“Are you sure?”
“Damn it, Anthony! Move, before someone else dies. And one more thing . . .”
“What’s that?”
Nick’s voice caught, but he said what he had to say: “Arrest Althea and Adam Simons. Suspicion of murder.”
We drove through the night, violating at least a dozen safety protocols that Nick himself had written. As we drove, Nick told me what he had deduced. “Althea and Adam had tried to have Jacob buried in the ground because they knew that otherwise, the poison in his system would get out into the Maxwell City food supply. It would be dilute, as I told Anthony, but still a risk to those with weakened systems or with a sensitivity.”
I saw his point. “But then when they failed to stop the recycling, they took advantage of the shiva ritual to stock up on food that they knew would be safe. Jacob’s body would not be recycled until a week after burial.”
Nick nodded. “They planned to simply eat stores until it was safe to eat city food again.”
A little later, Anthony called again. “We’ve had two more deaths, but Dr. Costello has identified the compound. It’s a synthetic solvent, highly soluble in water. It’s a minor irritant to most, but it triggers something akin to anaphylaxis in those who are more sensitive. Depends on their genetics.”
“So if Adam knew that Jacob was sensitive, he could guess that he was, too,” I said.
“But less likely for Althea,” Nick replied. “Anthony, I need to talk to her.”
6. MISSING PIECES
We found Althea in a holding cell in the lower levels of the Admin Center. Maxwell City did not really have a prison, although the Initiative base at Fort Hudson had a stockade. For anything longer than overnight, the city usually transferred prisoners there. Maxwell City had never had enough crime to need jails of its own.
But maybe that had changed.
As we came in, Althea rose from a small plastic chair. “Nick! Rosalia!” she said, tears running down her face. “They’re talking crazy things! They’re talking . . . They say that I . . . they say that I killed my Jacob!”
Nick did not blink as he looked into her eyes and asked, “How long have you been sleeping with Adam?”
Suddenly the desperation in Althea’s face changed to rage, and she slapped Nick. He did not react, he just stared, and he continued, “Was it before Ilse left? Is that why she left, because you and Adam were having an affair?”
Althea’s eyes flared; but then, suddenly, she deflated, and she flopped back down onto the plastic chair. “That woman was like a sister to me,” she said. “I would never hurt her. But when she . . . abandoned Adam . . .”
“What?” I asked. “You just had to comfort him?”
“It wasn’t like that! Jacob was out so much. In the field, doing work. And Adam—”
“Oh, spare me,” I said. “You are going to tell me how lonesome he was. How kind, how sensitive. Was he good in the sack? Was that why you killed Jacob?”
“Killed?” Althea broke down, crying. It seemed genuine to me.
I pulled Nick aside, and I whispered, “Nick, I do not think she is lying. I think Jacob’s death surprised her. I do not think she ever considered that Adam might have killed his brother.”
“I don’t see it.”
“I know, Nico. You don’t see it. But . . .” I looked back at Althea sobbing, practically slumping off the chair. This woman was suffering a loss all over again. She and Jacob may have had problems, but she had not wanted him dead. “Trust me on this, Nick. It is my area.”
I stared into Nick’s face as he stared into Althea’s. He would see it eventually. I took his hand and pulled him toward the door. “Come on, Nick, let us go see Anthony.”
As the cell door closed behind us, Nick said, “Adam was out in the city, drumming up business, while Jacob went out on the surface to carry out the experiments. It was a perfect opportunity for Adam to get closer to his own brother’s wife while he ensured that Jacob was away.”
“It happens, Nick,” I said.
“I know it happens, but I liked Adam.” Nick punched his comm. “Anthony, where is Adam? We need to talk to him next.”
“We’re still looking for him, Nick,” Anthony answered. “As best we can tell, he disappeared before we even started looking for him.”
“Are you sure? He’s not in his lab?”
Anthony consulted his subcomp. “We’ve locked it down. He’s not in there, so we need to sweep it for evidence.”
Nick looked at me, and he asked, “Do you need the help of two expert incident investigators?”
Anthony grinned, but it was a sad effort. There wasn’t much to smile about. “I thought you’d never ask.”
There were two Maxwell City Public Safety officers standing guard in front of the lab entrance on level 2. We walked up, and the taller of the officers stood straighter, crossing her arms across her chest. She was a large, muscular blonde woman who reminded me a little bit of Nick’s old bosun, Smitty. Her badge read Vile. “I’m sorry, Founder, but no one is allowed in without authorization by Mayor Holmes.”
“We have mayoral authorization,” Nick said, “to go in and investigate the labs. Haven’t you received the authorization yet?”
“No, sir.”
“Then check already, Vile. Why are you wasting our time?”
Vile tapped her comp, and then she nodded. “We’re to let you in and render any assistance you require.”
“Thank you,” Nick answered. “Just keep everyone out. We don’t want to be disturbed.”
The guards opened the door to Simons Brothers Labs. Nick and I stood just on the threshold and looked in. The labs were dark, just as Anthony had said. I shined my light inside.
