by Piers Platt
Beauceron scratched the hair at the edge of his bald patch and studied her for a moment. “I’m here,” he said finally. “I’ll do what I can. Show me the camera footage.”
While Jain took out her own datascroll and propped it against one of the safety posts outside the ride, Beauceron opened his notepad to a fresh page of paper.
“Our best angle of the ride is from … that camera, over there,” she told him, pointing across the dome. “But I spent some time last night splicing together the relevant footage from a couple different cameras.” She pulled open the file, and hit Play.
Beauceron watched as a man in a baseball cap exited a side tunnel, stopped briefly to talk to a guard at the back entrance to the carnival, and then made his way across the fair to the Space Elevator ride.
“That’s the suspect, the ride’s primary operator, Alonzo Tuome. He was over an hour late for his shift. We don’t have cameras throughout the facility here, so we don’t know where he was before this.”
“Where does that side tunnel lead?” Beauceron asked.
“Everywhere – you could literally get to anywhere else in the colony through that tunnel, everything’s kind of interconnected.”
“When is the last time someone saw him before this?” Beauceron asked.
“The night before. The carnival staff threw themselves a party once everything had been set up. No one saw him after that, as near as we can tell.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much. The carnival owner doesn’t keep employee records, of course, and your IP database only had name, date of birth – no criminal record.”
“What did his coworkers say about him?”
“Quiet guy, decent worker, liked his booze but largely stayed out of trouble. No one really knew him that well, even though he’d been with the carnival for a couple years.”
“A loner,” Beauceron said.
“Yes,” Jain admitted. “I know: he fits the typical profile for people that commit these kinds of crimes.”
“What did he say to the other employees when he came back to work?”
“He didn’t talk to the security guard when he came in, and the guy who was covering his shift just said he was acting a little weird.”
“Weird how?”
Jain switched to a note-taking application on her datascroll. “‘He just seemed off,’ is what he said. ‘He told me he got drunk and overslept, but he didn’t seem to care.’ ”
Jain waited until Beauceron had taken another note, and then hit Play on the video again.
“Okay, here’s where we switch to that camera I pointed out – it has the only angle where you can see a little on the inside of the control booth here, plus the loading area of the ride. Tuome takes the operator key from the substitute ride operator, and basically gets to work. This goes on for about twenty minutes. You want to watch all of it, or should I skip forward?”
“Let me watch,” Beauceron said. After five minutes, he opened his notepad and wrote: Twirling pen.
“What?” Jain asked, watching him scribble on the pad.
Beauceron shrugged. “He has a rather unique habit of twirling his pen, like so.” Beauceron tried to emulate it, but ended up dropping his pencil. “It could indicate he is nervous, or it may be nothing at all.”
They continued watching for several more minutes.
“Okay,” Jain said. “This is where he tinkers with the control panel, and then runs the ride empty. I spoke with the company that manufactures the control panel, and sent them a photo of the wiring in the panel. They told me that the two wires that he disconnected from the circuit board are basically the failsafe measure. They prevent the operator from being able to release the harnesses except when the seats are stationary and at the bottom of the tower.”
“Did Tuome have much electronics experience?”
“I don’t know,” Jain replied. “He was definitely very familiar with the ride. He set it up and tore it down several hundred times over the last few years, and repaired it a few times, as well.”
They watched the video for several more minutes.
“I spoke with this man, here – the one standing in line that Tuome spoke with. He’s actually a supervisor on a team I work with fairly often. He saw Tuome mess with the control panel, and then he noticed that the harnesses all popped open when he ran the ride empty. He was worried, so he asked Tuome about it. Tuome told him it was a standard safety check.”
“But …?” Beauceron prompted.
“It’s not. They test the ride empty at the start of the day, and then carnival workers ride it as well. Then they don’t test it again until the next day. And they never touch the harness release switches unless the ride is stationary. He deliberately sabotaged the ride, and then verified that it was sabotaged.”
Beauceron watched as the video continued. After a while, he said, “Which is the final set of riders?”
“Not this one, the next one,” Jain told him.
Beauceron wrote: Bogus test run, four normal rides, then victims.
“You wondering why he didn’t flip the switches and kill the very first set of riders after he disabled the safety?”
“Yes,” Beauceron said.
“Mm-hmm,” Jain said. “That’s one of those questions I don’t have an answer to. Okay, here they are, the …,” she fumbled to find the right words. “… the last set of riders.”
“Did he know any of the victims?” Beauceron asked.
“It was his first time on A31. I suppose he could have met them before somewhere, or during the day while he was missing, though.”
“What about this boy?” Beauceron asked. “He just talked to him, and patted him on the head.”
“That’s Miles Yates and his mother, Gianne. She was kind of a big deal around here – on the board of directors for the colony.”
“Who were the other victims?” Beauceron asked, making a note in his book.
Jain listed them from memory, and then they watched the video in silence.
“The people I spoke with who were waiting on line said Tuome looked shell-shocked when it was over, like he was panicking,” Jain said. “He walked over to the bodies, around the tower, and then ran for it – basically back the same way he came in.”
