his guests, didn’t he?”
“It’s quite impressive,” said Max, surveying the chairs that could change shape to accommodate almost any race, the plush carpet, and the gleaming bar.
“I’ll bet you he’s got gold fixtures in the head,” I said. “This is some shuttle. I’ve had apartments that were smaller, and I’ve seen five-star hotel lobbies that weren’t as well-appointed.” “Smooth, too,” added Max. “You can barely feel the G’s as it enters the stratosphere.”
“I’ll bet it’s got so much protection that its nose doesn’t even glow when we hit the atmosphere,” I said.
“Excuse me,” said a mechanical voice. “May I offer you a drink?”
“Not for me,” I said. I hate drinking when a ship is decelerating. “How about you, Max?”
“What have you got?” Max asked the ship.
“I cannot identify your race,” replied the ship. “Therefore, I do not know what to offer you. What is your planet of origin?” “Bramanos,” answered Max.
“I have no such planet listed in my data bank.”
“Official name, Alpha Gillespie III,” responded Max.
“I have no record of a sentient race in the Alpha Gillespie system,” said the ship.
“Some programming!” snorted Max contemptuously. “You’re in the Alpha Gillespie system right now! You ply your trade here.” “May I have a blood or saliva sample, please? That will help me to classify you.”
“Forget it,” said Max disgustedly.
“Bad choice of words,” I said in amusement.
He gave me a puzzled look.
“You just ordered it to forget that there’s a sentient race in the system.”
“Let the next member of my race worry about it.”
Alien Crimes Page 7
