Rath's Trial (The Janus Group Book 4)

by Piers Platt

  “I’m not,” Beauceron protested. “I’m just … I’m saying it’s disappointing, but don’t blame yourself for it.”

  “Whatever,” she told him. “I can still be pissed about it.” She slid her datascroll out of a pouch in her duffle bag and flicked it open, setting it down on the desk and plugging in her data drive.

  While she worked, Beauceron busied himself with unpacking some of his clothes into the drawers under one of the bunks.

  “Remind me,” Atalia said. “Where are we going?”

  “Proxis II,” Beauceron said.

  “And what’s on Proxis II? I’ve been so focused on the Paisen angle, I forgot what you were doing.”

  “There’s a limited liability company on Proxis II that owns that ancient ship, the one that took delivery of the drones on New Liberia.”

  “Right,” Atalia said, only half listening. “The company that owns the ship … that bought the drones … that dropped the things … that blew up the factory.”

  “Yes,” Beauceron agreed. “The company that probably bought the plans to the high energy weapon prototype. Which is what we’re trying to find.”

  “Uh huh. Ever been there?” she asked, scrolling idly through interfaces on her screen.

  “No,” Beauceron said. “It’s another Territorial planet. It would be nice to be back on home turf, as it were. I’m getting tired of sneaking around the Territories without permission.”

  Atalia shrugged. “You get used to it, after a while. Huh. That butler was telling the truth,” she observed. “Video footage has a woman matching Paisen’s height and weight leaving the resort yesterday afternoon. We fucking missed her by half a day. Hello,” Atalia said, straightening up in the desk chair. “Ever heard of Jokuan?”

  “No,” Beauceron said, pushing the drawers closed and standing up. “Who’s Jokuan?”

  “A planet, not a person,” she corrected him. “Get this: Paisen wasn’t alone in the resort. Eleven other guests were there with her, according to the videos: mostly men, but a couple women. They all look young and fairly fit. Anyway, while they were there, they spent a bunch of time studying topographical maps of Jokuan.”

  “What’s on Jokuan?” Beauceron asked, leaning over her shoulder to look at the screen.

  “Paisen is,” Atalia said, grinning at him. “And I think she’s got some of her Guild buddies with her.”

  26

  “… and nothing but the truth,” Jaymy finished. She took her seat on the stand, glancing self-consciously at Judge Aurmine, sitting next to her.

  District Attorney Anguile walked to the front of her desk. “Ms. McGovan, can you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Kaldirim?”

  “We dated for about a month,” Jaymy said, quietly.

  “Speak up please,” Anguile reprimanded her. “When was this?”

  “About a year ago, in August.”

  “I’ll remind the jury that the cyber-attack on Suspensys was carried out in late July, and the physical break-in occurred in September. So you dated Mr. Kaldirim between those two events?”

  “Yes,” Jaymy agreed.

  “And your occupation during that time?”

  “I’m a registered nurse. I was employed at Suspensys, on the patient monitoring team,” Jaymy said.

  “How did your relationship with Mr. Kaldirim end?” Anguile asked.

  “We had an argument,” Jaymy said, blushing. She looked at Rath, then looked away. “He had previously told me he was a retired cop, but he said that was a lie, that he was actually still on the force, and that he needed my help to capture a criminal who was hiding on Suspensys.”

  “Do you know what he wanted you to do?”

  She shook her head. “No, I asked him to leave at that point.”

  “Were you in love with Mr. Kaldirim?”

  Tears welled in Jaymy’s eyes. “I … I think so, yes.”

  “Do you feel like he seduced you solely because of your employment at Suspensys?”

  “I believe so,” Jaymy said, wiping her eyes with a finger.

  “You saw him again more recently,” Anguile said. “Tell us about that encounter.”

  Jaymy took a deep breath, composing herself. “He approached me at a restaurant and asked for a chance to explain himself again. He told me he was really a guildsman – the famous one, from the news.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “No,” Jaymy said. “Not at first.”

  “When did you start to believe him?” Anguile asked.

  “When those men attacked him.”

  “When you saw him defeat three armed men with practiced ease,” Anguile corrected.

  “I guess so,” Jaymy said.

  “Did he share any other details with you, before the men came in?”

  “Details about what?” Jaymy asked.

  Anguile frowned at her. “Details about his role in the Suspensys attacks. And the murder of Mr. Delacourt.”

  Jaymy hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said, forcing herself to look away from Rath. “He said that he had originally approached me in order to help him kill Mr. Delacourt.”

  “And how did he attempt to prove that to you?”

  “He knew details about the cyber-attack on the station, and he showed me a bullet wound that he said came from a gunfight on the station.”

  “I’m entering these photos into evidence,” Anguile said, gesturing to a viewscreen across from the jury. A slideshow appeared on the screen, showing pictures of Rath’s naked chest and leg. “These were taken after the defendant’s arrest. I’ll ask the jury to recall the security footage we reviewed several days ago, which showed the killer sustaining wounds in the right leg and left shoulder. Mr. Kaldirim has scars consistent with those wounds.” She let the jury examine the photos for a minute. Jaymy coughed uncomfortably.

