by Lee Killough
“After giving him her stare that will bore holes in titanium to remind him who is higher on the food chain, and letting him sweat, she gave permission. Since they had the suit there already. Stipulating, however, that we supervise.” He tapped the image.
The new one had the time code 13:13. A dark-haired officer appeared, followed by Titus carrying a red and yellow bundle under his arm, with Doubrava bringing up the rear.
Mama said, “You’re there because . . .”
“The chief wanted no doubt about supervision and, I think, someone present with the authority to take immediate action in case of trouble.”
The group entered the morgue. Two and a half minutes later, Doubrava hauled Titus out with the jon’s face twisted in fury and his wrist cranked in a comealong hold. Shortly the other officer slunk out and away.
Janna raised her brows. “What happened?”
Doubrava struggled with his expression, which seemed on the verge of a grin. Finally, mouth under control, he said, “A huge, unprofessional oversight, to start with. We— I forgot to consider rigor mortis. Inexcusable considering how often the subject came up at our dinner table.”
Janna calculated. Roughly eight hours since Chenoweth died . . . an individual in good health and physically active before dying. Both factors speeding onset. “The body was in full rigor?”
Doubrava took a tighter hold on his mouth. “Stiff as a board, arms crossed on his chest. A big shock for Titus, who obviously never thought about it either. How were we going to dress Chenoweth like that, he wanted to know. I started to say, simple, we’d come back the next day after rigor passed, but then Officer Utley tugs on an arm to test rigidity and in doing so, pulls the body out of the open body bag and off the shelf square into himself. He reacts to being hit with a cold, stiff, naked body by swearing and jerking away. That deflects the body upward. Then he yelled, ‘Oh shit.’ and grabbed for it. Behind him, Titus and I went for it, too. Titus yelling. Utley got a hold first, reacted to the yell, and turned, with the body, which slammed Chenoweth’s legs into Titus’s face.”
Picturing the scene, Janna understood Doubrava’s struggle not to laugh.
“Titus then tried to punch Utley and seize the body. The laws of thermodynamics being what they are, however, he sent himself backward into a wall. Where I managed to get him in the comealong. I ordered Utley to return Chenoweth to the shelf, find hospital personnel to come assist with Titus, and then go back to Security for someone with at least an ounce to two between their ears to help me dress Chenoweth. Then make himself a presence in some distant section of the station well out of my sight. I promised Titus I would dress his friend and accomplish it carefully and respectfully.” Doubrava smiled wryly. “I didn’t mention breaking rigor in the arms.”
On the screen Doubrava talked to Titus, who had his color almost back to normal when two male hospital staffers appeared. Doubrava released the comealong hold, patted Titus’s shoulder, and sent him away with the staffers. Presumably for administration of a calmer.
Heaving a deep sigh, Doubrava disappeared back into the morgue.
“I thought I’d see how much of Chenoweth I could dress by myself.” He smiled. “Turns out, minus the dead weight he’d have been with gravity, it’s not difficult pulling pants up stiff legs.”
Doubrava reappeared in the door four minutes later.
“How did Chenoweth’s shins look?” Mama asked.
Doubrava hesitated, then shrugged. “I didn’t notice anything other than the old surgery scars. But . . . I wasn’t looking for more.”
So Titus might or might not have planted the data stick.
After waiting at the door for a bit, Doubrava disappeared back inside.
“I thought I’d have a try at straightening one arm, but realized it needed two people, one to pin the body while the other applied leverage to the arm.”
Frustration showed on his face, even at the cam’s distance from the morgue, when he reappeared in another minute and a half. This time he remained at the door, fingers drumming impatiently on the frame, until the arrival of a female officer Viking built and Viking blond. Eight minutes later they left, coding the lock behind them.
“Breaking rigor on one arm was enough to let us work him into the rest of the suit.” Doubrava frowned at the screen. “If we’d given Titus his honor guard at the morgue, it might have prevented the smuggling.”
“Unless the data stick was already in place by that time. We need to talk to Titus,” Mama said.
“You mean me.” Doubrava’s casual tone did not lessen the emphasis. They might be here to examine the evidence but any actual investigation remained Security’s function. “First let’s see if anyone else shows up.” He tapped the image.
The time code changed to16:08. Leonard Fontana came through the near portal on the right.
Doubrava smiled. “I told you he rambles.”
Janna said, “I’m surprised we haven’t seen hospital staff sneaking down to see what explosive decompression looks like. There has to be curiosity and some fear about it.”
He shrugged that off. “Not much. The station feels safe . . . sturdy hull, redundant heat and air systems, portals that seal the modules in case of a breach — which we don’t expect to happen. Maybe we’ll have some gogglers after the shift change at eighteen hundred, but my information is Waller told the head nurse to spread the word through the staff there was nothing to see, no head blown into a big melon.”
Instead of moving to the morgue, Fontana remained by the portal, one hand holding it open.
Doubrava’s smile gave way to a puzzled frown. “That’s interesting.”
“Any idea what he’s doing there?” Mama asked.
“Aside from obviously waiting, none at all.”
Six minutes later Titus came through the portal.
