Keeper of the Sun (Starhold Series Book 3)

by J. Alan Field

  Renata thought for a moment. “All right, go. Bennett, you go with her. I want to be alone with my husband.”

  Just before they reached the door, Renata called out to her trusted aides. “I’m still not sure about Preiss. Just remember—even if he’s with us, there are other people at the SSB who are not. We are all walking a tightrope now, even the Superintendent.”

  When the door closed and they were alone, Karl’s eyes rose. “I’ve screwed up pretty bad, haven’t I?”

  “Pretty bad,” she repeated. “The Directorate may take the company from you and you’ll have nothing for Khadeen. I understand why you did it, but politically, it still puts us in a bad spot.”

  “Forget politics for a moment. What about us, Rennie? You and me, husband and wife?” he said facing her. “I’m so sorry, I really am. You know I love you with all my heart, but I also love my son. I was just trying to…”

  His voice trailed off. Renata moved close to embrace him, taking his face between her hands and gently kissing him. “You once told me that you would give up everything for me,” she said in a whisper. “Now you may actually have to.”

  14: Dorham

  Villanueva

  Planet Quijano

  Etta Sanchez was trying her best to control her temper. “Chief Inspector Mazorra, I don’t understand. According to my cousin, Uncle Leo’s ranch hasn’t even been properly examined for evidence yet, and the accident happened over two weeks ago. What is going on? I want to speak directly with the case inspector. I want to talk to Rachel Randa.”

  After cooling her heels in the waiting area for over an hour, it seemed like Sanchez was about to be stonewalled by the station supervisor. Be cool… stay calm… she repeated to herself sipping what passed for coffee at the Villanueva SSB headquarters.

  “Look, Commander Sanchez,” said the man behind the desk. “I understand about victim rights and all of that…”

  Sanchez interrupted. “Using the word victim implies that a crime was committed, but so far this isn’t being investigated like a crime, or an accident, or anything else. What the hell is your Inspector Randa doing anyway?”

  Mazorra looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere as he tugged uncomfortably at the ends of his shirt sleeves. “Ma’am, Inspector Randa is no longer on the case. A short time into the investigation, she was, um… reassigned.” Maybe the Chief Inspector wasn’t going to obstruct her after all. He was giving off the vibe of someone who wanted to share something that he wasn’t supposed to.

  “How long was she on the case?”

  “About three hours,” he answered timidly. “Commander Sanchez, I understand you are ex-OMI.” She had let that fact be known when she asked for this meeting, thinking it might expedite matters if the cops knew they were dealing with a space force veteran and fellow professional.

  “Chief Inspector, perhaps we should talk off the record.”

  “Perhaps we should,” Mazorra said, looking relieved. “And in confidence.” Once Sanchez nodded acceptance of his terms, the SSB man continued. “Your uncle was an important man. His death is being treated as a security issue, and I am being forced to answer to a lot of higher ups. Problem is, the VIPs don’t seem to all be on the same page.”

  Mazorra reached into a desk drawer for a small datapad. “I don’t like being told what to do in my own office, even by my own boss—or in this case, multiple bosses.”

  “So someone in Esterkeep removed Randa,” Sanchez speculated.

  Mazorra shook his head. “HQ in Esterkeep ordered me to give Randa the case in the first place. Then about three hours later, new orders came down instructing me to send Randa on vacation and put this detective on the case—your mobile, please…” As Sanchez held up her mobile, Mazorra swiped some information from his datapad to her device.

  “That’s the man you want see,” said Mazorra. “Inspector Ellis Dorham. His address is there in the file.”

  “His address? Isn’t he here in the office?”

  “Hah!” laughed Mazorra without elaborating. He rose from his chair and escorted Sanchez to the door.

  “One more thing,” said the Chief Inspector before he saw her out. “Officially, I have to warn you not to interfere with the investigation. Unofficially, I thought Leonardo Sanchez was a great man and I’m sorry for your loss. If you’re going to see Dorham, I hope you have better luck with him than I do.”

