The Domino Pattern (Quadrail Book 4)

by Timothy Zahn

  “Yet he could be involved without his knowledge,” I pointed out. “Perhaps someone put him into this situation knowing he wasn’t properly equipped to handle it, in hopes that his bumbling would ruin the contract as Esantra Worrbin suggests. In such a case, Mr. Kennrick could be perfectly sincere about doing his best, yet nevertheless still be helping to bring down the contract.”

  “And when his fumblings failed to turn all members against the contract, the evil one turned to murder?” Dallilo suggested thoughtfully.

  “Then the murderer must be Dr. Witherspoon,” Muzzfor jumped in. “He’s the only other Pellorian representative aboard.”

  “Or at least he’s the only Pellorian representative that we know of,” I said, my mind flashing to the spare first-class pass floating loose aboard our train. “Do any of you have any idea why someone would wish to sabotage the contract?”

  “An irrelevant question,” Worrbin said. “The contract is dead. As dead as Usantra Givvrac himself.”

  The other two Fillies stirred uncomfortably in their seats. It was a rather offensive comment. “As I said, I know too little about the contract to comment one way or the other,” I said diplomatically, skipping over Kennrick’s earlier claim that none of the team had the authority to make such a pronouncement.

  “Yes, I’m quite certain of that,” Worrbin said loftily. “Have you any further questions?”

  It was obvious he was fully expecting the answer to be no. “You still haven’t answered my first one,” I said. “Do any of you know of a reason why someone would want Usantra Givvrac and the others dead?”

  “No,” Worrbin said shortly. “In that I speak for all.”

  I looked at Muzzfor and Dallilo. But if they had dissenting opinions, they were keeping them to themselves. “Then I have only one further question,” I said. “Esantra Worrbin, if we checked with the Spider at the dispensary, would the number of your visits correspond to the number of hypos used?”

  “Yes,” Worrbin said without hesitation.

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “I brought twenty aboard,” he said stiffly. “I have visited the dispensary seven times this journey. You may confirm for yourself that there are thirteen remaining.” His eyes bored into mine. “As I’m certain you already have.”

  I inclined my head to him. “Then we’ll take our leave of you,” I said. “Thank you for your time. And yours,” I added, nodding to the other two.

  We left them to their cards and headed forward. “What do you think?” I asked Bayta as we stepped into the vestibule.

  “Esantra Worrbin doesn’t seem to like Mr. Kennrick very much,” Bayta said. “But I find it hard to believe someone in Pellorian Medical would deliberately try to sabotage his own contract.”

  “I’ve seen political moves that were equally crazy,” I told her. “But usually when there’s someone trying to pull down the barn, the rest of the power structure learns about it quickly enough to counter the maverick’s moves. I suppose this could be an especially clever maverick, though.”

  “Do you think we should tell Mr. Kennrick about Esantra Worrbin’s animosity?” Bayta asked, lowering her voice as we emerged from the vestibule into the next car.

  “I would guess Mr. Kennrick is fully aware of Esantra Worrbin’s opinion of him,” I said. “Still, I suppose it’s only fair to get his side of the story. Let’s wander up to his compartment and see what kind of reaction we get out of him.”

  FOURTEEN

  Kennrick’s reaction was pretty much what I’d expected.

  “Ridiculous,” he snapped. “Which one of them made a boneheaded suggestion like that?”

  “I don’t think we need to name names,” I said, giving his compartment a quick glance. It was about what I’d expected given the occupant: neat and tidy, no messes, no surprises. A few hangers’ worth of clothing hung together in the clothes rack/sonic cleaner, a reader sat on the computer desk, and the luggage rack held the three bags I’d seen him board with at Homshil Station. “Incidentally, if bonehead is your typical characterization of non-Humans, I can see why you don’t get along very well with them.”

  “Don’t start, Compton,” he warned, glaring at me. “I’m not in the mood. You have no idea what I’ve been through with these people.”

  “I’m sure it’s been difficult,” I said, again cranking up my diplomacy level. “Still, at least one of the team is solidly on your side.”

