The Cause of Death

by Roger MacBride Allen

  "Maybe Plan A was to load a backfire round into his long gun. That way you'd kill him the next time he goes shooting, and you don't have to goad him into reaching for a decorative pistol in his office. Then, for whatever reason, the killer went to Plan B. Of course, it might even be that the killer had the rounds in stock for some other reason, some other intended attack, and simply reached for the tool at hand when he or she decided to kill the Thelm."

  "So what does that tell us?" Brox demanded.

  "That the killer has been on Reqwar long enough to learn about these rocket guns, perhaps long enough to make some contacts with someone willing to come up with a few suicide rounds for sale. Or maybe the killer dreamed them up independently, or found the plans for them on the reference net somewhere and worked from there, and the round was homemade. There hasn't been any chance to analyze the remains of the round that buried itself in the Thelm's chest. Once that's done, it might tell us a lot. But it already tells us that the killer has been preparing to kill someone for a while."

  "And you two have just arrived," said Brox. "You exonerate yourselves."

  Jamie shrugged. "What's the harm in that? It's a start. It eliminates two suspects. I would suggest that it also tends to exonerate Lady Zahida. She has only been on-planet for a month or two, and was keeping well clear of politics until her great-uncle dragged her into them on his behalf."

  "Ah, but let us not forget the Reqwar Pavlat fondness for gestures and romance," said Brox. "It was a canceled duel that ruined her family. What more fitting means of revenge than a dueling pistol? It might well be that Bindulan himself gave her precise instructions on what to do, so as to heighten the drama and the justice of it all."

  "That might make sense," Hannah conceded. "At least, to a member of the Pavlat nobility. But it's out of character for Zahida, somehow. If she wanted to kill you, she'd just go ahead and do it. She's no fan of all the conspiracies and alliances."

  "So she didn't do it because this sort of murder isn't her style?" Brox snorted with derision. "As for her rejecting the complex web of alliance and loyalty--let me just point out that she risked her life to save the two of you because her great-uncle, from who knows how many light-years away, told her to do so. And she returned from off-planet to face a dreary future--when so instructed."

  "I'll give you a much stronger argument against her being a suspect," said Jamie. "I think the scratches and bruises on the Thelm's arm also tend to exonerate Zahida--and just about any other possible Pavlat suspect."

  "How so?" Brox demanded.

  "Because the only possible reason for clawing at his hand after death that way would be to try to get the gun out of it--and any Pavlat would know that was impossible. I think the killer's original plan called for removing the gun, leaving the Thelm dead, with no sign that he had shot himself."

  "Except that the fragments of the suicide round's cartridge endcap were embedded in his body," said Brox, "and there were scorch marks from the rocket exhaust on his hand, and--"

  "I know, I know, I know," said Jamie. "But I'm suggesting that this was a very last-minute plan, put together in a rush. Maybe not thought through all the way, or maybe the perpetrator knew perfectly well what at least some of the flaws were, but just didn't have any way to fix them, or else was trusting in the fire to destroy the inconvenient evidence."

  "All right," said Hannah. "A Pavlat like Zahida would of course know about the clasp reflex death grip. I agree that does at least strongly tend to exonerate her."

  "The death grip issue shows that the killer's actions can tell us what he or she did and didn't know," said Jamie. "The crime scene evidence doesn't just tell us what the killer's plan was--it tells went wrong with the plan."

  "Okay," said Hannah, leaning forward a bit over the table. "I can see that with the death grip. Go on. Tell me more."

  "This next is a bit of a stretch--but only a bit," said Jamie. "Why would the killer want to get rid of the gun, except to conceal the fact that the Thelm was the one to pull the trigger? Can either of you think of another reason? I can't."

  Hannah shook her head. Brox snorted. "That we can't think of any reason does not mean there was no reason," he said. "But go on. We'll accept your argument, for the moment, anyway."

