by Timothy Zahn
“Logra Emikai had Master Colix’s ticket?” the Modhri asked, sounding confused.
“Possibly,” I said. “We ran into him poking around the bodies a couple of days after the first deaths. He may have been returning the ticket, or he may have been up to something else he didn’t want to get caught at. No chance you were still hanging around the morgue, I suppose?”
Qiddicoj shook his head. “Both Master Colix’s and di-Master Strinni’s colonies were dead soon after their bodies were taken there,” the Modhri said. “Yet you told me Logra Emikai was not connected to the murders.”
“I said that was my gut feeling,” I corrected. “But that was largely based on the fact that I didn’t have a motive for him, barring some deep, dark connection with either the victims or Pellorian Medical that we didn’t know about. Now that we know there’s at least a tenuous connection between him and Witherspoon via Terese, I may have to put him back on the list.”
“At least as an accomplice,” Bayta murmured. “He couldn’t have created last night’s situation by himself.”
“Agreed,” I said. “All that having been said, he still doesn’t feel right for the job.”
“I had hoped for more from you than mere intuition,” the Modhri said with a hint of disapproval.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get more,” I said, standing up. “Thank you for your assistance. We’ll be in touch.”
Qiddicoj nodded. “If I can be of further assistance, merely ask.”
“I will,” I said. “One other thing. One of your walkers shares a car with the three Fillies on the contract team. Have you seen any of them disappear for long periods, or head back toward third class?”
“No,” the Modhri said without hesitation. “They leave for meals and hygienic needs, but that’s all. All other time is spent sleeping, reading, or playing games together.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Good afternoon, Modhri.”
“Good afternoon, Compton.” Qiddicoj took an extra-deep breath, and the skin of his face tightened subtly as the Modhri disappeared back under his rock.
Bayta and I returned our borrowed chairs to their original places, then headed forward toward our compartments. “There, now,” I said as we passed through the vestibule into the next car. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“He’s a monster,” Bayta said shortly.
“That he is,” I agreed. “But sometimes in investigative work you have to deal with one monster in order to bring down another.”
She was silent another half coach length. “Did we at least learn anything useful?” she asked at last.
“Oh, yes,” I said softly. “For starters, we learned that Kennrick lied to us. Let’s go find out why.”
EIGHTEEN
Kennrick was right where I’d expected to find him: sitting in the bar in earnest conversation with Asantra Muzzfor. Both of them looked up as Bayta and I approached, and neither looked especially happy to see us. “Compton,” Kennrick greeted me perfunctorily as we got within conversation distance. “Sorry, but this is a private meeting.”
“This’ll only take a minute,” I promised. “I just want to know why you lied to me.”
That got his full attention. “What?” he asked, frowning. “When?”
“Perhaps we should step out into the corridor for a moment?” I suggested, inclining my head microscopically toward Muzzfor.
“No,” Muzzfor said firmly. “I wish to hear this. Bring a chair for yourself and your companion, Mr. Compton.”
I raised my eyebrows at Kennrick. “Kennrick?”
“Go ahead,” he said firmly. “Whatever you think you’ve found, I can already tell you there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”
I pulled over a pair of chairs from an unoccupied table nearby. Kennrick shifted his seat toward Muzzfor to give us room, and Bayta and I crowded in across from them. “I’ve been told you had a meeting with Master Colix the night he died,” I said without preamble. “I was wondering why you never mentioned that.”
“I did,” Kennrick said. “I told you I was there that afternoon to—”
“Not the afternoon meeting,” I interrupted him. “Later, after dinner, when you swapped out his keepsake blanket and his lozenges.”
A muscle in Kennrick’s cheek tightened. “Oh,” he said. “That meeting.”
“Yes, that meeting,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell us about it?”
Kennrick seemed to wilt a little in his seat. “Because I’d been ordered to stay away from him and the other Shorshians.”
I flicked a glance at Muzzfor. He was watching Kennrick, his expression set in that neutral mask so beloved by prosecutors eyeing potential witnesses, or lions checking out a herd of elk. “Ordered by whom?” I asked.
“Usantra Givvrac,” Kennrick said. “He thought I was spending too much time back in third and told me to give it a rest.”
“Were you?” I asked. “Spending too much time back there, I mean?”
Kennrick looked sideways at Muzzfor. “I didn’t think so,” he said. “Others obviously had different opinions.”
“You also spent a great deal of time with them aboard the torchliner from Earth,” Muzzfor said.
“But not because I was trying to influence their votes,” Kennrick insisted. “I just happen to like Shorshians, that’s all. And Shorshic food, too. It was just natural that the five of us liked to spend time together.”
“Especially on the torchliner, where there aren’t any travel-class barriers between passengers?” I asked.
“Exactly,” Kennrick said, looking back at me. “I was just trying to keep up those friendships here, that’s all.”
“To the point of defying Usantra Givvrac’s orders about staying away from them?”
Kennrick grimaced. “The only reason I went back there was to tell Master Colix why I wouldn’t be able to share the halfway-celebration meal with them,” he said. “It didn’t seem right to just disappear without explanation.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, because I didn’t tell him,” Kennrick said. “When I got there he wasn’t feeling well, and I decided it wasn’t the time to drop this on him, too.” He winced. “If I’d realized he was dying …anyway, I got his blanket down for him and put his lozenge bag in its place, and said good night.”