“What did he do on the far side of the tower?” Beauceron asked.
“Hmm? When?” Jain asked.
Beauceron rolled the footage back. “Here – he doesn’t just run right away, he spends some time on the far side of the tower, then he runs.”
Jain frowned. “I don’t know. We don’t have an angle on that side of the tower, some other ride was blocking it.”
But Beauceron wasn’t listening. He rewound the footage again, taking it back to just after the victims landed. He watched Tuome exit the booth and walk over to the tower. He rewound it again.
“What?” Jain asked.
“Watch Tuome,” he said. “What does he do before he walks to the tower?”
Jain watched. “He puts his backpack on?” she guessed.
“Mm,” Beauceron agreed, chewing on his thumb.
“That’s … a little odd. If he was in shock, wouldn’t he be more likely to forget about the backpack?” Jain asked.
“What was her role?” Beauceron asked.
“Who?”
“The woman, on the board of directors,” Beauceron said.
“Gianne Yates – she’s the Chief Ecological Officer,” Jain replied. “Or, rather, she was.”
Beauceron leaned to look out through the dome at the dust-covered landscape. “What ecology?” he asked.
Jain gave a weak smile. “I know. Hard to believe, but there’s an ocean under the polar ice cap that is apparently teeming with multi-cellular organisms. She’s been a real thorn in the side of the Board of late – they’re pushing to melt the cap to speed up terraforming efforts and she’s been arguing against it. Or at least, that’s the rumor … I’m not senior enough to get invited to those meetings.”
Beauceron made another note in his notebook.
“Okay,” Jain said, holding up a hand. “It feels like you’re about ten steps ahead of me. What did I miss?”
“I’m not sure yet …,” Beauceron said. “Talk me through the rest of the timeline.”
“Alright. Tuome puts on his backpack, for some reason, walks around the tower, pauses for some reason, and then runs. He goes back out the same side tunnel he entered. We think he—”
“Stick with what you know,” Beauceron interrupted.
“Right, sorry. We found his body about ten meters outside of an airlock after the storm had cleared. That was three hours later. There was a respirator several feet away.”
“Was the respirator broken?” Beauceron asked.
“No, it was still on and running, the tank was half full. That’s why we called it a suicide … he must have taken it off to kill himself.”
“Was he wearing the backpack?”
Jain frowned. “No. He wasn’t.”
Beauceron stared at his page of notes, tapping the pencil idly against the paper.
“What does that mean? Where’s the backpack?” Jain asked.
“How many long range ships have departed A31 since the incident?”
“Three or four,” Jain guessed.
“Do you have access to passenger manifests for arriving and departing vessels?” Beauceron asked.
“I can get them,” Jain replied, pulling out her phone.
“Do it,” Beauceron told her. “We need a list of everyone that arrived within the last … sixty days, cross-referenced by anyone that departed again since the incident. Focus on the males that are close to Tuome’s height and weight, that caught the first or second transport out after the incident.”
Jain spoke into her phone for several minutes.
“Okay,” she told him. “We’ll have that info within the hour. Now, will you please tell me what you’ve figured out? Why is the backpack important? Why did Tuome do it?”
“I don’t think he did,” Beauceron said. He pointed at the video on the datascroll. “I don’t think that’s really Tuome. Have you ever heard of the Guild?”
* * *
The video feed was grainy at first, but after a second the resolution improved and Beauceron saw the familiar whiteboard behind Rozhkov’s desk, with its list of active cases. Rozhkov entered the frame a moment later and sat down in his chair. He looked up at his monitor and smiled.
“Martin! Are you enjoying your vacation?” he joked.
“It has been … interesting,” Beauceron allowed.
“So I gather. My friend, this report … I am a bit surprised.”
“So was I, Alexei, so was I,” Beauceron leaned forward in his chair. “Listen, I don’t have anything else to chase down here, but the carnival is in operation just a short flight from here; it’s a long shot, but I’d like your permission to go.”
“No,” Rozhkov said.
“Alexei, I know it’s technically not in our jurisdiction, but I think if we coordinate with the local chain of command—”
“I said, ‘no,’ Detective.” Rozhkov’s voice was harsh. Beauceron sat back, surprised.
Rozhkov sighed, and when he spoke, his tone was softer. “Martin, I know the Guild is a passion of yours, and normally I am happy to indulge it.”
“Sir, a new employee joined the carnival just before it stopped here on A31. A man, roughly the same height and weight as Tuome. I spoke with the carnival owner, that man claimed to be sick on the day of the incident, and no one saw him around the fairgrounds. That man left with the carnival when they departed, but the moment they landed at their current location, he disappeared again.”
Rozhkov held his hands up. “I know, Martin: I read the report.”
“He could still be at that location. It’s the most solid lead we’ve had on a Guild suspect in a long time,” Beauceron protested.
“It may be, Martin. But I expected you back here three days ago.” He gestured to the board behind him. “I have cases piling up. I can’t spare you for a wild goose chase … much less fund it; my budget is stretched tight as it is. Now, you said you had completed your work on A31?”