  "Put the failed attempt to remove the gun together with the shoe print, and I think it's fairly clear that the killer either was Georg, or else was trying to frame Georg for the murder. The weird thing in this case, of course, is that it would benefit Georg to be guilty of, or framed for, the killing--but the killer would benefit as well, by literally getting away with murder. There were lots of people who might have private reasons for killing the Thelm. So, assuming it wasn't Georg, we can't assume that making Georg Thelm of all Reqwar was the motive."

  "But suppose Georg wasn't the killer, and wouldn't cooperate with the frame-up, because he wanted the killer caught?" Hannah asked.

  "Then the killer might have a problem," Jamie conceded. "But it might at least seem a risk worth taking. But let's get back to what the crime scene tells us. What happened next?"

  "Either Georg the killer left a shoe print behind, in a very awkward spot, or else the killer did it for him--and I think it was obvious to all of us how unlikely that shoe print was--a single, perfect print, all by itself like that." said Hannah.

  "I'm no biped, obviously," said Brox, "but I wondered about that myself. Even you humans had to more or less wedge yourselves in between the door and the knocked-over plant to see the shoe print--and the print had to be made after the plant fell over, because it was in the dirt spilled out from the plant's pot."

  "But why just one shoe print?" Hannah asked. "Why not leave a whole trail of both feet all over the place? It would be more plausible, if you did it right."

  "Maybe the killer couldn't do it right," said Jamie. "A Pavlat would have a lot of trouble putting on human shoes and leaving prints that were convincingly spaced and so on. Or maybe because the killer only had the right shoe.

  "Darsteel's people have found the left shoe in Marta's apartments. The right shoe, the one that made the prints, is missing. For whatever reason, the killer only had one shoe, and wisely decided not to leave a half dozen right shoe prints and no left shoe prints. Under the circumstances, leaving one shoe print was probably the safest course. As for where the print was, the killer didn't have much choice. After all, if not the dirt from the pot, what else was there in the room that would take a clear print?"

  "What about the beverages in the bottles that were on the table? The liquid from those bottles pooled up nicely. A shoe could have stepped in that and made a good print."

  "I don't think those bottles had been knocked over yet when the killer was placing that shoe print," said Jamie, after considering for a moment. "Or they might have been, but weren't related to it. I think they were part of starting the fire. But I'll come to that."

  "It's flimsy stuff, but this business about the shoes and the shoe print and the missing shoe does weaken Georg as the suspect," Brox admitted. "He would have been wearing both shoes, and would have been able to leave a real-looking set of prints--because they would be real."

  "Good," Jamie said, just glad to have Brox offering something more or less positive. "But now we do come to the fire, which I am starting to think wasn't part of the original plan. That there was a shoe print tells us we're supposed to think Georg did it. That there is only one print, and that the shoe that made it is missing, tells us that it probably wasn't Georg. But the other big glaring thing that makes it not look like Georg is the killer is a dead Thelm with a booby-trapped gun in his hand. If Georg were killing in order to claim his rights, he would do it as, as clearly as he could, so everyone would know he did it."

  "Ah, but let us not forget his high and noble Pax Humana oath," said Brox. "If for some reason--such as fear of his daughter's being shipped to Penitence--he suddenly felt the need to kill the Thelm at once--he might still wish to kill secretly, in order to avoid bringing shame on the organ
ization, or himself. Perhaps Pax Humana even suspects something of the sort, and that is why they have avoided getting involved."

  Jamie considered it. "I see your point," he conceded. "But he'd have to know the dangers of getting caught would be awfully high. Even if Georg had some other motive beside the Thelmship for the murder--"

  "Such as not wanting to be shipped out to Penitence," said Hannah.

  "Even if Georg had some other motive, it would still make lots of sense for him to use his legal obligation to commit the killing as a cover story for his real motives. And if he was willing to kill, I think he might be willing to risk looking bad in front of the PH in exchange for making himself safe--and gaining control of the planet."