“Did you lock the upper compartment before you returned his ticket to him?” I asked.
“Of course.” Abruptly, Kennrick’s eyes widened. “I’ll be damned. Logra Emikai!”
“What about him?” I asked.
“His locksmith’s bypass mimic,” Kennrick said, his eyes darkening with anger. “He’s the one who sneaked in and stole Master Colix’s lozenges.”
“Interesting thought,” I said. “Why would he do that?”
“How should I know?” Kennrick growled. “The point is that no one had to have Master Colix’s ticket to get in there.”
I looked at Bayta, eyebrows raised. “Bayta?” I said.
“Logra Emikai’s device doesn’t work on Quadrail locks,” she said. “The Spiders have tried it on several, and it won’t even read them, let alone duplicate the trip codes.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Kennrick said. “Do you have it?”
“At the moment, yes,” I told him. “Why?”
“I’d like to take a look at it,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Why?” I repeated, making no move toward my pocket. “You heard her—the Spiders have already concluded it’s useless here.”
“That assumes the Spiders actually know the mimic’s whole potential,” Kennrick countered, his hand still outstretched. “But there could very well be another tech layer below the surface that you can’t reach unless you punch in an access code.”
“And you know what Logra Emikai’s code might be?”
“I already told you, I know a little about these gadgets,” Kennrick replied. “Give me an hour, and I’ll bet I can find the next level down.”
“Interestin
g thought,” I said again. “I’ll ask the Spiders to have another go at it.”
For a moment Kennrick and I locked eyes. Then, reluctantly, he withdrew his hand. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever. But if you want my opinion, you’ve got the thief and the killer already tied up.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” I said. “Thanks for clearing that up. We’ll let you get back to your meeting now. Good day, Asantra Muzzfor.”
“And to you, Mr. Compton,” Muzzfor said, inclining his head. His face, I noted, still had that lion/elk expression.
Bayta waited until we were out in the corridor before speaking again. “Do you believe him about Usantra Givvrac’s order?”
I shrugged. “It’s plausible enough, I suppose, especially if Givvrac thought Kennrick was trying to unduly influence the three Shorshians back there.”
“I wonder if Mr. Kennrick really does like Shorshians and their food that much,” Bayta murmured.
“That part does seem a little thin,” I agreed. “And of course, with Givvrac now inconveniently dead, there’s no way to confirm any of it.”
“I also find it strange that he disobeyed Usantra Givvrac and then didn’t even tell Master Colix what he’d supposedly gone back there to say.” Bayta hunched her shoulders. “You think we should ask the Modhri what they actually did talk about?”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” I told her. “Besides, there’s also the possibility Kennrick thought he might be able to change Givvrac’s mind enough to at least let him host the halfway celebration they were planning. In that case, he also wouldn’t mention his new marching orders.” I glanced behind us to make sure no one was within earshot. “Personally, I’m more interested in Kennrick’s ideas about Emikai’s mimic. Could it have another programming layer to it?”
“I suppose that’s possible,” she said. “I’ll have the twitters look into it.”
“Thanks,” I said. “By the way, it sounded earlier like you were having doubts about Aronobal starting that rumor about us clobbering Emikai and throwing him off the train. That still true?”
She looked suspiciously at me. “Why?”
“Because I agree with you,” I said. “More intriguing is the fact that Kennrick’s IQ seems to have dropped a few points today.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s being remarkably slow at picking up on the obvious,” I said. “First there was your suggestion that Aronobal should be trying to find out what we know instead of starting a rumor to keep us away from her. The obvious counterargument is that Aronobal is the amateur part of the team—amateur in the skullduggery aspects, anyway—and hasn’t got the chops to brazen out a role like that. That should also have occurred to Kennrick, only apparently it never did.”
I nodded back over my shoulder. “And now it only just occurs to him, after a whole bunch of hours, that Emikai’s mimic is the perfect solution to the mystery of Colix’s vanishing lozenges.”
“Maybe he’s just not as good at this as you are,” Bayta suggested.
“Or maybe there are other reasons,” I said. “Such as hoping we’ll think of the mimic ourselves so he doesn’t have to look like he’s grabbing on to the first diversion that comes along.”
Bayta pursed her lips. “So if Dr. Aronobal didn’t start the rumor, who did? And why?”
“Not sure about that,” I admitted. “On the surface, I can’t see what sense it makes.”
“Maybe it doesn’t make sense because there’s no sense to be made,” Bayta said hesitantly. “Maybe Usantra Givvrac was right, that the killer is just insane.”
“He’s not insane, and it does make sense,” I said firmly. “We just have to find the right way to put the pieces together.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not being more help,” she said. “Putting people’s motives and thoughts under a microscope—that’s not something I’m good at.”
I stared at her, my stomach tightening as a memory abruptly popped into my mind: Emikai, still twitching from the aftereffects of the kwi, studying my luggage as if he could see through it to the spectral analysis equipment he assumed was inside.