  On her way to Inspector Dorham’s home, Sanchez watched for anyone tailing her but saw nothing. Perhaps she had not been followed on her way back to her hotel yesterday afternoon after all. Maybe it was all her imagination. On the other hand, it could be that whoever followed her had switched off with a fresh tail. There was one thing Sanchez knew wasn’t her imagination—she was being sucked down the rabbit hole of her uncle’s accident and the subsequent investigation. She needed to set this Dorham fellow straight and get off Quijano. Hanging around here wasn’t going to find her missing husband.

  The taxi took her to Miraflores, an older section of the city. When Villanueva was young this had been an upmarket neighborhood, but that was a long time ago. Today many of the once grand houses stood crumbling, most of them rental properties. Dorham lived in a two-story brick duplex at the very end of Berino Street.

  “Sorry, Ms., err, Sanchez, I wasn’t expecting company. Please set down.” Ellis Dorham was a tall man, maybe four inches north of six feet. In his mid-thirties, he had a rough-hewn but handsome face. He welcomed her into his apartment, darting to clean off a place on the sofa for her to sit down.

  “Inspector, what is going on with the investigation into my uncle’s death? It’s been two weeks already. Don’t tell me you’ve come up empty handed.”

  Dorham blinked hard and reached for some tissues. “Sorry, damn allergies,” he said dabbing at his eyes and blowing his nose.

  “It might help if you adjusted the climate controls,” mumbled Sanchez. The apartment was stuffy and had a generally stale feel to it.

  “Climate controls?” said Dorham chuckling through a raspy voice. “Just where do you think you are, sister? You’ve spent too much time on Sarissa, Commander Sanchez. You’re a native Quijanan—you know not everybody here has those nice luxuries like you folks on the homeworld. My climate control is opening and closing the windows.”

  “So you have been investigating,” she said narrowing her eyes on Dorham. “Seems like you know a little bit about me. Checking out all of the family members, are you?”

  “Some,” he said, blinking his wet eyes several times and wiping at them with a fresh tissue. “I know a little bit of your background and that you’re OMI. Impressive record from what I saw.”

  “You’re only partly right, Inspector. I’m ex-OMI. Last year, I traded a partner for a husband.”

  “Oh, yeah, the famous Frank Carr. From what I can see, he’s one lucky man.” Dorham said as he stared at her. He wasn’t leering as much as thinking about something. “Hey, you stumbled along at just the right time. I’m taking a forensics team out to your uncle’s ranch tomorrow.”

  “About time.”

  “Why don’t you go with us? Love to have you along. Besides, your relatives at the ranch would rest easier if you were with us,” Dorham said with a beckoning smile. “You can even do a little flying. Ever flown an SSB tandem-glider?” Before she could respond, he continued. “Oh, hell, your records say you can fly anything. You would be a big help. Whad’ya say, sister?”

  She didn’t know for sure what to think of Dorham. The man sounded like he was slightly drunk, but there were no glasses or liquor bottles lying around. He was either being very insulting or genuinely friendly, and Sanchez couldn’t really tell which. She decided to gamble on the latter. Besides, she needed a little help herself.

  “All right,” Sanchez relented. “Look, I have a favor to ask, and it’s a little embarrassing. I was scheduled to go off-world today, but this change in my travel plans has caused a problem. With the festival in town, I can’t find another hotel
room for this evening. I know it’s forward, but would you mind if I crash on your sofa this evening? Call it a professional courtesy. I can call the hotel and have them send over my bags.”

  “No problem,” he grinned. “Love to have the company.”

  “Don’t get any ideas, Inspector. I’m married and believe me, I can take care of myself.”

  Dorham threw his hands into the air. “On my honor—totally business. Who knows, maybe we can partner up on this investigation.”

  “Not a chance,” said Sanchez as she keyed in the hotel on the mobile. “One more day then I head back for Sarissa. I have some… personal business to attend to.”

  After calling for her things to be delivered, Sanchez began to flit around the living room, bringing order to the chaos that was Dorham’s apartment.

