The Cause of Death

by Roger MacBride Allen

  "We have to do more than that," said Jamie. "There has been a political murder. We can't assume there won't be more killings. We can't exclude the possibility of a conspiracy, a coup. And the conspirators might still be at work--and watching. I would advise that we work on the assumption that we are being observed. Any number of groups or individuals might want to keep an eye on us."

  "A sensible assumption," said Brox. "But let us not be paralyzed by our own precautions. I would suggest that we start discussions--and I would suggest that our first task should be to assemble a list of likely suspects. I would be interested in hearing the thoughts of my colleagues on that point."

  In other words, you want to see our cards before you show your own, Hanna thought.

  "With what we've just discussed in mind," Jamie went on, "I won't mention names out loud. I'll write them." He took out a pen and a piece of paper and jotted down a list of suspects.

  Hannah caught Brox's quizzical, amused expression as he watched Jamie work. No doubt he thought writing on paper was hopelessly old-fashioned. Let him think what he wanted. It beat all the "modern" techniques when it came to easy and reliable security. No power sources to monitor or code impulses to intercept, no forgotten backup copies that didn't get erased.

  Jamie finished writing, then shoved the paper across the table to Darsteel.

  "I would strongly suggest that everyone on that list be placed in protective custody at once," Jamie said. "As a safety precaution, in case one of them turns out to be a suspect instead of a potential victim, I would also advise that they not be allowed to talk with each other. Don't let them return to their homes before picking them up--just in case their homes contain concealed dangers, the way the Thelm's chamber did. In fact, I would suggest that each of their homes be checked very carefully for traps while the owners are in protective custody."

  Darsteel looked at the list, then slid it across the table to Brox. "A sensible idea," Darsteel said blandly. "But what if an overzealous police commander misinterpreted this suggestion and ordered the persons listed here to be kept away from each other in order to prevent conspiracies from forming, or to prevent those on it from talking together and getting their stories straight? And an overzealous police commander might even let that check for traps and weapons degenerate into a full-blown search for evidence."

  "Well, if that happened, it certainly would be unexpected," said Jamie.

  "Be prepared to be surprised," Darsteel said drily.

  "Let me see that list," Hannah said. She read it over and looked up at Jamie. "You're casting your net pretty wide, aren't you? There are a few names I wouldn't have included."

  "I can guess which ones," said Jamie. "But I have my reasons--though I don't want to go into them here, when the walls might have ears."

  And you might have to talk through a few points you don't want to discuss with Brox in the room. "There's also a great big hole in this net--and it's such an obvious one that I'm going to risk discussing it out loud. I'm certain it's a name that's occurred to every one of us already--and to everyone else on the planet as well. We might as well talk it through. Why isn't the High Thelek on the list?"

  Jamie shrugged. "Acceptance of political reality. We're not going to be able to get him to go into protective custody or do a search of his property. That doesn't mean I didn't think of him. Obviously, he stands to gain from the Thelm's death. For no other reason than that, he ought to be considered a suspect."

  "Is it obvious?" asked Brox. "Again, I will not insult your intelligence by pretending I don't have a vested interest here--but I tell you again quite honestly, I for one haven't the faintest idea who succeeds under these circumstances. The Thelm is murdered by a person or persons unknown, but his son lives, guilty of treason for a reason that is now obviously moot. Do you know, Darsteel? Does anyone know?"

  Darsteel turned his hands palms up. "I have no knowledge," he said. "'The son rules what his wife receives from his father.' That little catchphrase is all one usually needs to know. But, needless to say, I will find out."

  "There is someone who does know," Hannah said. "Whoever committed the murder. I suppose there is just some bare chance that the Thelm was killed at this exact moment for some totally unrelated reason. Maybe someone with an old grudge even picked a moment when we'd all assume it was a political murder--but I doubt it. Whoever did this did it because of how it would affect the succession. He or she was trying to pick the next Thelm. And with all due respect, Brox, that goes double for the High Thelek."

