Burnside's Killer: Extended Version (The Hunter Legacy Book 6)

by Timothy Ellis

  "You assume he knows that we know he's still alive," she said. "There's no reason to believe that."

  "And there's no reason not to, so I'm going to go with the pessimistic option. That's what cops do. In any case, we should be focused on Thayer right now."

  "I agree. What was the point of telling us about her meeting with Fritz, especially if she was making it up?"

  "That's just it," I said. "What if she wasn't making it up?"

  "Do you really believe that?"

  I took a deep breath, held it, let it back out. Did I believe her? I couldn't back it up scientifically, but my radar just wasn't going off when Thayer spoke to Janet. If she had tried to lie her way out of Janet's questions, I would have been a lot more convinced I was on the right track. But she hadn't.

  "There's a saying among cops," I said. "If it sounds too stupid to be true, it probably is true. Most career criminals are pretty good at lying, and I'd wager our assassin would be a master at it. So when you hear a ridiculous story like the one she told, you believe it. I can't shake the feeling the real killer would have handled the encounter with you better than Thayer did."

  "Unless that's what she wanted us to think," Janet said, cocking an eyebrow.

  I shrugged.

  "There comes a point where you have to cut bait. To be honest, the fact that you found DeLeo alive, and still attached to his penis, was enough to blow a bunch of holes in my theory."

  A butler droid arrived with the food and beers, and I tucked in without another word. I chewed my sandwich thoughtfully, washing it down with half a bottle of draught beer. I was beginning to really like this Aussie brew.

  "The thing is," I paused, and let out a tremendous belch, "the thing is there hasn't been another woman in our killer's demographic, who's arrived at the station since our initial three, so without Thayer as a suspect, we're back to square one."

  "Not exactly," she said. "There's still Ingrid Blakstov, remember?"

  I almost snorted a mouthful of beer out my nose. I took a moment to compose myself.

  "You managed to keep a straight face. Nice work."

  "I'm serious," she said, frowning.

  "Come on, Janet, you saw her last night. She might be able to bore someone to death, I suppose, but she didn't seem the type who could slice someone's dick off."

  "Like I said, maybe that's the point. And the old axiom from Sherlock Holmes is still true now, eight hundred years later. Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever is left, however improbable, must be the truth."

  "Tell that to a cop if you want to make him laugh," I said. "But you're right, I wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't follow up on every lead. By all means, go talk to Ingrid."

  She levelled a cold look at me.

  "Thank you for your permission, Detective. That's very kind of you."

  I held my hands up in surrender again.

  "You're right, I apologize. I'm overstepping my boundaries here. Old habits die hard."

  "Maybe it's time to make some new habits," she said, standing to leave. "Like listening to the people around you."

  I couldn't think of a response, so she left in silence. Something about the door sliding shut behind her made me feel oddly lonely.

  Thirty Three

  "Ms. Blakstov, please try to focus on the question. As I said, I'm really not interested in organized religion."

  My sides shook with barely suppressed laughter, as I watched Janet desperately try to steer the conversation with Ingrid back to her whereabouts the night before. Ingrid was clueless behind her wide smile, and soldiered on regardless.

  "I know exactly what you're thinking," she said, touching Janet's arm. "You're worried about up-front costs. Well, let me tell you, the Creator doesn't believe in up-front costs. Not at all. That's why we have a convenient payment plan, where you simply pay your monthly tithes, and after that, a percentage of all net opportunities. It's truly glorious."

  They were outside the White Dwarf, where Lindsay Thayer had supposedly had her run-in with the man pretending to be Hartley Fritz. Janet had tracked Ingrid down via vid, which showed her browsing the colonnade level, and accosting people in the corridors for most of the morning.

  "I don't want to take more of your time than I need to," Janet began.

  Ingrid cut her off.

  "The universe has nothing but time," she beamed. "Time and space."

  Janet's voice was tight.

  "Yes. Well. I just need to know where you were last night. That's all."

