by Baen Books
"Hansen... you're saying Hansen attacked the werewolf first?" Meredith said in disbelief. "But no, Hansen would never have ... unless it was an accident? He hit both buttons instead of just one?"
I shook my head. "No. The two were well separated. It wouldn't be possible to trigger them together by accident."
"But you can't tell one way or the other," Vernon said.
"I don't see anything except that screen moving," agreed a pale-faced Felicia.
"No. Things like sprays or rain actually often don't show up at all on cameras, partly from their preferred wavelength filters and partly just because of the effect of the high-speed image acquisition; try taking pictures of rain sometime, you'll find it's harder than you think to make it look anything like your eyes think it looks." I gave a brief grin. "But machines can see things that aren't obvious to us."
The clip ran again, strangely brighter in places, darker in others. The two men spoke, Hansen's head bent down...
... and as the screen began to descend, faint, ghostly jets of grayish fog, barely visible, shot from multiple points on the wall, converging on Cheney, whose face contorted in what could now be recognized as horror and agony just before the transformation began.
"My... my god," Vernon said slowly. "So... so you're saying Hansen did do it. Why? Was he... committing suicide?"
"That was the reason Meredith thought of insurance, of course," I said. "If Hansen had somehow deliberately triggered this event, it could be reasonably ruled suicide, and that would nullify the insurance policy — as he had taken the policy out recently, when he founded Outward Outreach, and thus the anti-suicide provisions were still in force. But the police found one piece of evidence that points in the direction of murder."
Jeri rose. "There were a number of fingerprints on the panel, including the most recent ones on the screen deployment and the Shadowgard defense. However, the prints on both of those buttons were of Hansen Guildermere's index finger."
The room was silent a moment, the others looking puzzled — or at least one, I was sure, faking it and sweating hard. Then Meredith's eyes narrowed. "But we just saw that the screen deployed exactly at the same time as the silver."
"Exactly," Jeri said. "And that would have required him to press both buttons simultaneously; given the spacing and size of Hansen's hands, that would only be possible by using the index finger to activate the presentation and the pinky finger to press the Shadowgard activation; in addition, watching his movements in the camera does not show a swift movement of his arm which would accompany pressing one button and then the other very quickly. The fact that the fingerprints do not match this position, therefore shows that either he did not do that, or that he did and some unknown person wiped the original fingerprints away, replacing them with the ones we found."
Then Adam said, "But... Mr. Wood, Hansen wouldn't have done it. I am sure of that. Yet we can see that the silver was deployed. Could it have been an accident? A short circuit in the system that activated both at once?"
"Our technicians checked it out carefully," Jeri said. "It was in perfect working order."
"So there was another mystery: how was it possible that the silver had been deployed at all? There was no one else in that room. There was no remote access to those systems — that, too, was checked out. The system itself is in perfect condition, and there's never been a report of a Shadowgard system deploying like that on its own."
Dan Mason looked at me narrowly. "And you have an explanation for this?"
"Oh, I certainly do. The key is the fact that the whole system — including that control panel — is modular, easily replaced. It turns out that the control panel itself can be removed by a simple turn of a setscrew and a turn-and-pull action.
"This made it easy for the murderer to set up the entire thing. They knew that Hansen had an appointment to meet a werewolf well ahead of time — more than enough time to modify one of the replacement control modules so that a single press of the presentation button would trigger both screen deployment and Shadowgard silver spray; the modification itself wasn't very difficult, even for someone with moderate skill, as long as they knew how the module worked. Then, the evening of the murder, the murderer substituted in the new module. After the murder was over, the modified module was replaced with the original and touching Hansen's dead finger to the appropriate controls."
I pointed to the screen. "So when Hansen started to give his presentation — a presentation of alliance and hope — he sprayed his visitor with lethal poison, and was killed in return."
I looked down at Felicia. "I don't think you meant to get Hansen killed," I said quietly. "You just wanted to bring down Outward Outreach, once you found out about the will. If one of the creatures that Hansen was trying to build bridges with was killed, apparently deliberately, by Hansen, it would ruin Outward Outreach's reputation. Either Hansen would look like a hair-trigger killer, or Hansen would have to lie and justify the killing — and it was almost certain that other Werewolves would have known it was a lie, and have no trouble spreading that piece of information throughout the hidden world. Driving a wedge between humanity and other species on this world? Exactly up their alley."
"Unfortunately, you couldn't grasp just how fast a Werewolf reacts, or maybe you thought its instinct would be to run away, or maybe even that it'd just drop dead without knowing what hit it. But spraying a Wolf with silver is like hitting it with poisonous acid that causes anaphylactic shock; they know exactly what's happening, and they know they have mere seconds to react, and they always, always react with rage and hatred. So in killing Cheney, you killed Hansen, too."
"I advise both of you to say absolutely nothing," Peri Crane said emphatically, even as Felicia's face crumpled with tears and horror. "This is also purely circumstantial evidence —"
"There's plenty more," I said. "Here's how I think it worked. Felicia did the evening switch when she was closing up the office. You can see she knocks something off the desk and it rolls underneath, so she goes under then gets it out. But there's a very tiny glitch in the recording and the time-markers tell me there's a few seconds missing.