  “Asantra Muzzfor,” Kennrick said, nodding. “Yes, he’s been the one bright spot in all this.”

  “He’d certainly make a good sidekick, if you’re ever in the market for one,” I said. “So how exactly did you get hired?”

  He shrugged. “The usual way. A matcher put my résumé with an opening at Pellorian, and next thing I knew I was on the payroll.”

  “Any idea why you were chosen for this particular job?”

  “Obviously, my legal background,” he said. “I was at Shotoko Associates, remember, and we were heavily into Filiaelian and Shorshic contract law.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” I said. “Strange that Pellorian didn’t also send along an expert on Filly and Shorshic cultures.”

  “Not when you consider the price of Quadrail tickets,” Kennrick said. “But you see now what I was talking about earlier. These people are bound and determined to dump this whole mess squarely on Pellorian’s shoulders. That’s why I want—that’s why I need—the Spiders to take a little of the heat.”

  “No.”

  The word was so flat, so cold, and so unexpected that it took me a second to realize it had come from Bayta. Apparently, it hit Kennrick that way, too. “What did you say?” he asked.

  “I said no,” she repeated. “The Spiders aren’t to blame for any of this, and they’re not going to take any of the responsibility. Any of it.”

  I looked at Bayta, then at Kennrick, then back at Bayta. Suddenly, my quiet, emotionless, self-effacing assistant had caught fire. A slow fire, maybe, volcano rather than cooking-surface deep. But it was fire nonetheless.

  And it wasn’t hard to figure out why. There was a murderer running loose on the Quadrail—her Quadrail—defying not only us but the Spiders who had made these trains the safest mode of transportation in the history of the galaxy. Kennrick was pushing for Spider admission of responsibility, and if he was thinking such things it was a safe bet other passengers were thinking them, too.

  And anything that reflected badly on the Spiders also reflected badly on their Chahwyn masters, including the Chahwyn bonded to Bayta within her own body.

  For Bayta, this had become personal.

  “Fine,” Kennrick said. “Whatever. I just thought—never mind. Fine.”

  “Then let’s hear no more about it,” Bayta said darkly, the fire in her eyes slowly fading into watchful embers. “Have you anything else to add about your appointment to this job?”

  “No, I think that’s been covered,” Kennrick said. He was still trying to be contrary, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it anymore.

  “Then I believe we’re finished here,” Bayta said, her tone stiffly formal. She looked at me, and I could tell she was belatedly remembering that I was supposed to be the one in charge.

  But I wasn’t about to undercut her. Not after that performance. “Thanks for your time,” I said to Kennrick as I took a step backward toward the door.

  And as I did so, my eyes drifted again to the clothing hung neatly on the sonic rack. The clothing, and the considerably larger capacity of the three bags sitting on the luggage rack. “We may have more questions later, though,” I added.

  “Feel free,” he said sarcastically. “My door’s always open.”

  We left, Kennrick closing and undoubtedly locking his door behind us. “Where to now?” Bayta asked.

  “Dining car,” I told her. “I’m hungry. Did you happen to notice the clothing hanging on Kennrick’s rack?”

  “Not really,” she said, her voice suddenly hesitant. “Frank—”
>
  “Interesting thing is that there wasn’t much of it,” I said. “Not nearly enough to fill all three of those carrybags.”

  “Maybe the rest of his clothing is in the drawers,” Bayta suggested.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “I’ve seen what sort of outfits he typically wears, and I’m guessing the drawers are no more than half full. But even if they were loaded to the gills, he should still be able to cram everything into the two larger bags.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Which leads to the intriguing question of what he’s got in the third one.”

  “You have a theory?”

  “Of course,” I said. I might be rotten at solving actual murders, but theories I had by the truckload. “Remember when we asked Kennrick why the contract-team Fillies had come aboard our compartment car even though they had regular coach seats?”

  “He said they had documents they wanted to store in his compartment.”

  “And since at least some of those documents might have concerned the Pellorian contract, I’m guessing they wouldn’t want Kennrick snooping through them any more than they would want random citizens doing so,” I said. “Which suggests that one of Kennrick’s bags may in fact be a portable lockbox.”