  Ingrid appeared to finally accept she wasn't getting anywhere, and she sighed heavily.

  "I was at The Bridge nightclub until about midnight," she said. "Then I went to my ship for the night. This morning I got up, and went shopping."

  I doubted the people she'd harassed would have called it 'shopping'.

  "So no one was with you when you left the club?" asked Janet.

  Ingrid shook her head.

  "Nope. I was with a couple of guys inside the club for a little while, but they both left before midnight."

  "Did you know them?"

  "I just met them last night. They seemed nice." Her eyes widened. "Why, are they in trouble?"

  Being dead could be considered in trouble, I thought. Janet's response was more diplomatic than mine.

  "Not exactly," she said. "So you never saw either of them around the station before? Maybe bothering other women?"

  Ingrid frowned in thought.

  "Nope. But I've only been here a couple of days."

  "And what are your plans?"

  Ingrid flashed a sheepish grin.

  "I'm trying to scare up a load so I don't have to head out empty, but truth be told, I'm not doing very well on that front. I can't afford to stick around much longer." Then her expression brightened. "But I have to be here till tomorrow, of course."

  "Why is that?"

  She looked at Janet as if she'd grown another nose.

  "Haven't you heard?" she asked, goggling. "Jonathon Hunter himself is going to be here for a celebration! The hero of the Midgard War! I can't wait!"

  Janet nodded.

  "I see. The admiral is actually a personal friend of mine, so I didn't really think of his arrival as a special occasion."

  I was pretty sure I actually saw Ingrid's feet leave the floor for a moment. She clasped her hands in front of her, gaping like a girl waiting for the latest teen idol to take the stage.

  "You're lying!" she burbled. "You actually know Jon Hunter?!"

  "Quite well, as a matter of fact."

  "Could you introduce me to him?" Ingrid pleaded, before composing herself. "No, I'm sorry, that was rude. I shouldn't have asked you that."

  Janet smiled gently.

  "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, make sure you come to The Bridge tomorrow night. That's where the party will be, and where Jon plans to spend most of his time."

  Ingrid sighed dreamily.

  "I can't believe you call him Jon."

  I frowned, and hunched down into my chair. No girl had ever talked like that about me. Why the hell did Hunter get all the attention? What about us working stiffs who never got the opportunity to be heroes in the public eye?

  You could sign up with Ingrid and get Universal opportunities, my brain said, and I let loose a chuckle.

  Janet said goodbye, and headed back into the corridors towards security.

  "I can hear you laughing, you know," she scolded.

  "Sorry. You have to admit, that wasn't what either of us was expecting."

  "No, it wasn't. And it didn't help us at all. I'm heading back so we can regroup on this. Jon will be here in less than twenty-four hours."

  I shut off the vid feed, and settled in for a good brooding while I waited for her. None of this made any sense, and I really hate it when things don't make sense. Maybe it's a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder, or maybe I'd just been a detective for too long, but I had a hell of a time sleeping when I had questions which needed answering.


  Janet's interview pretty much took Ingrid Blakstov off the chessboard, and despite my snide comments to the contrary, I was beginning to believe what Janet had said about how whatever was left, no matter how improbable, had to be the truth. And as improbable as it seemed, that pointed to Lindsay Thayer.

  I found myself missing Jane, which was odd, given that I'd known her for less than seventy-two hours, and the fact I'd been working with her virtual doppelganger the whole time she'd been gone. But something about Jane had made me feel lighter somehow, which I didn't get from being around Janet. Maybe I just preferred blue eyes to green, I don't know. In any case, I wished she was there to toss around ideas with me.

  The door swooshed open, and Janet came into the office looking distracted.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  "I'm fine," she said. "It's just I have a lot of details to look after for Jon's arrival tomorrow, in addition to running the station. To be honest, this investigation is taking up more of my time and cognitive abilities than it should be."

  I bristled a bit at that, since it made me feel like the fact there was a killer on board, was somehow trivial next to the almighty Jonathon Hunter showing up. Especially since he was the target.