  “Hey, what are you doing there?” asked Dorham. “I have everything arranged just the way I want it.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sanchez scoffed. “Again, I know it’s forward of me, but don’t you ever clean this place? Even if it is only for one night, I can’t sleep in the middle of all this trash. Argh, what is that odor?”

  “Which one? There are so many,” he laughed. “Great thing about allergies, they dull the sense of smell.”

  Sanchez held up a food box. “Basaran fried noodles. Did you order the side of mold?”

  Looking into the box as she held it out, Dorham made a face. “OK, you got me there—that’s gross.”

  While making the apartment more fit for human habitation, Sanchez decided to do some digging of her own.

  “What’s your deal, Dorham?” she asked as he sat watching her tidy up.

  “My deal?”

  “I asked around about you at the SSB office,” she said tossing some empty bags into a trash can. “You’re not exactly their star detective.”

  “I would think not,” he chuckled.

  “In fact, they said you don’t even show for work on some days—or some weeks. How do you keep your job?”

  Dorham shrugged. “Beats the hell outta me. Let’s just say I have a unique skill set. Of course, it also probably helps that my aunt is the Vice Minister for Home Affairs.”

  Sanchez pressed her lips together so as not to blurt out what she was thinking. “Yeah, that probably works in your favor,” she finally said. “Tell me something—is Rachel Randa good at her job?”

  “Randa? Randa is top drawer. She’s one of the best cops on Quijano or anywhere else in the Ten Worlds.”

  “And they dumped her off this investigation and put you in change.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Curious, isn’t it?”

  Sanchez shivered. Sundown came quickly on Quijano, and when it did, temperatures dropped even quicker. “It’s getting chilly. Mind if I close these windows?”

  “Go ahead, but leave that one open just a bit,” pointed Dorham. “The wife is due back any minute now.”

  The wife?

  “Speak of the devil, there she is now!”

  Climbing through the window was a gray tabby cat. The feline leapt down to the floor and cautiously approached Sanchez, in due course snaking its body between her feet.

  A broad smile spread across Dorham’s face. “Sanchez, meet my soul mate and number one gal, Chessie. Chessie, meet Sister Sanchez. Don’t worry, Sis—Chessie here’s the best judge of character I’ve ever seen. Bet she takes right to you.”

  Sanchez crouched down to pet the animal, but the cat scurried away before turning around to face her again. Etta extended her hand. “Here kitty-kitty. How you doing, Chessie?” she said softly. The feline arched its back and hissed at her before sprinting off into the kitchen.

  Sanchez stood and put her hands on her hips. “She needs some time. I’m an acquired taste.”

  * * * *

  The next morning, Etta Sanchez accompanied a team of SSB constables and techs back to her uncle’s ranch. Even though her cousin Gus had asked her to push the investigation along, he and the ranch hands weren’t happy about the invasion of outsiders. Forensic people combed over the house and other buildings, particularly the one that stored Leonardo Sanchez’s ill-fated helicraft, while other constables conducted interviews.

  Today, Dorham was more sedate than the peculiar man Sanchez met last night. His allergies seemed to have abated, so maybe he just felt better. The Inspector spoke with Gus, his wife, and maybe a dozen of the workers, then examined the Admiral’s personal electronics before confiscating and bagging the polydrive from Leonardo’s house computer terminal.

  “Inspector Dorham, you seem to be very meticulous about your work,” Sanchez commented as she watched him carefully scrutinize her uncle’s personal computer console. In a residence this large, there were multiple stations from which to access the house computer. Obviously, the unit in Leo’s study interested Dorham the most.

  “Nobody ever criticizes my technique,” said Dorham as he looked over a component on the station’s polydrive. “I’m not stupid, Commander Sanchez, I’m just… unmotivated.”

  “Well, I hope your laziness hasn’t let the culprits slip away. They could be halfway to Galba by now.”