  "Or at least maybe the real killer figured out something along those lines," said Hannah. "He decides to kill the Thelm and pin it on George, knows the gun in the Thelm's hand doesn't fit the picture--but then can't get the gun away from the Thelm. So, the killer sets the fire, in hopes of getting everything to burn enough to hide the fact that the Thelm was holding the gun."

  "Things would have to burn pretty completely to hide that fact," Brox objected.

  "But the killer could at least hope that the local cops would foul up the crime scene so no one would be able to tell," said Hannah. "Maybe our killer is even someone with the power to arrange that sort of foul-up, perhaps ahead of time. But I doubt it, especially if the plan was improvised at the last minute."

  "Then why not set fire to the body directly?" Brox demanded.

  "Our killer is no hardened professional," Jamie said. "Revulsion. Guilt. Shame. An unwillingness to see the corpse start burning. Maybe just panic. And let's not forget our amateur killer had just been clawing at the dead hand of the planet's ruler, while he lies there with a burned-meat smell rising from the smoking hole in his chest. The fact that someone wouldn't be thinking clearly at such a time shouldn't be all that much of a shock."

  "The killer actually did try to burn the body directly, or nearly so," said Hannah. "You said yourself there were several scorch marks from a firestarter, and from a burning liquid, on the carpet he was on."

  "Or maybe the cold-blooded, carefully worked-out plan was to burn the wooden ceiling and collapse it into the room, literally adding more fuel to the fire, so as to hide the evidence that way," said Brox. "If the fire floaters had gotten there a few minutes later, that's likely what would have happened."

  "In any event, our killer tries several ways, and several times, to ignite the room. The killer tries to light the carpet--then tries dumping out the contents of all the beverage bottles onto the carpet, and lighting that."

  Brox drummed his fingers on the table. "But what good would that do? The Pavlat don't drink anything with volatiles in it. The bottles on that table would have contained sophisticated Pavlat intoxicants, but those don't have anything in them that burns."

  "I guessed that, but I didn't know it for sure until you told me," Jamie said.

  "But then the killer did find some sort of supply of flammable liquid to serve as an accelerant," Brox observed. "The signs of a fire set that way were absolutely classic."

  "And I have a guess as to what that supply was," said Jamie. "But I want to hold off on that until we hear from Darsteel."

  Brox was still drumming his fingers distractedly, staring into space. "Your logic is good," he conceded, with a certain reluctance apparent in his voice. "But we must wait and see how closely it resembles events in the real world."

  They did not have to wait long. At that exact moment, there was a thud and a rattle on the other side of the door of their apartment. The door swung open, and an exhausted-looking Darsteel in a mussed and rumpled uniform came in.

  The two humans stood up, and Brox got up off his haunches. There was something in Darsteel's set, weary, worried expression that told them things had turned upside down.

  "It would appear you're free to go," he said without preamble. "There have been developments. A lot of them. Enough that it looks like we won't need you anymore."

  TWENTY-FOURCONCLUSIONS

  Darsteel had had a monster of a night. Locking up his three tame alien lawkeepers was only the start of it--though it did cross his mind that locking them up like that might give him a new murder case or two to solve in the morning. If so, his sympathies were limited. He had not the faintest idea who had killed his Thelm, or why, but it was fairly plain to see that it wouldn't have happened if not for aliens coming in and stirring things up.

  But he had more aliens than his three pet lawkeepers to worry about. There were the Stannlar. How to keep the two Consortia isolated from each other, or the comm net, when they were in effect permanently linked to both?

  He solved the twin problems, or at least dealt with them both, by throwing personnel and equipment at them. He ordered three whole squads to surround the building, and another to enter it and "observe" the Stannlar. He sent in his best snooper team as well, with orders to intercept and record all the comm they could, but with authority to jam every possible frequency as they judged best. The Stannlar were reputed to use several impossible frequencies, but it was the best he could do. He told the snoopers to be as blatant and obvious as they could be setting up their equipment. With any luck, the Stannlar would be sufficiently intimidated by the show of force and the sight of the comm gear not to try anything.