  "What exactly are you saying?" I asked. "Are you leaving me to my own devices? Because, to be honest, I'd be fine with that. I'll solve this on my own."

  She sighed.

  "If it wasn't for Speck and whoever was dressed as Fritz, I mean dressed as the man pretending to be Fritz, showing up dead, I'd wonder if there even was a case to solve in the first place."

  "What does that mean?" I asked, frowning. "Of course there's a case."

  "How can you be sure of that? All we're going on is the fact someone did a computer search in James Patterson's house the night of his murder, and that search included Hunter's Redoubt. Everything else has been supposition."

  I glared at her for several seconds before responding.

  "Yeah, that and two fucking years of investigation on my part, which led me to believe the killer was after Hunter. I didn't come here for a vacation, you know."

  "I'm just saying nothing has developed since you arrived."

  "You mean outside of Speck and fake-Fritz being murdered?"

  She sighed.

  "Those two weren't exactly model citizens. Their deaths are concerning, yes, but only in the sense that someone was able to circumvent station security, and commit murder. I've already taken measures to fix that. It can't happen again. As I've pointed out before, I'm not the police, my prime concern is the security of the station, not investigating crimes."

  I was about to say something I'm sure I would have regretted, but as luck would have it, Jane's face appeared on the vid screen at that precise moment.

  "Just letting you know we'll be docking on schedule," she said, then paused. "Is something wrong?"

  "No," I said hastily. "Everything's fine."

  "I'm having doubts any of this is necessary," said Janet. "There may not even be an assassin on board."

  Jane looked back to me.

  "Dick? Is that true?"

  What could I say? These two were both very much analytical thinkers, and I was the exact opposite. As Janet so irritatingly pointed out, my whole case was based on supposition. Maybe it was time to give up.

  "No," I said, surprising myself. Apparently my mouth knew more than my brain. "It's not true. There is a killer on Hunter's Redoubt, and she's after Jon Hunter. I can feel it in my bones."

  Janet shot me an irritated look.

  "All I'm saying is that we seem to be going to an awful lot of trouble for something that may not even be real. This operation is taking up a lot of time and resources, and ultimately Jon's safety has never been in doubt. If anything, it's even less in doubt now, if that's possible."

  "Look," I said, holding up a hand. "Jane was the one who suggested this thing in the first place. If you'd just detained everyone who boarded the station like I wanted, instead of dreaming up this plan to put Hunter directly in harm's way, we wouldn't be having this discussion. I would've interrogated the suspects, broken the killer, and I'd be on my way back to Earth Torus right now."

  Jane cut Janet off before she could speak.

  "Jon wouldn’t allow it, Dick. He's not going to establish himself as a despot ruler, just as the spine's media is focused on him. And it isn’t his style. You'll see this when you meet him."

  I barked a laugh.

  "So he prefers to get his fire hose lopped off! Great plan!"

  "Dick," said Jane in a soothing voice. "I'll tell you again. Jon is in no danger, and this will all be over soon. Now, why don't we calm down, and talk about tomorrow instead?"

  I decided it was better to just shut up. As it was, I wasn’t sure why the more they insisted Hunter was in no danger, the more I assumed he was. I wasn’t usually this contrary. But I also wasn’t used to being told I was wrong so consistently, and so annoyingly.

  The two women went over the logistics of Hunter's arrival. He was coming in on his command carrier, a revived old escort-class vessel named BigMother. I'd heard of it, of course, I'm sure most of the spine had, given its escapades during the Midgard War, and the British Coup. Hunter had been a media darling ever since Avon.

  And it was exactly that notoriety I was positive would lead to his gruesome death. But hey, what did I know, right? I was just an old Earth side detective to these people.

  "The celebration will begin at The Bridge at 1900 hours," said Janet. "We're expecting around five hundred people. Catering is taken care of, and the bar knows to charge the drinks to the house. We'll make sure everyone has a memorable time."