  “How does that explain why they came aboard in our car?” Bayta asked. “Shouldn’t the documents have already been inside the lockbox?”

  “They should indeed,” I agreed. “The only logical explanation is that the Fillies came aboard with Kennrick because he couldn’t heft the thing up onto the luggage rack by himself. Which immediately implies that it’s not just a simple lockable file case, but a genuine monster of a metal or layered-ceramic safe.”

  “Kennrick could have asked a conductor to help.”

  “And yet he didn’t,” I said. “He didn’t put the papers into a standard Spider lockbox, either. That tells me Kennrick and the papers’ owners didn’t want the Spiders knowing what they’ve got, or having access to them.”

  “Considering Mr. Kennrick’s attitude toward the Spiders, I’m not really surprised,” Bayta said stiffly. “Where does that leave us?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But if there’s something in Kennrick’s safe that somebody wants, and if Usantra Givvrac was the one carrying the key—” I shrugged. “We might have yet another possible motive for our murders. Like we needed one.”

  “Yes.” Bayta wrinkled her nose. “Are all murder cases this messy?”

  “Hardly ever, actually,” I said. “We’re just lucky.”

  “I suppose.” She hesitated. “Frank … about the way I talked to Mr. Kennrick back there. I’m sorry if I was out of place.”

  “You weren’t out of place, and I’m not sorry at all that you slapped him down,” I assured her. “The whole idea of trying to pin any part of this on the Spiders is ridiculous. It was about time he heard that in a format he could understand.”

  We reached the dining car and went in. “I suggest you eat well,” I advised Bayta as we seated ourselves at one of the tables. “I have a feeling we’re in for another long night.”

  “You think someone else is going to be murdered?”

  “Our killer didn’t clobber Witherspoon and me and take that hypo just for the exercise,” I reminded her grimly. “One way or another, he’s going to use it.”

  We had our dinner, discussed the case without making any discernible headway, and retired to our compartments for the night. I hit the sack immediately, hoping to get at least a couple of hours of sleep before the inevitable alarm sounded.

  Only the inevitable alarm never came.

  I hardly believed it when I woke up eight hours later and realized that my rest hadn’t been interrupted by emergency calls from doctors, Spiders, or dying passengers. I checked with Bayta, confirmed that the Spiders hadn’t spotted any problems during the night, and grabbed a quick shower before taking her back to the dining car for breakfast.

  The car’s acoustics prevented me from eavesdropping on my fellow passengers as we ate, but there was nothing to interfere with my eyesight. If there was any fresh tension out there, I couldn’t read it in anyone’s face. On the contrary, it was as if the rest of the travelers had also noted the passage of a quiet night, and were equally relieved by it.

  After breakfast Bayta and I set off on a leisurely tour of the train. The three remaining contract team Fillies were back at their card game, giving the impression they’d never left it. Possibly they hadn’t. Asantra Muzzfor, the sole team member still on Pellorian Medical’s side, nodded gravely as we passed. Esantra Worrbin and Asantra Dallilo, in contrast, ignored us completely. Three cars beyond them, Osantra Qiddicoj also nodded in greeting as we passed. He was still a little pale after his brush with gastrointestinal death, but was definitely on the mend. A small victory, I noted cynically, floating bravely along amid a sea of defeats.

  We passed through second class, where we didn’t know anyone, and reached third. Logra Emikai, the white-knight Filly who’d come to Terese German’s aid a couple of days ago, was ensconced in the bar, where I’d noticed he seemed to spend a lot of his time. He spotted us about the same time as I spotted him, and I could see his eyes following us as we passed by. Possibly he was thinking about his offer of a bribe for inside information on my air filter analysis and wondering if he should follow through on that. But I made a point of not slowing as we passed the bar, and he apparently thought better of it and returned to his half-finished drink.