  Jamie took back the paper from Hannah and wrote something else down. "This might be hard to check on, or it might be dead easy," he said, "depending on how closely the Thelm's security people watch his guests. But it would be useful to know if you find it out." Jamie paused for a moment. "And one other thing. Two items that need to be searched for and found. I'll write down where I think the first ought to be. If you find the second--that ought to break the case wide open."

  Darsteel took the paper, read over the additions that Jamie had made, then folded it without showing it to Brox or Hannah. "I think it would be best for all concerned if those instructions were kept as closely held as possible," he said.

  "I would like to know what he wrote down," said Brox.

  "And I would like to keep this case under some sort of control," said Darsteel. "If there is a leak of this information to the High Thelek, we will know it cannot have come from you."

  Brox looked irritated, then shrugged in resignation. "Very well. I will not press the point," he said. "But there is one other aspect of the evidence we must discuss. I've done some fire-crime cases in my time. I have neglected to emphasize one point, because it was obvious to me, and I treated it as a given. However, it might not be evident to the unpracticed eye. I can tell you flat out that the fire in that room had nothing to do with the actual attack on the Thelm. Oh, they were done by the same person, at the same time, of course--but I think we're meant to believe that it was sparks or debris or some such from the rocket-gun shot that started the fire."

  "That's not at all uncommon," said Darsteel. "The rocket-gun projectiles do tend to ignite things."

  "But this time they didn't," said Brox. "Something else did. There were several scorch marks on various unburned surfaces--the carpet the Thelm was on, for example. It was damaged by the fire, but it did not burn. I am almost certain those scorches were caused by someone aiming a pocket firestarter directly at those surfaces at full blast. When that didn't work, that someone used some sort of accelerant--a liquid that burns fast and hot--and splashed it around the room, and set fire to that. Some places it managed to ignite whatever it was on, and there are other places--such as that apparently fireproof carpet--where just the surface layer is charred or melted. Those are places where the accelerant itself burned up, but nothing else did."

  "So the fire did not start as an incidental or unintended consequence of the rocket-gun shot. The assailant set the fire in a separate act, after the murder," said Darsteel.

  "As we discussed earlier, I think we can assume the Thelm would have objected if the fire was set while he was still alive," said Brox.

  "That begs a couple of questions," said Hannah. "Presumably, the fire was set in order to conceal or destroy something--evidence of some sort. But what was it supposed to destroy--and did it manage to do the job? Is the whatever-it-was still here?"

  "I don't see any way of answering that question just yet," said Darsteel.

  "But it does make me think of something else that needs checking," said Jamie. He took another sheet of paper, scribbled for a moment, and handed the note to Darsteel.

  Darsteel read it with a puzzled expression. "I assume you know this is a bad time and place for making jokes," he said.

  "I do know that," Jamie said. "That's a serious and important request. And don't forget--I want to see a duplicate of the weapon and the ammunition that killed the Thelm--and yes, dummy ammunition will do fine."

  "If you are serious, I
will make the inquiry. And you will get the gun and some dummy rounds. But, speaking of pocket firestarters--" He folded the two notes together once, then pulled a starter from the pocket of his blouse and set fire to the paper. Darsteel let the notes burn almost completely before dropping them to the table. "It will all get done," he said to them all.

  Hannah smiled as they watched the last of the paper burning. Another demonstration of the advantages of the simple, the low-tech, approach to security. It was far from the first such proof. It was only a few hours ago, after all, that the Thelm himself had simply sat quietly in the next room and thus defeated security gear as sophisticated as--

  Suddenly she sat bolt upright. "Burning devils!" she said. "Jamie! The Stannlar coins! They could be listening gear as well as jammers."

  Hannah pulled hers out of her pocket and threw it on the table. Jamie scrabbled in his breast pocket, extracted his coin, and threw it down next to Hannah's.