"No one's visible in the later footage, until Felicia comes in the next morning and finds the body. But if you look real close in the footage, you find a short period of time that's a loop from a prior one; the heating system's forced-air and some papers give the exact same ripples from one moment to the next. You can also see from the pattern that someone entering by the hidden panel doesn't have to cross through the blood spatter; the murderer entered that way, removed the panel, and left in the loop time."
"Still circumstantial," Dan Mason said. Felicia was staring at me, but her eyes were also glancing sideways, and I knew who she was looking at.
"But there was one key piece of evidence," I pointed out, "that wasn't circumstantial: the modified control panel. Felicia had to get that module out — she couldn't leave it there. Nor, being the person who was known to be the last out of the building, could she afford the slightest chance of being caught with that device on her person. She couldn't destroy it, she couldn't carry it with her on the chance that she might get caught in the vicinity of the office at night.
"So instead she did something absolutely brilliant: she wrapped it up and put the modified unit into the storage room with the other spare components for the system, underneath another, untouched unit. The purloined letter principle — and one that was even better because no one would even be looking there unless they already suspected something. Once the immediate fuss died down and she could get into the offices again, she could then remove the unit or even simply modify it back to its original functionality."
Jeri stood again. "And since the offices are already a crime scene, we didn't need a warrant to search them again." She slapped down a photograph of the module in question. "Found this wrapped up just as Wood described... and with clear, unmistakable prints on the sides of the module that belong to Felicia Santos."
Felicia's fa
ce shifted instantaneously from horror and fear to absolute fury and she swung about. "You told me you would wipe —"
"SHUT UP!" bellowed Vernon Guildermere — but I could see from his panicked face that he knew it was already too late.
I would have grinned, but the situation wasn't funny. "Sorry, did I say murderer? I meant murderers."
Jeri came forward, and handcuffs jingled. "Vernon Guildermere and Felicia Santos, I arrest you both for the crime of premeditated murder of the individual calling himself Cheney Lugosi, for involuntary manslaughter in the death of Hansen Guildermere, and other charges to be preferred later."
Chapter 8: Season's Greetings
"A neat and quick solution to a potentially sticky problem, Jason," Verne said, and raised a glass to me; Jeri, Morgan, Syl, and Camillus — the only ones left after the party — joined him in the toast. "Would you be willing to clarify a few points for me?"
"I guess, though I'd rather not spend the rest of Christmas on this one. In some ways it's a big downer, and not just because that nice old man got killed."
"Why did you accuse Felicia Santos alone, rather than both of them?"
"Because Vernon was a slippery bastard, that's why. I didn't have a good connection for him to the crime — just circumstantial evidence. Of the people associated with Hansen Guildermere, Vernon was the one who not only had the motive, but the means and opportunity. He worked in security, he knew how to edit security footage. No one else in the reasonable group of suspects fit.
"Unfortunately, Felicia was very close to Vernon — close enough that a defense attorney could easily argue that Felicia could have gotten the information on the control panel from him, and possibly the information on the security system needed to mess with the footage. Not likely in the latter case, mind you, but possible; Felicia wasn't just a secretary, but had some prior technical experience and education.
"Vernon figured that no one would catch on to the scam, but he wasn't taking chances either; if the module was found without anyone's fingerprints on it, the default assumptions would point to him. Modifying the footage was also a problem; cutting out the stuff that showed him entering and leaving, not so much, because the whole office was supposed to be empty except for the bodies until Felicia got there the next day, but the footage with Felicia in the office swapping the units? Much bigger problem."
"Why?" Verne asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why not eliminate even the possibility of the question about her actions?"
"Because her routine — setting up things for Hansen, closing up the office, all these things — was known, and her entering the office was also on the cameras in her area of the office — the anteroom leading to Hansen's office. There was a continuous presence that would have been much harder to seamlessly edit into, say, Felicia just walking away from the office, or never going near the desk, so he had to minimize those edits as much as possible."
Syl nodded. "And so there would be video evidence that Felicia, at least, was near the control panel."
"And she couldn't wear gloves while doing the switch; those would be a dead giveaway. So he promised he'd be wiping the module clean, which made sense to Felicia anyway, but instead he left her prints intact, while removing any of his from the plastic wrapping. This gave him one last backup: if the module was discovered, the evidence would lead to Felicia, not him."
Camillus grunted in understanding. "So you staged the sequence so that her spontaneous reaction would bring the connection forward, rather than be brought out later in a court of law — with Vernon having plenty of time to prepare to defend against an accusation he would have known would come."
"Exactly," I said. "Anything else?"
"Briefly, then. You said that you did not think they intended to kill Mr. Guildermere; yet would not Vernon Guildermere's position have been most precarious if Hansen had survived?"
I tried to smile, but the situation was still too serious. "Caught me there. Technically, I said that I didn't think Felicia had any intention to kill Hansen; she might have — I think — been having, or have had, an affair with Vernon, but I think she genuinely loved Hansen and certainly believed in his mission. Jeri and I figure that we can probably get her to testify that it was Vernon's idea and that he told her that Hansen would be safe, especially after he clearly set her up for the fall.