There it was, the nagging feeling I’d been wrestling with. And with it, the clue I hadn’t even known I’d been missing. Not what had been done, but what hadn’t been done.
And suddenly, I had it. I had it all.
“Too bad Korak Fayr isn’t here—” Bayta broke off with a muffled gasp as I grabbed her arm and picked up my pace, dragging her forward. “Frank?”
“Come on,” I told her grimly. “We’ve got work to do.”
“You’ve figured it out?” she asked, a flicker of hope in her voice.
“I think so,” I said, my mind flashing back to the very beginning of our journey. Bayta had called it, all the way back then. She’d called it exactly.
My past had indeed come back to haunt me.
“It’s the Modhri?” she asked, her arm tensing inside my grip.
“No,” I said. “Actually, it’s worse.”
———
We spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the case, and laying out the facts to test against my new theory. By the time we broke for dinner, I was ninety percent convinced I was right.
With luck, I would get that final ten percent tonight.
———
I waited until two in the morning by the train’s clocks, when even the most dedicated night owls among the passengers were probably thinking about turning in. Bayta offered to come with me, but I told her to go back to bed. There was nothing that could put the damper on a heart-to-heart, off-the-record conversation like having a third party present.
And so I made my solitary way back through first, through second, and through third, until I was in the baggage car by the dead bodies, standing in front of Logra Emikai.
I’d left the Filly in a fairly awkward and uncomfortable position when I’d retied his bonds, mainly because with my limited resources I hadn’t had a lot of alternatives. To my mild surprise, I found he’d risen to the challenge of his situation. With strategic repositioning of the chair, toilet, and table, he’d been able to stretch out instead of having to sleep sitting upright. His head was pillowed, hammock-style, on one of his pinioned arms, while the other hung free. It looked tolerable, even marginally comfortable.
Of course, if he turned over in his sleep he would instantly roll off his makeshift three-point bed and land on the floor, which would snap him fully awake as well as possibly giving one or both of his arms a nasty sprain. Still, it was an ingenious use of resources. One more indication, I reminded myself, of the kind of person I was dealing with.
“Are you here to watch me sleep?”
Mentally, I tipped him a salute. His eyes still appeared closed, but I could see now the small slits he was watching me through. Professional, indeed. “Sorry—-just me,” I said. “I gather you were hoping for someone else?”
“Indeed,” he said, opening his eyes all the way and shifting back up to a sitting position on the chair. “Still, a clever perpetrator seldom tries the same trick twice on the same person.”
“You know something about perpetrators, do you?” I suggested, pulling out my multitool and flicking out the small knife blade as I walked toward him. “I thought you probably did.”
He drew back as he watched me approach, his eyes on the knife. “What do you do?” he asked cautiously.
“Not what you’re thinking,” I assured him. Setting the blade against the safety webbing tying his left wrist to the crate stack, I carefully sliced through it. “I think I know what’s going on,” I said as I stepped to his other side and cut his right arm free, too. “But I need your help and expertise to prove it.”
“What expertise is that?” he asked suspiciously as he massaged his wrists.
“The kind I’d expect,” I said, “from a fellow cop.”
He stiffened, just enough to show I’d hit the mark. “You misread,” he said. “I am not an enforcement offic
er.”
“Former cop, then,” I said. “Come on—we both know I’m right. Back in my compartment you talked about not believing something until you had evidence of its existence, and of needing to reach the required legal bar for action. Those are both phrases I’ve heard before from Filiaelian security officers.”
“That hardly constitutes compelling evidence.”
“We Humans are pretty good with hunches,” I said. “And of course, your current evasiveness just adds weight to my conclusion.”
For a moment he eyed me. “Very well,” he said. “I was indeed once an enforcement officer. But no longer. I am retired, with no official authority from any Filiaelian governmental body.”
“Close enough,” I said. “Let me try another hunch on you. Before your retirement, you were a forensic investigator.”
His nose blaze darkened with surprise. “That was indeed my specialty. Remarkable. May I ask how you reached that conclusion?”
“It was a combination of things,” I said. “You seemed very interested in my technique as I was taking samples from the air filter in Terese German’s car. You also didn’t fall for that ‘congenital disease after-elements’ soap bubble I spun for the rest of the passengers, either. More interestingly, you knew roughly how big a standard spectroscopic analyzer was, which was why you were studying my luggage last night in my compartment. You were trying to figure out if I’d lied about that, too.”
I gestured behind me. “But mostly because Bayta and I nearly caught you snooping around back here a couple of days ago. My first thought was that you were returning Master Colix’s ticket to him after having used it to steal the lozenges from his storage compartment.”
“The tablets were medicine?” Emikai asked, looking surprised again. “Ms. German said they were foodstuffs.”
“Ms. German is not the most observant person in the galaxy,” I said dryly. “Though to be fair, Master Colix wasn’t exactly advertising it, either. Speaking of Ms. German, what exactly is going on with her, anyway?”
He shook his head. “I cannot tell you.”
“Come on, Logra Emikai,” I cajoled. “This is just between two ex-cops, remember? By the way, what kind of title is logra? It obviously doesn’t come from lomagra, as my partner thought.”