  The other aliens still at large--Georg Hertzmann and his family--were physically easier to control--but politically speaking, they were even more dangerous than the Stannlar. Georg Hertzmann might be his Thelm by morning--might, indeed, be his Thelm already, if it turned out to be a case where succession was automatic. And yet, tonight Darsteel had to arrest all three of the Hertzmanns, keep them separate from each other, and keep them from returning to their quarters.

  In the event, keeping them away from their quarters was easier to do than he thought. The Keep had been kept sealed after evacuation for "safety" reasons. Of course, the real reason was security. Nearly all of the Keep was intact and undamaged--and Darsteel needed places to keep people under control--such as the three aliens he had locked up in there.

  Those displaced by the evacuation were herded into various nearby outbuildings, or sent to find places for themselves in the town. Georg and his family had been placed in reasonably comfortable rooms in a gatekeeper's cottage. Darsteel simply decided to leave them there. Darsteel found one of his most diligent and stubborn-minded subordinates, and told him to split the Hertzmanns up, and keep them split up, no matter how much they--meaning Marta Hertzmann--protested. They were not to have the chance to compare notes or get their stories straight.

  Future Thelm or not, Georg Hertzmann had been in no mood to debate the issue. His wife had been another matter, raising eight different kinds of ruckus and demanding that she and her daughter be allowed to return to their apartments in the Keep. That plainly wasn't going to happen with fire officials and safety inspectors swarming all over the place, and the local police finally getting organized enough to take their turn at the crime scene. And, meantime, the corpse of Thelm Lantrall still lay sprawled on the floor of his Private Audience Chamber. That state of affairs could not be tolerated much longer--and it wasn't. An hour after dawn, the corpse was removed by a most respectful team from the coroner's office. Darsteel made it doubly and triply clear that their examination was to be accurate, detailed, and precise--and not so respectful of the dead that there was scarcely any point in holding a postmortem at all.

  At the same time, Darsteel had had to find and secure the person of Zahida Halztec. She hadn't been hard to find, and was so distraught that she was far less of a problem to manage than he had feared. She allowed herself to be filed away in another commandeered room in another outbuilding. But she, too, was a person it might well be dangerous to trifle with. Her family's honor had been besmirched a generation or two back--but she had been granted the power of the Thelm's Hand, at least in a limited circumstance. That showed the favor of the old Thelm, and clea
rly enhanced her status. And it was known that she had met with Georg Hertzmann--who might be the new Thelm. It was not hard to see how she might grow to be powerful, influential. It would be wise to handle her gently, just in case the day dawned when she was in a position to remember how she had been handled--and do something about it.

  Which left only the High Thelek. Darsteel reluctantly decided to leave him alone. He would have had to recruit and arm a whole regiment of lawkeepers just to take the Thelek into custody. The odds of the Thelek's cooperating with an effort to detain or secure him were zero--and the odds of any attempt to compel him going horribly wrong were close to a certainty.

  That much accomplished, there was nothing more to do than to send lawkeepers to follow up on the young human investigator's odd queries, obtain a binding legal opinion regarding the succession, dispatch investigators to organize interrogations of witnesses, send further lawkeepers out to check on the whereabouts of various opponents of the Thelm, on the off chance that this was a more routine, home-grown, political murder, and order searches, where possible, of the various premises of the persons he had detained. In other words, a lifetime's worth of work that had to be done within a few hours--and that was just the start of it all. A thousand other details, some mundane and trivial, some utterly essential, had to be managed as well.

  And then the reports started to come in--the answers to the questions he had asked, the results of the searches, updates on the prisoners--correction, the persons in protective custody. One of the those protective custody reports brought Darsteel up short.

  It seemed that his diligent subordinate had been a little too diligent. The Herztmann's little girl, Moira, had been kept separate from both parents and confined in a room by herself. Apparently Moira had been exhibiting a quite remarkable series of hysterical tantrums.