  "When can I meet the admiral?" I interjected. "I'd like to go over a few things with him before the party."

  "I'm sorry, that's not possible," said Jane. "Jon will be going straight to his private suite when he arrives, then to The Bridge straight from there. But don't worry, you'll meet him after everything is over."

  Sure, I thought blackly. Assuming he's still alive enough to talk at that point.

  Jane's expression brightened.

  "Meanwhile, I'll be docking in a couple of hours. Would you two like to have dinner when I get there? We can catch up."

  Janet and I exchanged a terse glance, but she nodded.

  "It's a date," she said. "We'll have to do it here in security, since we can't have Dick out in the main station. See you then."

  Jane gave me a wave just before the vid feed cut out. I waved back without even realizing I was doing it.

  "We should figure out what we're going to tell her before she gets here," I said. "What's that going to be?"

  "Simple," Janet sighed. "That we'll go ahead with the plan, and whatever happens, happens. I don't see any point in leading her down the paths we've been distracted with for the better part of twenty-four hours. We need to focus on the trap. The mystery will work itself out."

  "Fine," I said. "But for now, I'm heading to my suite."

  I left without saying goodbye. When I arrived at my suite, it was 1400 hours, but I was exhausted from what had already been a long, frustrating day.

  I recorded an update for Flint while it was still fresh in my head. The murder of Speck and fake Fritz, what had happened with Lindsay Thayer, and the plans, what little I knew of them, for Hunter's arrival and the party which followed. I added what we had on fake Fritz, and asked him to have someone try and run down who this really was, but I wasn’t expecting any result.

  "Station personnel assure me Hunter will be safe," I concluded. "As for our killer, I still don't know. I've got someone pegged for it, but she's not acting the way I'd expect the killer to act."

  I sent it off. My eyes were drooping, and I was on the verge of sleep when the response arrived ten minutes later.

  "That sounds like a galaxy class cluster fuck," Flint growled. I could see the stress in his face, and hear it in his voice. "Listen, Burnside, this isn't something I want to say, but have you considered maybe we s
crewed up? I can't help wondering if you made too much of the information from Patterson's computer. I don't like you a hell of a lot, and I'm pretty sure you don't like me, either…"

  I snorted a laugh.

  "…but you're the best detective I've ever worked with. If you've been in a closed environment for almost seventy-two hours, and you haven't tracked her down, I think we need to entertain the possibility she was never there in the first place."

  I rubbed my face with my palms. I'd been thinking the same thing myself, obviously.

  "I think it might be the best thing if you came back to Earth," he said. "Why let the trail get any colder than it already is? You said yourself station security will handle Hunter. What are you sticking around for?"

  That was a good question, and under other circumstances, I might have answered differently. But at that moment, I was tired and cranky, and I just wanted the universe to fuck off.

  I recorded another message.

  "I'm sticking around because it's my job to solve crimes," I snapped. "And to prevent more crimes from happening. There's a killer on this station, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let her get away, or kill anyone else. And that's the end of it."

  With that, I sent the message, and shut off notifications so I wouldn't be alerted to any responses from Flint while I slept.

  As it turned out, I was also signing someone's death warrant, though, of course, I wouldn't learn that until later. If I'd known it then, there's no way I could have fallen asleep.

  But I didn't know it then, and I collapsed on the bed. The tug of sleep pulled me down into the depths of my subconscious almost instantly.

  In the blackness of my dreams, Ronald Speck stared at me accusingly from a medical bay slab, as I brushed at a tickle on the back of my neck. My fingertips touched cold metal, and I turned to see the man who'd pretended to be Hartley Fritz standing next to me, grinning. He was dangling a silver chain against the skin below the base of my skull.

  "Ta-da," he hissed, sending a shudder through my dreaming self.

  Thirty Four

  I woke up three hours later with a crick in my back, and what tasted like a mouthful of cat litter, but a quick stretch and a shower were enough to take care of both problems.