Janna saw her surprise reflected in Mama and Doubrava’s faces.
“What the hell,” Doubrava breathed.
The two moved down the hall, where Fontana uncoded the door and led the way inside.
Janna watched the time code. Two minutes, three, four, five. All the suspicion of Fontana came flooding back. Damn, she wished the morgue had surveillance. “What if Titus and Fontana—”
“Fontana!” Doubrava snorted. “Not in a million years. This station is as much his baby as Lanour’s.”
Mama said, “Still, aren’t we obligated to look at everyone who visits the morgue? And they’ve been there . . . five and a half minutes now.”
“Fontana isn’t the smuggler. I promise you he’d rather lose limbs than—”
“Being closely identified with Lanour might endanger his tenure if the stockholders oust Lanour.”
“No. He knows his job is safe.”
Mama’s eyes narrowed. “You sound very sure.”
“I’m sure of Crispin Lanour.”
On the screen, Fontana and Titus left the morgue. Fontana took Titus’s hand in both of his and held it for several moments. His expression remained solemn as he watched Titus leave. But after Titus disappeared back through the portal where he entered and Fontana coded the morgue lock, his expression changed to a smile of satisfaction.
Doubrava sighed. “All right. Due diligence says to investigate everyone who’s been in there. Including me,” he added wryly. “But I’m sure there’s an innocent, legitimate explanation for what we’ve just seen.”
Who was he trying to convince? Them . . . or himself?
He abruptly focused past them. Janna recognized the expression of someone listening to an incoming communication. “Just fine,” he said. “It appears likely the data stick was planted while the body was in the morgue and we’re watching surveillance of the area.”
Geyer, Janna guessed. When he relaxed she pointed at his headset. “May we use a couple of those while we’re here?”
He brought his gaze back to her. “You don’t need headsets for com capability if you brought cells. I assume you did?”
They nodded.
Both he and Nakashima had now mentioned this Emporium. Janna ran a hand back over her hair. Might that be where to find Cloud-fem giving the haircuts the desk officer refer to? During a haircut one might hear useful chop.
“When you say station system,” Mama said, “I assume that’s a general one and Security’s is separate?”
Doubrava smiled. “Like your department’s communications on Earth.”
“How about giving us its code, too?”
Doubrava tapped away the current hall image. “It would be better to ask Geyer for that.”
Janna rated the odds of a yes there no better than being given scib/r-scan entry authorization for the office sally port.
At 18:05 the portal opposite the morgue opened to admit a tall, broad-shouldered, sandy-haired male in star-patterned blue scrubs. He crossed the hall in two long, gliding strides and uncoded the lock.
“Who’s he?” Janna asked.
Doubrava frowned. “I don’t recognize him.” He backscanned to catch the jon in the middle of the hall and enlarged the screen. But after studying the profile, he shook his head. “I still don’t know him. He could be a new arrival.”
“Acting very sure of himself for that,” Mama said.
Janna watched the time code. Six minutes passed before the jon recoded the lock. “That’s might be time enough to plant a data stick.”
Doubrava rubbed his chin. “The groove had to be exactly deep and long enough, no mistakes. You can’t hurry that.”
“He could have practiced,” Mama said. “Marked the drill for depth, maybe built a template for the groove length. He knew he needed to work fast, because he couldn’t be sure how much time he had.”
Doubrava eyed the screen. “He’s there at the hospital shift change. That gives him some leeway. But . . . I’m betting you’re right, he practiced. So . . .” He gave them a grim smile and enlarged another screen. “Here’s the portal he left through. Let’s see who we’re dealing with.”
Playing on the desk keyboard, he matched the time code on the portal opposite the morgue to that of the morgue hall image. The jon appeared on the screen coming through the portal. Maddingly, with chin tucked . . . revealing little of his face, just the sandy hair, a curve of forehead, and a nose.
“Bastard.” Doubrava bared his teeth. “You want to play that way, fine.” He tapped his desk and cleared the screen wall of all but the portal view. “Athena, identify this individual.”
Above them, a pleasant female voice said, “Unable to identify.”
Doubrava blinked. “What? She has personnel records that should let her identify everyone.” He paused. “Let’s try something else. Athena, station search this individual and give me every surveillance view of him for the following twelve hours.”
Screens bloomed along the wall.
He grinned at them. “Can you do that in your department?”
Janna let the remark pass.
They strolled along the wall, following the jon through sequential portals in the hospital, then on the cable down the shaft. Individuals in the middle of the shaft partially obscured him several times, one of whom left Janna blinking. Was that a mermaid?
Mama said, “I’m not sure how useful this is. Surveillance covers only twenty minutes and the last view of our jon — with his back to us — is leaving the cable and entering a portal on lLevel Eighteen. We don’t have him coming out.”
Doubrava skated to Mama’s side and peered at the screen he indicated. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“Why?” Janna asked.
“That’s in the construction zone. Entry’s restricted.” He pointed to the upper edge of the screen, showing bright blue beams criss-crossing the shaft. “Passing those warning beams should trigger alarms.”
“Construction crews don’t trigger them, I assume,” Janna said.