“More or less,” Beauceron admitted. “But—”
“Then I expect you to take the next flight back. That’s an order, my friend. Fly safe.” Rozhkov cut the connection.
Beauceron sighed and rubbed his temple. He pocketed his pencil and notepad, and stood up, pushing back from Jain’s desk. She gave him a sad smile.
“For what it’s worth …,” she started, then shrugged. “Thanks.”
She drove him back in her utility truck, and Beauceron saw that the construction project had made significant progress, even in the short time he had been on the planet. At the landing craft bay, they shook hands silently, smiling at each other in their respirators, and Beauceron extended his hand. He was taken aback when Jain leaned forward and gave him a quick hug instead.
As he sat down on the landing craft and watched the ramp close, Beauceron felt his holophone buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a message from Jain.
Don’t worry – you’ll catch one of them. You’re smarter than they are ;-)
Beauceron smiled, and put his phone back in his pocket.
* * *
The tech raised her hand, signaling for the supervisor’s attention. He walked over.
“I finished the audit,” she told him. “The one on Contractor 700.”
“Ah, good.” He pulled up a chair and sat next to her station. “What did you find?”
“A disturbing trend,” she said, grimacing. She pulled up a chart on her datascroll. “I focused on active mission time, and tallied any deaths to non-targets during each mission.”
“Makes sense,” the supervisor agreed.
“Now, for reference,” the tech continued, “the average contractor causes collateral deaths in about ten percent of missions. Or put another way, for every ten targets, one innocent bystander is killed.”
“I’m following,” the supervisor said.
“By contrast, Contractor 700 averages about two non-target deaths per mission. That’s twenty times the normal rate.” She pointed at the chart on her screen, where a line appeared. “This big spike right here is his last mission, on Colony A31. He eliminated his target while she was on a carnival ride … along with everyone else on the ride.”
“That’s a lot of bystanders,” the supervisor agreed, rubbing his chin. “What if you take them out of the equation – is his average still abnormal?”
The tech frowned. “Yes. And his rate is accelerating over time, even if you exclude Colony A31. I think he’s developing a taste for it.”
The supervisor stood up. “Okay – send me your analysis, and put a flag on Contractor 700’s file. If the trend continues, we may need to downgrade him. I don’t want him putting the Group’s reputation for discretion at risk because he’s killing for his own pleasure, too.”
“Yes, sir,” the tech replied.
“Nice work.” The supervisor jerked his thumb toward another station. “Looks like we’ve got another contractor coming online for a mission; I’m going to head over and check it out.”
17
The rain lashed at Rath, and dripped into his eyes from the tattered sweatshirt’s hood. The bus stop provided no shelter at all, but Rath knew from his childhood that most vagrants were territorial and stuck tenaciously to their chosen spots even when common sense suggested they should move elsewhere. The bus stop had an excellent view of the building’s entrance, as well. So Rath stayed where he was.
The woman had gone inside more than two hours earlier. Rath had been standing in the building’s entrance when she arrived, and the tracking chip he had placed on her coat as she walked past him had confirmed that she had indeed gone into the target’s apartment. He had reported as much to his contact over the phone, and received the green light for the mission – after she left the apartment. He hoped t
hey were enjoying their last tryst. Rath shifted on the bench, and took another swig of water from the half-empty vodka bottle in his lap.
An air car pulled up soon afterwards and idled by the curb for several minutes. Even in the rain, Rath could smell battery fluid – the car had a leak somewhere. Better get that fixed. He stood and leaned against a movie poster on the wall of the bus stop. The woman came down ten minutes later, accompanied by her lover, who held an umbrella for her as she dashed across the sidewalk to the car. They stopped for a brief kiss at the car door, then she got in and he hurried back to the front door. Rath waited for a minute after the car had left, then walked across the street to the alley beside the apartment building.
Rath climbed the fire escape slowly and methodically, finally stepping out onto the building’s roof, his heart pounding from the exertion. Rath found that the storm was even stronger up on the twentieth floor. The windswept rain, driving nearly horizontally across the flat roof, stung his eyes. Staying low, he jogged over to the opposite corner of the building, and then slid his Forge down off his shoulder. He pulled out a length of rope and a climbing harness. He slipped the harness onto the rope first, then attached the rope to the anchor he had installed on the roof the night before, slipping it through the karabiner on his harness. He glanced over the edge of the roof, ensured there were no observers in the alley below, pulled his Forge back on, and then swung himself over.
He had enjoyed rappelling back in training, where simulated heights were nothing to fear, but he had trouble mustering any gusto for the activity now, in real life. He pushed off the building experimentally, paying out rope with his right hand and dropping several feet, but when he swung back in, he lost his footing against the rain-slick wall, and Rath felt a jolt of adrenaline as the rope took his full weight. He took a deep breath and repositioned himself, then pushed off again. It took Rath two more bounds to drop the four floors to the target’s apartment. He eased himself down several more feet, bringing his feet even with the top of a window frame on the sixteenth floor. Rath checked to make sure he was securely in place before taking his guiding hand off the rope and digging in a pocket for a noise cancellation device. He affixed that to the wall above the window, and then took out a mirror.