The fake wood wall panels soaked up the light, leaving the room mostly in shadow. Beyond the entry, desk drawers were pulled out, chairs ripped open, decorations smashed.
Nick and I did not waste time on the obvious: someone had been here before us, searching; but it was too soon to speculate on who or why. Instead we spent the morning videoing everything from every angle. I used a tiny borescope to view inside of small openings. Nick used chemical sensors to search for organics and toxins in the air. We took every measurement we could while touching nothing.
Then after a quick lunch, we went back to work, this time opening every drawer and compartment, lifting and looking under every piece of debris. There were dozens of places that Nick and I identified where information could be hidden. Whoever had searched the place had been an amateur.
I pointed at a wall panel that lay on the floor, apart from other debris, as if to draw attention to itself. It was a double-sided panel, the kind often used in spacecraft—but almost never in subsurface construction. The hollow middle is designed to hold vacuum resin, a compound that seals and hardens when exposed to vacuum. The labs were deep underground, with no need for vacuum seals.
I pointed at the panel, and Nick lifted a corner. “Look at this,” he said. I looked closely at the edge. There was a thin crack between front and back. Vac panels were supposed to be sealed.
As I videoed, Nick pulled out his knife and carefully pried apart the edges of the panel. Inside was a thin compartment filled with clear plastic sleeves for data chips. Five sleeves were empty; but in the last, we found a single data chip. On it, in Adam’s handwriting, was a single word: Nick.
“It’s too easy,” Nick said. “Does he think I’m stupid?”
“He was not hiding it from you, Nick,” I answered. “He wanted to keep it from”—I waved around at the mess—“whoever did this.”
Nick shook his head. “For all we know, he did this to mislead us, then hid this message in such an obvious place.”
I touched Nick’s arm. “Obvious to you, Nick. Adam did not really know you, though. Jacob would have known better, but Adam thinks he is too smart for us.”
“He was. We have four dead to prove that.” He sighed. “I suppose we’d better find out what he wanted to tell us.”
Adam looked around. “I have embarrassed my friends. I have shamed the Libertists. And for what I have done to my family, there is no forgiveness. You won’t find me. This is my crime only. Althea didn’t know. She was weak, I took advantage of that, but she is a good woman. Her hands are clean of this blood. She did not know. Jacob had only started to suspect that I had been keeping double books. That I had skimmed from the business and billed clients for services that we had never delivered, giving them only fraudulent reports. Some have found out, and they wanted satisfaction. But they shall not have it. All of my records, all of my private accounts, shall be lost with me.”
Adam leaned closer, and I saw tears in his eyes. “Please, tell my mother, my father . . .” The recording of Adam shook his head. “No, there’s nothing you can tell them. They’ll never forgive me for this. Nor should they, nor Althea. Nor Ilse. I’m going out to the farthest areas that we have studied. You won’t find the body this time. I won’t get even a Martian Tomb, and no one will sit shiva for me. I don’t deserve it.” Then the image of Adam reached forward, and the recording cut off.
Three days later, we were in our apartment, planning our survival school. Without either of us saying it, throwing ourselves into the school gave us something to take our minds off the Simons tragedies.
We were surprised out of our work when the door announcer said, “Mayor Anthony Holmes is here.”
Nick and I both rose. “Let him in,” I said.
The door slid open, and Anthony came in. “Nick, Rosie, I . . .”
I reached out and took Anthony’s hand. “‘Good to see you’ does not seem right these days, does it?” I said.
“There’s nothing good,” Anthony answered. “Can I sit down?”
We all sat back around the worktable. Anthony looked at our holographic model of survival school. “Interesting. This is based on Chuks’s designs.”
“We started there,” Nick said. “He laid down the principles, but we know so much more about Mars now, decades later. So many ways that Mars can kill the unwary.”
I glanced at Anthony’s face. I doubted that Nick would have noticed the shadow that passed over it. Anthony made a good show of covering it up by concentrating on the model. “It makes me wish I had time to go through it again,” he said. “But this campaign takes up so much of my time. And now . . . Adam was a prominent Libertist. There’s no obvious connection from the murder to the party, but that hasn’t stopped the journos from searching for it. I barely have enough left to govern the city.”
“You’ll always be welcome,” Nick said. “You name the class, we’ll make room for you. We’ll even give you an alumnus discount.” But Nick had never been good at small talk and frivolities. That overture had exhausted his capacity, and he changed the subject to one that interested him more. “So what’s the word on Adam?” he asked.
Anthony looked down at his feet. “Still no sign of the body. We found the crawler out on the flat basalt plains. No tracks. Nothing anywhere within walking distance. I’m ready to declare him dead.”
“Did he take a lot of air with him?” Nick said.
“Yeah,” Anthony answered. “Enough to walk far away and get lost, but not enough to walk to another settlement. No, I’m convinced he wanted to die on Mars, on his own, where no one would find him. And not have to face anyone again even in death.”
“And Althea?” I asked.
Anthony frowned. “Adam’s confession exonerated her.”
“If he was telling the truth,” Nick said.