  Three cars farther back we passed Emikai’s damsel in distress herself, who ignored us as usual. Terese’s Jurian seatmate, Tas Krodo, had his hawk beak buried in his reader, while two rows back Master Tririn was again staring moodily at the display window beside him. Still in private mourning for his late contract-team companions, I guessed, or else quietly plotting his next victim’s death. I didn’t spot either Dr. Witherspoon or Dr. Aronobal during our journey, but with the dining and entertainment cars up and running, there were a lot of passengers away from their seats.

  And with our casual tour of suspect and acquaintance completed, we slipped back into the baggage cars for another look at the victims.

  “Why exactly are we here?” Bayta asked as I started undoing Master Colix’s mummy wrappings.

  “Trying to find something we might have missed,” I told her.

  “Like what?”

  “I have no idea.” I finished unwrapping Colix, this time going all the way down to his waist, and set off on a careful, square-centimeter-by-square-centimeter search of the body.

  And in the end, after half an hour, I found nothing.

  “Two hypo marks, exactly,” I reported, wincing as I straightened my back out of the crouch it had been in for most of the examination. “The killer’s, and the one Dr. Aronobal made while he and Witherspoon were trying to save his life.”

  “Are you sure?” Bayta asked.

  I looked down at the body. “Did you see something I missed?”

  “No, I meant are you sure they were trying to save his life,” Bayta corrected. She was gazing at the hypo mark in Colix’s arm, an intense look on her face.

  “Meaning?”

  “I was just thinking,” she said slowly. “After Master Colix died, Mr. Kennrick suggested that neither Dr. Aronobal nor Dr. Witherspoon actually knew what was in the vials they were using.”

  “I assumed the Spider read the labels for them.”

  “Actually, the way it works is that the doctor asks for the drug he or she wants and the server pulls those ampoules from the cabinet,” Bayta said. “But what if Dr. Witherspoon had another drug with him that he added to the hypo when no one was looking?”

  I scratched my cheek and tried to pull up the memory of the scene as Bayta and I had come charging in. It would have been tricky, but not impossible, particularly if Witherspoon picked his moment carefully.

  Witherspoon or Aronobal. Now that I thought about it, I realized I hadn’t actually seen that injection take place, mainly because Kennrick had popped his face into and out of the dispensary
and I’d gone charging off after him. “Did you see Aronobal give Colix the injection?” I asked Bayta.

  “I saw her remove the needle from Master Colix’s arm,” she said. “But not the actual injection.”

  “Because you were watching me take off after Kennrick,” I said thoughtfully. “Interesting timing.”

  “It could just be coincidence.”

  “True,” I agreed. “Especially since we know that Colix was showing symptoms long before the doctors started working on him.” I frowned at Colix’s body. “But there is something else here, Bayta. Something significant. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Maybe when we reach Venidra Carvo and can have a proper autopsy done,” Bayta suggested.

  “If it’s even still there,” I growled. “I’m sure the Spiders did their best, but after three-plus weeks of less-than-perfect preservation some of the more subtle evidence will almost certainly be gone.”

  Bayta sighed. “And even if it hasn’t, the killer himself will be long gone by then.”

  “With probably a new identity and maybe even a new face to go with it,” I agreed. “Possibly new DNA, too. We are headed for Filly space, after all, land of the lunatic gene-manipulators.”

  “We’ll get him,” Bayta said firmly, an edge of fire creeping back into her eyes. “And then we’ll prove—to everyone—that the Spiders had nothing to do with it.”

  “Absolutely,” I said, wishing I believed that. The farther we got into the mess, the more elusive proof of any sort seemed to be. “Well, nothing more for us here,” I added, starting to re-wrap Colix’s body. “Give me a hand, will you?”

  The next few days passed quietly. No one else even got sick, let alone died, and life aboard the train settled back a bit gingerly into its normal low-key routine.

  We reached the three-week midway point without incident and passed on to the back half of our journey. Bayta told me the next morning that Kennrick and Tririn had gone ahead and held their halfway-celebration meal, the one Kennrick had been discussing with Colix the night of the first two deaths. Under the circumstances, I suspected the event was somewhat more subdued than originally planned.