"With respect to Vernon... you're right. He had a contingency for Hansen surviving — he'd come in, get a completely shocked and traumatized Hansen out, promise to "take care" of things, and so on — but he must have known that this would be a very dangerous game to play, and if Hansen ever started thinking carefully about the sequence of events he'd be in huge trouble.
"But yes, I think Vernon wanted Hansen dead. Not only for the money, but also because of Felicia — and for himself. He figured that the death of Hansen, combined with the terrible publicity of the leader of Outward Outreach being murdered by one of those he was trying to contact, would help bring the organization down — and of course by killing Hansen, the money would go first to Outward Outreach and then to Vernon and the others. And he also figured that once Hansen was gone, Felicia would turn to him as she had before."
Syl shook her head. "How terrible. He must have been a terribly stupid man, for someone so apparently bright. Even if he convinced her that it was an accident, that secret would have poisoned any relationship."
"Many men are very stupid in that area," Camillus said. "Money and a pretty pair of... er, eyes drives anything else out of their heads. Still, what did you mean by him doing it for himself?"
"I don't know for sure," I said, "but honestly? I think he was poisonously jealous of his brother. The two of them started out with the same advantages, a couple years apart, and Vernon builds himself a small business, working day in and day out, while Hansen figures out how to do investments long-range and get the right people working for him, ending up running a multi-billion dollar investment and publicity firm, and personally worth five hundred or even a thousand times what Vernon was. Then Hansen just wants to — from Vernon's point of view — throw all that money away on things that aren't even human."
"You might be right," Jeri said. "His business wasn't doing all that well recently, either. If it hadn't been for the big contract he got from his brother, Vernon might've been in a lot more trouble. Problem is, some people are grateful for charity, but others ... it eats into them."
"Well, in any event, good work, my friends," said Verne. "Shall we drink to the memory of Hansen Guildermere, and hope that his dream survives his death?"
"I'll sure —"
The phone rang. I rolled my eyes but grabbed it off the hook. "Jason Wood."
"Ahh, Jason. How pleasant to hear your voice. I hope you're having a good Christmas."
Even though I'd been more than half-expecting the calm, warm, urbane voice, an icicle jabbed down my spine and I felt myself go pale. I didn't let this show in my voice, though. "Virigar. What a surprise. Well, not entirely."
"You did expect me. I can hear it. Excellent. In that case, you know why I'm calling. A job well done, Jason. You found the murderer of one of my people and are bringing him to justice on exactly that charge. I suppose you must find that a bit... disturbing."
"Slightly... but not as much as you think. You see, I know you wanted him dead too."
The voice was amused. "Did I?"
"Cheney — or whatever his real name was —"
"Tanirivanor," supplied Virigar. "A somewhat distant descendant of your old acquaintance Tanmorrai, in fact."
"Okay, Tanirivanor, then. He was in Morgantown against the spirit of your orders, talking with a human being under circumstances that were clearly peaceful. Now he could have been just stringing Hansen along, but I don't think so. The risk of making a mistake or somehow being forced to injure or kill someone inside of Morgantown, and thus getting on your list? Too much for your people. So he was really there to talk — and that is something really against your philosophy. If he hadn't been murdered, you'
d have made an example of him yourself, I think."
The deceptively warm laugh rolled out. I could see Verne's face across from mine, eyes narrowed. "Perhaps, perhaps indeed, Mr. Wood. But in any analysis, you have done me and mine a considerable service. You continue to adhere to spirit and letter of our mutual ... duel of manners, shall we say? So — in the spirit of the season, and for services rendered, I give you a gift."
"A ... gift?"
"Indeed, and perhaps less disturbing than your wedding gift." My eyes glanced involuntarily towards the front room where the glittering, savage statue of a springing wolf stood. "I give you a year of freedom, Jason Wood. For one year from this day, you may rest assured that this will not be the day on which I begin your destruction. On this I pledge you my word.
"My thanks to you, Jason... and Merry Christmas."
The night don't seem so lonely
by Sharon Lee
"And that was 'Yellow Submarine' by the Fab Four, also known as—THE BEATLES!" The DJ's voice evaporated into a cloud of static, and came back, a little watery now:
". . .listening to WKOX-FM, one-oh-five-point-seven, Framingham, Mass. All rock, all the --"
More static, fizzing loud—.
"Jesus Christ!" Ben swore. "Find another station, willya, Mossie?"
Moss leaned forward, fiddling with the dial, picking up a lot of static, and a thin line of what might've been "Crystal Blue Persuasion," though it was hard to tell in the rush of road noise coming in the open windows.
He upped the volume just in time for the thread of song to dissolve into a loud honk of noise.
"Christ!" Ben swore again, his hand flashing out.
Moss ducked—not that Ben had hit him, yet—and the music clicked off.
"Goddamn dead zone," Ben said. "You wait'll we get to Portland. Got a stereo set up, all the records you can listen to: Beatles, Stones, Dylan, Doors—all the good stuff. You'll like it just fine."