  “Ms. McGovan, did Mr. Kaldirim have these scars when you first met him?” Anguile asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jaymy said.

  Anguile narrowed her eyes. “Ms. McGovan, you’re under oath, and perjury is a crime my office takes very seriously. Now, you were intimate with Mr. Kaldirim during the time you dated, correct?”

  “Yes,” Jaymy said, blushing again.

  “He didn’t have these scars at the time, did he?”

  “I don’t remember them,” Jaymy admitted. “No.”

  “Thank you. Let me summarize, if I may: you met Mr. Kaldirim shortly after the cyber-attack on Suspensys. He later admitted to you that he wanted to recruit you to help him kill Arthin Delacourt. He failed to convince you to help him, and soon afterwards, Mr. Delacourt was killed, and Mr. Kaldirim acquired a pair of scars matching gunshot wounds the killer sustained during the attack on Suspensys. Is all of that accurate?”

  “He never actually asked me to help him kill Delacourt,” Jaymy said.

  “But is my statement accurate?” Anguile asked.

  “I think so,” Jaymy replied.

  “Yes or no, Ms. McGovan.”

  “Yes,” Jaymy admitted.

  “Your witness,” the prosecutor told Mishel.

  He thanked the district attorney and walked over to the witness stand, giving Jaymy a sympathetic smile. “That was hard, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Jaymy agreed. “I don’t … it wasn’t pleasant.”

  “No, clearly not. Thank you for your honesty,” Mishel told her. “I’m going to ask you just a few more questions, and then we’ll be done, okay?”

  “Okay,” Jaymy agreed.

  He smiled. “Great. Were you on Suspensys when Mr. Delacourt’s pod was stolen?”

  Jaymy shook her head. “No, I wasn’t.”

  “So you didn’t see it happen?”

  “No.”

  “Were you in orbit over Scapa when Mr. Delacourt’s pod burned up in the atmosphere?”

  She gave him a half-smile. “No, of course not.”

  “Right, of course not. Did Mr. Kaldirim ever lie to you during your relationship?”

 
“Yes. That’s why I broke up with him – our whole relationship was based on a lie.”

  “So you didn’t see Mr. Kaldirim break into Suspensys, and you didn’t see him kill Mr. Delacourt. He later told you he did those things, but he also had a history of lying to you on numerous occasions.”

  “That’s true,” Jaymy said.

  “Did you love Mr. Kaldirim?” Mishel asked.

  Jaymy bit her lip. “I did.”

  “Why? What made you fall in love with him?”

  “He was very considerate. He was funny, and caring. And he was … vulnerable.”

  “What do you mean?” Mishel asked.

  “He had a lot of trouble sleeping at night. Nightmares, but he didn’t want to talk about them with me. As a nurse, I think he may have post-traumatic stress disorder. And it made me feel good to think that maybe I helped him with that.”

  “You did,” Rath interjected. All eyes in the courtroom turned to him.

  “Mr. Kaldirim, please keep your thoughts to yourself,” Judge Aurmine reprimanded him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  Mishel cleared his throat. “Thank you, Ms. McGovan. That’s all from me.”

  Anguile stood at once, and Rath held his breath. Fuck. Here she goes again.

  “Ms. McGovan, that was a touching story. But do you still love Mr. Kaldirim?”

  “I don’t know,” Jaymy said. “I’m not sure how I feel now.”

  “That’s understandable,” the district attorney reflected, “given he’s on trial for murder. Last question: Mr. Kaldirim had a habit of lying to you during your relationship. Do you honestly think he was lying to you about killing Mr. Delacourt during your conversation at the restaurant?”

  Jaymy looked at Rath and Mishel for help, but the two men stayed silent. She took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please be honest, Ms. McGovan,” Anguile reminded her.

  “I … I guess I think he was telling the truth.”

  * * *

  Rath sat in his cell, staring at the dinner tray in front of him. In his mind, he replayed Jaymy’s testimony, calling up the faces of the jurors as he watched them react to her. I’ve been trained to read people’s faces … and none of them are looking very sympathetic. Mishel tried to make me a little more relatable with that last set of questions, but Anguile got the last word in. Again. He pushed at the food, then set it aside. Mishel may be the best, but I don’t think he’s got enough tricks up his sleeve to pull this one out.

  Rath picked up the datascroll from his bunk and opened the browser, logging into an encrypted email program.

  Paisen-

  Trial’s not going great here. I didn’t want to ask for help, but I think I’m going to need it. Do NOT come yourself – you have too much to lose. Please put the word out to our network of colleagues that I’d be willing to pay handsomely for anyone that helps me out of this jam. No bloodshed, though – has to be done without hurting anyone. I’ll be watching this inbox for your reply. Thanks,

  -Rath

  He read the message over again, and then sent it. He was about to furl up the device but he stopped, and opened the search program. What did Beauceron say? “Who benefits from your death?” Rath squinted at the far wall of his cell. Christ, I don’t know. Anyone would benefit from stealing my money, but killing me wouldn’t get them my money. So what does killing me achieve? Revenge … except that I haven’t killed any NeoPuritans, as far as I can tell.