  “Not laziness—lack of motivation,” Dorham reiterated, dropping onto the floor and lying on his side to peer into the spaces under the console stand. “And we still don’t know that it wasn’t just an accident. Hand me one of those evidence bags, will you?”

  “You don’t sound very convincing.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be,” he said extending a hand into the air. “We both know that political leaders wear big targets on their back.”

  “Yeah, all the men I care about do…” she mumbled to herself, pushing the requested item into Dorham’s waiting hand.

  “You’d be surprised what I can do when I put my mind to it,” he said, lifting the bag she just gave him back into the air. “Wrong size—one of the smaller ones, please.”

  Sanchez rolled her eyes. “How long before we wrap it up here?”

  Dorham must have heard the frustration in her voice. He pushed himself upright into a sitting position on the floor. “Too long.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You wanted to know how long it was going to take. The answer is ‘too long.’ Everything takes too long for the loved one of a victim. Too long to collect evidence, too long to make an arrest, too long to find justice—if it ever comes.”

  He leaned forward, arching his legs and wrapping his hands over his knees. His demeanor had become somber. “I know your uncle was special to you. The fact is, he was special to a good many people in the Ten Worlds, especially here on Quijano. They say he never wanted to be a politician—those are the best kind of leaders. I used to have a friend who said if anyone wants to hold political office, that alone should disqualify them from ever having it.

  “Sanchez, I’m going to try my best to find out what happened. It’s important for the starhold to know the truth. It’s important for Quijano. But most of all, it’s important for you, and your cousins here at the ranch, and all the people in your family. Understand though, it may take time and frankly, a little luck.” Dorham’s expression abruptly shifted from serious into a congenial smile. “Meanwhile, I need for you to do two things for me.”

  “What two things?”

  “First—have a little faith,” he said with a wink that made Sanchez grin.

  “All right, I can do that. And the second thing?”

  “Hand me a smaller evidence bag—please.”

  After four hours at the ranch, the team flew back to Villanueva with Sanchez in the cockpit. It wasn’t exactly the most fun she’d ever had piloting. The SSB tandem-glider was little more than a glorified cargo pod, but for her, any flying was good flying.

  At the end of a long day, they grabbed some take-out before returning to Dorham’s apartment. Sanchez gnawed on a zavaleaf salad as she arranged travel plans on her mobile. With dinner consumed and her itinerary in place, she found Dorham at the kitchen table tinkering with some ele
ctronics.

  “What’s the good word, Sister,” the big man said without looking up. His food sat unopened on the far corner of the table. In front of him were several electronic devices in various stages of disassembly.

  “I have to leave. I was able to book a seat on a starliner bound for Sarissa tomorrow afternoon. Also, I scored a hotel room upside on the starport for tonight. I’ll just—”

  Dorham began to sneeze and grabbed at a box of tissues nearby. “Sorry,” he managed to say through sniffles. “You were saying?”

  “I was saying that I’m about to call a taxi to take me to the spaceport.” Dorham still hadn’t looked up from whatever he was doing. It was annoying and rude, but her time with him was at an end so she wasn’t going to let it upset her.

  “You need to look at that pad before you leave,” he said pointing to a datapad on the table. As she picked it up, it came to life with words and pictures scrolling across the page.

  “What is this?” she asked without really looking at it.

  “The preliminary forensics report—HQ just sent it to me. Our people work pretty fast when they have a mind to.”

  “Could you summarize for me? I really need to be calling that taxi.”

  Dorham finally looked up to face her. “In the building where your uncle kept his helicraft, there was DNA all over the place that didn’t match anyone on the ranch.”

  “Whose DNA?”

  “Fellow named Frank Carr.”

  Sanchez froze. It was as if time itself had stopped. She tried to breath but her lungs wouldn’t work. It was all she could do to focus, to come back to the here and now.

  “Screw you, Dorham. That’s a freakin’ sick idea of a joke,” she spat out in anger, even though down deep inside she knew he wasn’t joking.

  Dorham didn’t say anything, pointing to the datapad in her hand. She looked down and began to read, slowly at first, then swiping across the screen again and again.