“No. They all have authorized entry.” He paused, expression thoughtful. “If Chenoweth was killed, one of them might know how to arrange it.”
“Someone like Titus.”
“This jon isn’t built like Titus. He could be another crew member, I suppose.”
“If so, he’s more than a crew member,” Mama said.
Doubrava’s brows rose. “How do you figure?”
“The morgue area may not be high security, but the portals into the hall surely don’t open for just anyone.”
The brows came down into a thoughtful frown. “Right. Only for someone authorized.”
“Which hospital personnel are, of course. That’s why Titus pushed the staffer in front of him on his first visit. Your officers are authorized, too. We saw that when they came to the staffer’s rescue. Fontana is as well.”
Doubrava’s frown went more thoughtful. “Maintenance techs have pretty much station-wide access as well.”
“Do the portals record who opens them?” Janna asked.
“Not unless it’s a high security area . . . just determines if that individual is auth— Litewit!” He smacked his forehead. “Level Eighteen is a security area.” He touched the image of their quarry at the portal on Eighteen. “Athena, who opened this portal?”
“Portal opened by Virginia Eyer.”
“Damn!”
“Problem?” Mama said.
“Eyer is our Chief of Construction and that’s definitely not her. Athena, was the portal opened with Virginia Eyer’s construction code?”
“The portal was opened with Virginia Eyer’s construction code.”
Doubrava sighed. “The son of a bitch learned her code somehow. Well, since we can’t follow this bastard any farther, let’s try another tack. Athena, station search this individual and give me every surveillance view of him for the previous twelve hours.”
More screens appeared below the previous ones. The number matching those in the row above.
Janna bared her teeth. “Damn! All we have is him coming up from that same portal.”
Doubrava sidled along the wall, peering at each screen. “Rides the cable, enters the front door of the hospital, goes though Reception’s rabbit hole to the office and conference level, and into the morgue hall. Then leaves the same way. It’s shift change, personnel coming and going. No one notices. And, damn it, the bastard’s always looking at his feet! I don’t see enough of his face to piece together a whole.”
Janna said, “He’s hiding his face here, yes, but what about other times around the station?”
Doubrava straightened, grinning. “Ace idea.” Quick typing cleared the wall of all but the screen showing their suspect leaving Level Eighteen. “Athena, station search this individual and show all surveillance in the ten days prior to this image. We don’t want to be overwhelmed,” he added to them.
They were not. Only a few images appeared, each looking strangely familiar. Except for the time code, placing them all on Sunday evening, they almost duplicated the Tuesday images.
“Trial run,” Mama said.
Doubrava stared at them angrily. “Crap. Of course he’d make one. But . . . why is that all? There should be views of him going to work — wherever he works — or to his quarters or to eat.” He groaned theatrically. “Athena, Athena, how can you do this to me?”
“You can’t blame the AI,” Mama said. “With no good view of his face, there’s only the clothes and hair to identify him.”
Janna said, “We do have one view of his face as he’s entering the hospital on Sunday, but it’s useless.”
“Why?” Doubrava joined her to study that image. “It looks odd, I admit, but it is a face.”
“Not really,” she said. “He’s wearing clingskin.”
Doubrava stared at h
er. “Clingskin.”
“The disguise of choice for any felon with an IQ higher than a turnip’s,” Mama said. “It looks like a face until you see it up close and realize it’s a mask. Add a few IQ points to the felon and he figures how to thicken sections to change the shape of cheekbones, jaws, noses. Even eyes if he has some talent. It drives facial recognition programs into a meltdown. That’s why Athena can’t ID him.”
Doubrava grimaced. “So when he pulls off the clingskin and changes clothes he looks totally different. He could be anyone.”
“Even a she.”
Doubrava blinked. “Excuse me? This is a male.”
“Based on what . . . general shape of the face?” Mama said. “Width of the shoulders? Of the hips? Look at Brill.” He pointed. “No hips.”
Doubrava looked and gave her an appreciative wink before sobering. “Right. Put her in a body suit with padded shoulders and I see your point. Crap.” Doubrava stabbed a finger toward the images. “Enjoy your game. This isn’t over. I’ll be back later.” He grimaced. “I just hope he’s still on the station.”
“How many shuttles have left between then and now?”
Doubrava frowned in thought. “Two. We can check those passenger lists.” He wiped the wall of all but their original image and tapped it.
Up came the next morgue visitor. Geyer, at 13:15 Wednesday.
Doubrava said, “We almost had Titus down there again. He wanted Chenoweth for the memorial service they held Tuesday evening, going so far as to ask Fontana. Fontana talked him out of that by suggesting an honor guard when the body went up to the shuttle.
On the screen, Geyer paused at the door of the morgue, contemplating its interior for a minute and a half, arms crossed, then left.
Doubrava let the recording run. “The inquest begins at thirteen-thirty. Maybe we’ll have visitors from that.
They did not, neither before nor after the inquest, when he tapped away the image. The next time code read 06:35 on Thursday. Geyer entered the hall through the portal across from the morgue, accompanied by male and female hospital staffers. They disappeared into the morgue.
“Cold-wrapping the body,” Doubrava said.