  "You've got to destroy those," said Hannah to Darsteel.

  "What in the worlds are they?" the Pavlat asked. "What is the matter with both of you?"

  Hannah explained as quickly and as briefly as she could what the coins were and where--or rather who--they had come from. "We haven't had any chance to test them in any meaningful way," said Hannah. "So we can't know for sure if they are jammers. They probably are--but they could be listening devices as well. The Stannlar are good at electronics, and they supposedly use a whole range of pseudoetheric wavelengths no one else even knows how to detect, let alone use."

  "So there is at least a chance that your noble Stannlar allies have heard everything you have said and done these past several hours?" Brox demanded.

  "Possible, yes," said Jamie. "But not very likely."

  "Why do you think it unlikely?" Brox demanded. "Because the Stannlar are so good and noble? In my experience, they regard individual sentient beings as being about as expendable as those ghastly little subcreatures they are constantly unleashing and retrieving."

  "I think it unlikely because that's a mighty small coin into which to fit a full jamming system, plus a concealed microphone, plus a pseudoetheric transmitter, plus a power source," Jamie said irritably.

  "Quiet, all of you!" said Darsteel, scooping up the coins. "I will see to it that the devices are destroyed at once. However, my task has just been made that much harder. Now I must work on the assumption that the Stannlar have heard everything we have said and done." He glared at the humans. "I hope there will be no further errors of this sort."

  Jamie looked at Hannah, then back at Darsteel. "Today has been a bad day for mistakes," he admitted. "But we'll do our best."

  "I am glad to hear it," said Darsteel. "But I can't count on your not making further mistakes--or on your absolute discretion. I must take precautions." He held up his hand, gesturing for them all to remain quiet. "Before you can swear mighty oaths that everything will be kept confidential, let me be blunt. When my superiors finally get organized enough to demand to know what I have been doing, I cannot tell them I have relied on the promises of aliens for the security of the investigation. Not if I want to keep my job--or perhaps even my life."

  Darsteel turned to Brox. "I must know as a matter of certainty, and be able to tell them, that it was physically impossible for you to warn the Thelek, your patron--who you have at least tacitly conceded is a suspect--of what evidence is being sought."

  He turned toward the two humans. "And I must be certain that you cannot warn your fellow human Georg Herztmann of what might be coming. None of the three of you will leave these apartments until I decide otherwise. Nor will you communicate with anyone except me, face-to-face, whenever I see fit to come and make a report, or to consult with you. However, couriers might bring papers, materials, evidence to examine--as I see fit. Food and drink will be brought to you."

  Darsteel paused, and went on in a gentler tone. "I apologize, but I expect you would take the same precautions if the roles were reversed. I doubt that it will be necessary to hold you here more than a day or two."

  "But what about--" Jamie began.

  Darsteel went right on talking, ignoring Jamie completely. "While we were examining the crime scene, my people fitted locks and bolts to the outside of the door, then entered here and removed all personal articles, on the off chance that one of them might contain a concealed communications device or the like. You two humans will find coveralls in your respective rooms. They are cut to fit a Pavlat, but they ought to do for now. You will change into them and turn your present garments over to me, once again on the chance that your present garments conceal listening devices or communicators."

  Jamie opened his mouth, ready to argue, but Hannah held up her hand to quiet him. "We accept--under protest, but we accept." She turned to Jamie, who still didn't look happy. "We don't have many cards to play here," she said to him quietly. "I think we might do better by going along."

  Jamie shrugged and nodded wearily. "Sure. Why not? We don't have anything much left in the way of usable hardware, anyway."

  "We'll cooperate," said Hannah, "but only on the condition that Brox is required to turn over all his clothing and gear." Which will probably hurt him more than us. He actually has functioning police equipment.

  "I was about to instruct him to do that," Darsteel said.

  "And I protest," said Brox, half-rising.