  Rath ran a hand through his hair. So why else would someone want me dead? He scowled at the datascroll. If it’s not revenge, maybe they’re reacting defensively? The NeoPuritans didn’t attack me until I came back to the planet. Do they see me as a threat, somehow? But why? I’d never heard of them before. He shook his head, frustrated. Beauceron would tell you to try a different angle.

  Rath typed on the datascroll, running another search query for Delacourt’s son, Robald. He skimmed the results, and then clicked on an opinion piece he hadn’t yet read. In it, the editor of a local newspaper bemoaned the end of Robald’s senatorial campaign, calling it “the last chance to free Scapa from the grip of Foss and his NeoPuritan conservative ideals.”

  Foss. Gaspar Foss – the candidate that Robald was running against. He’s a NeoPuritan? Rath felt a tingle of excitement. He ran another query. Aside from being Scapa’s current representative in the Senate, Gaspar Foss was a key leader in the NeoPuritan Church. He had campaigned on multiple other worlds on behalf of other NeoPuritans, and over the last few years, had aided several in winning their seats, building a small coalition of NeoPuritans in the Senate. Rath read several more articles, skimming through them rapidly. Then he sat back on the bed.

  Gaspar Foss was losing the race for Scapa’s senate seat to Robald Delacourt. And then I killed Delacourt’s father, and his campaign went into a tailspin, when everyone naturally suspected him of ordering the hit. “Who benefits from Arthin Delacourt’s death?” Robald got his father’s money … but at the grave, he was genuinely grieving his father’s passing. And Gaspar Foss benefitted from Delacourt’s death, in a big way. Rath exhaled loudly. So Gaspar Foss hired me in order to frame Robald. But I completed the mission, why send his goons after me now?

  Rath drummed his fingers on the datascroll, thinking. The Group wanted me dead because I knew too much. Foss must be afraid I’ll figure his secrets out, too.

  Well, surprise, motherfucker … I just did.

  27

  Vence fed the slot machine another coin and pulled the handle. The screens whirred and beeped, the cartoon wheels coming to rest tantalizingly close to a three-of-a-kind match. She feigned disappointment, and selected another coin from the cheap plastic cup. To her left, a group of men roared with excitement – one of their number had just made a decisive move against the house player in a game Vence did not recognize.

  She searched for the game using her internal computer, and a second later, the search results came up – the man was playing the ancient game of Go, in which players used black and white marbles to capture territory on the board. It was a game of strategy, she read, not chance. Apparently this casino had developed a betting system centered around the game, and employed a retired professional player to represent the house against customers.

  The game continued for nearly an hour, and as Vence lost more coins to the machine, she watched as the tide inexorably turned against the challenger, too. His friends’ raucous cheers died down, until eventually the game was over – the house player had defeated him. The man hung his head in shame, and his friends left, quieted.

  The house player collected the man’s sizable wager, and bowed to his opponent. The opponent bowed back, and stood up to leave. Vence slid her remaining coins into her pocket and followed. The man went to the bar, and set a lone chip on the polished wood countertop. Vence took the stool next to him.

  She thought the words first, using her internal computer and heads-up display to translate them into a phonetic spelling of the local dialect. she said, pushing his chip back toward him.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  she told him, smiling.

  he said.

  she said. She ordered herself a glass of wine.

  They drank in silence for a minute, and then Vence held her hand out. she said.

  he said, taking the hand she had offered.

 

  He smiled, blushing.

  Vence said.

  <… but I’m in the service,> he finished.

  Vence replied, raising an eyebrow. rs.> She winked at him, and he laughed.

 

  she asked, rhetorically. She glanced around the bar, verifying that they were out of earshot of the other patrons.

  His eyes narrowed.

  she reassured him.

  Shinoda sipped his drink, frowning.

  Vence argued. She set her plastic cup on the bar top, and tipped it toward him, to ensure he could see the stack of casino chips inside.

  he asked.

  she told him.

  He sipped his drink again, nervously. Under the cover of the bar, she slid a data drive into his pants pocket.

  she said. she patted his pants pocket,

  * * *

  Vence stopped to let a pair of construction workers pass, carrying a sheet of drywall from a truck parked in the street into the nearby building. Like many of the buildings on the street, it still bore the marks of Jokuan’s civil war – the upper story was blackened and gutted from a large explosion.

  Farther along the sidewalk, a fruit vendor offered her several round objects with dimpled blue skin. Vence decided she was a little hungry, so she stopped and purchased one, thanking the man. The skin was quite sour, but after she had peeled it off, the flesh inside was sweet, and slightly tangy.

  At the next intersection, she passed a pair of Jokuan soldiers standing guard. They lounged against a crumbled cinder block wall, smoking the foul-smelling herbal cigarettes the Jokuans seemed to like so much. Vence ignored them – she had studied the soldiers she had seen over the past week, and knew their measure.