“We’ve got no way to prove otherwise,” Anthony said. “A lot of people have suspicions, but I think she’s innocent.” Then after a pause, Anthony added, “Either way, it’s pointless. She can’t take the suspicious stares. She’s been ostracized. She put in for a hardship transport to Earth, and the Initiative has agreed under the usual terms: all of her property here is forfeit, up for auction to cover her transport costs.”
Nick’s eyes gleamed. “Including the labs?”
“Including the labs, yes,” Anthony said, “and I know what you’re thinking. That might be a good reason someone searched the labs. They thought there was incriminating evidence there.”
“So there might still be conspirators,” I said.
“It seems that way.” Anthony sighed. “That’s part of why I’m here today. After the events of the past two weeks, I’m more convinced than ever that Maxwell City needs a police chief, a chief investigator. I need someone who knows Mars, knows the city, and knows how to ferret out the truth. And someone who hates loose ends as much as you do.”
Nick firmly planted both feet on the ground, his hands on his knees. “I told you, Anthony, I’m not interested.”
Anthony looked at Nick; and for the first time since he had arrived, he really smiled. “Who said I was talking to you, Nick? I’ve decided: a former admiral is as good as a founder to me.” From his pocket, Anthony pulled out a shiny gold-hued badge. On it was stamped the image of Mars’s eastern hemisphere, Phobos and Deimos crossing the middle. Along the top it said, ROSALIA MORAIS; around the bottom it said, CHIEF OF POLICE, MAXWELL CITY. “What do you say, Rosie?”
I looked at Nick. His face was blank, more so than usual. This would interfere with our survival school plans, but it was also important to both of us. Nick was leaving the decision up to me; but I saw only one choice.
“Yes.”
7. NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN
I looked at my image in the camera screen. “Looking good, Rosalia,” I said to myself. Nick wandered from the tree room toward the kitchen. I had been fishing for a compliment, knowing he could hear me, but he wasn’t biting.
It did not matter. I had always liked the way I looked in a uniform; and I had not worn one since I had given up my admiral’s bars, and Nick had given up the captaincy of the Aldrin to preserve the independence of the ship and its crew. And I knew Nick liked it, too, even if he was too stubborn to admit it.
This was a different uniform, of course. The Maxwell City Chief of Police uniform was red. Designers never tired of red when they were designing things for Mars. After all these years, it seemed pretty unimaginative to me; but that was what they had come up with, a dusky maroon color with darker-red piping. It complemented my color nicely. Even living in the underground world of Maxwell City, I never lost my tan, thanks to my Brazilian blood.
Nick came back out of the kitchen. I planted myself in front of him, blocking the workroom. “Nicolau Aames, you will give me a compliment on this uniform, and that is an order.”
Nick curled a lip. “I don’t think you can order that. I haven’t broken any laws.”
“Disturbing the peace,” I said.
“If that’s the sort of crime we have around here, then Anthony’s wrong: we don’t need a police department and a police chief. So why don’t you stop playing dress-up, and help me plan our survival school? It was your idea, after all.”
I let out a long, slow breath. “It was my idea, Nico, to give
you something to do, so you would not be bored. But as much as I enjoy exploring Mars, I have done my time as boot camp instructor. Sooner or later, you find yourself competing with a younger, stronger person to show them that they are not as good as they think they are; and you win out in the end because you are craftier. You know how to train, and you know the game. But you go to bed aching in every bone in your body; and the next morning, you have to get up and do it again, and you realize you are not getting younger. That may be your idea of fun, but not mine. I am glad Anthony made me police chief. I am looking forward to this.”
“I don’t know why,” Nick answered.
I could explain, but not without hurting his feelings. I love Nico with all my heart, but this was something I was doing as me, not as Nick Aames’s wife and partner. If I said that to him, he would think I was rejecting him. But I wasn’t! I was rejecting the way I was perceived by other citizens of Maxwell City, as just the founder’s wife and a disgraced admiral. In fact, I was not rejecting at all, I was standing up. I was accepting my responsibility to my city.
But I did not try to explain that. I just gently kissed Nick on the cheek and walked away, trusting that he knew better than to keep up the argument. And he did. Over the years, I had become one of the few people he really understood. So many others were a mystery to him, but he read my moods more often than not.
I went to the Admin Center. Anthony had planned a media conference to announce the police department as a new branch of the civil service, separate from the Department of Public Safety, and he needed his police chief front and center as he made his point.
When I arrived, my police force was there, impossible to miss. We had not filled every post yet—far from it!—but lieutenants, sergeants, and over ninety patrol officers had already been hired and had passed their first rounds of training. They overflowed the anteroom of the first-floor auditorium and into the surrounding hallways, all waiting for Anthony. Most of them had been interviewed and hired before I had accepted my new position, so I had spent much of the last four days reviewing their files and issuing new training assignments. Anthony and I had spent several hours going over officer appointments, but most of those were still unfilled. It was challenging to build an entire organization from the ground up.
The Last Campaign (The Near-Earth Mysteries) Page 6