  "Protest if you like, but you have no choice but to comply. You will turn over your clothes and equipment and remain here."

  "But there is no accommodation for a Kendari. Everything is built to suit humans!"

  "We will provide suitable bedding and so forth," Darsteel said. "You can sleep here in the common room. It will be up to you--to all of you--to make the best of it."

  "Why can't I be placed in a separate apartment?"

  "Because I have no time and precious few subordinates I can trust, because the Spirit of Reqwar alone knows how many others I may need to lock up tonight, and because half the Keep is still off-limits for use because of the fire!" Darsteel half shouted. "I have enough to deal with as it is. Do not make my night harder or longer than it will be already."

  Hannah regarded their host with interest. She had no doubt the temper, the anger, the exhaustion were real--but somehow she had the sense he was using his emotions just a trifle. All his reasons were valid--but that did not mean they were his only reasons. Darsteel had to know of the rivalry between the two species, how improbable it was that they would willingly plot together. If the humans and the Kendari were all locked up in one place, he could save on a few guards. The two species would simply keep watch on each other for him.

  Brox glared at Darsteel, but sat himself back down at the table--though it was hard to miss the tip of his tail twitching furiously. "Very well," he said calmly. "I understand the need, and accept the inevitable--but I do not like it, and I give you fair warning that the Kendari authorities will register the strongest possible protest. There may well be consequences for this act."

  "I will take that risk," said Darsteel, and he stood up to leave. "Orderlies will be in soon to collect your clothing and bring in food, water, replacement clothing, and bedding."

  He bowed gracefully, in perfect form, and left. The door swung shut behind him, and they could hear the bolts being slammed home.

  The room was deathly quiet for a moment, but then Hannah spoke. "Well," she said brightly, "what shall we talk about?"

  TWENTY-TWOTHEORIES

  Allabex and Cinnabex both stopped all motion and activity when it happened. First signal number HB2XR7 from Special Agent Mendez's device died, and then, seconds later, the signal from number X3477B, the unit given to Senior Special Agent Wolfson. They both sensed each signal die, like the touch of a hand being withdrawn, a song cut off in midnote. They waited a moment, to see if the devices given to the Hertzmann family would go as well--but no, for the moment at least, those three remained online.

  But the two sudden silences sent a message as clear as any words spo
ken aloud. Fear and distrust were spreading, strengthening. Events were moving toward a crisis.

  Without a word exchanged between them, the two Stannlar returned to their preparations with redoubled speed.

  * * *

  Hannah had meant her question to be ironic, but Brox 231 was in no mood to parse the subtleties of human wit. He knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, loudly and forcefully. He wanted someone to get him a proper sleep-sling, and something to eat, and some sort of civilized arrangement for Kendari sanitary needs.

  Fortunately, someone on Darsteel's staff had already had the sense to contact Hotel Number Two, which had at least some Kendari-suitable gear in stock, including a complicated-looking hammock arrangement that Brox conceded was more or less acceptable as a sleep-sling, and a remarkably compact, portable, fully hygienic and completely self-contained refresher unit suitable for Kendari. Getting that and his sleep-sling into their suite and setting it all up took most of an hour. The new equipment filled up most of the common room, but they would all be able to manage. Somehow.

  But once it was done Jamie could shut the door on the outside world, and sleep, uninterrupted, for the first time since his arrival on Reqwar, on something more or less like the beds back home--even if the mattress was too hard and the sheets were somehow slippery and scratchy at the same time.

  Simple exhaustion should have had him dead to the world the moment his head hit the pillow--but instead his eyes snapped open, and his mind started racing. What had happened? Who had done it? And why?

  Better to start at the beginning, with the solid facts. They knew that the gun in the Thelm's hand had malfunctioned in spectacular fashion, and very likely had been sabotaged. The Thelm died with his finger on the trigger, and several of the fragments he had seen in the wound looked the right size and shape to be part of the missing endcap of the gun.