There was one thing though, wasn’t there? When he’d scanned for Hector’s ping he discounted the first one he found because it seemed far too weak to be Hector. But if it wasn’t Hector, what was it? It wasn’t from a shipboard computer – it was the wrong type altogether. Could it have come from the planet below? No, much too far away. Maybe some kind of back-echo? Difficult to say, but if the recordings were still in the database it would be easy enough to check. All he had to do was get out of this darned cell.
Burns finished his third lap of Deck 1 and was making his way back to his office. The route took him past Jacks’ headquarters and on impulse he gave the door gentle knock and stepped inside to find Lt. Primrose staring into space, a tired expression on her face.
“Sorry to intrude,” said Burns. “I just wondered if you knew when the commodore is due back. There are a few things I need to discuss with him.”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you that information. It’s classified,” replied Primrose.
“I see,” said Burns, changing his tone. “Lieutenant, I realize this must be a difficult situation for you but please believe me when I tell you that it is not one of our making. Like you, we’re just trying to do our jobs as best we can.” At times like this a little charm could go a long way and Lt. Primrose visibly relaxed, though something was quite obviously troubling her. “But it really is quite important. Can you give me any kind of idea when we might expect the commodore to return?”
“Well, not for three or four days, I gather.”
“I don’t suppose you could tell me where he’s gone?”
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to,” she said. “He didn’t tell me. Classified.”
“Of course,” said Burns. “Is there any way I could get a message to him? Ask him to get in touch?”
“I can leave a message for him at the military liaison office if you like, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll reply.”
“I’d be very grateful if you would,” said Burns. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.” And with a smile and a nod he headed back out into the corridor. Very interesting, he thought. Three or four days? A lot could happen in three of four days. A lot could pass him by too if he wasn’t careful.
Once Burns had left the office Primrose fell back into her vacant stare. The policeman wasn’t the only person who wanted to talk to Jacks; she did too.
Dolores Primrose was born and raised on the tropical planet of Janus. They said there was more life in the most arid corner of Janus than in the most fertile rain forests back on Earth. It was certainly true that you could grow just about anything you liked in the rich soil that covered most of the planet, all with the added bonus that there weren’t even any dangerous animals to confront; even the largest land animal approximated to nothing more than a medium sized rat. On the other hand, the hot, humid climate provided the perfect environment for a veritable host of insects that would bite, sting, or in the worst case scenario, burrow under your skin and eat you from the inside out. Looks could also be deceptive; along with a vicious looking arachnid whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to invade your bed and snuggle up for a warm, there was also a gaily painted butterfly with fangs like daggers and enough venom in a single bite to paralyze your arm for a fortnight. Anyone living on Janus needed a whole battery of inoculations and a never ending supply of insect repellent simply to make life tolerable.
With her mother dying when she was young, Dolores was raised by her father. Henry Primrose was already a successful agricultural merchant and on a planet where land was cheap and profits were high he was also looking to enter primary agriculture. For the time being he’d have to hire the expertise but with an eye to the future Dolores was packed off to Earth to study astro-biology. It never occurred to him that Dolores might have other aspirations and even if it had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Henry Primrose wasn’t the sort of man to let his daughter’s hopes and dreams come between him and a profitable venture.
Three and a half years later and with the degree already in the bag, Dolores attended a seminar hosted by the Fleet Science Directorate. At the free luncheon she listened with growing interest as a young lieutenant explained that the fleet was about to embark on a series of expeditions to newly discovered worlds and was looking for graduates to bolster its ranks. If Dolores was interested, the Science Directorate would be delighted to offer her a position on one of the latest, state of the art exploration vessels which were being fitted out even as they spoke.
Not for the first time, Dolores reflected that while her class-mates were all looking forward to embarking on exciting new careers at the end of their studies, she was counting down the days with trepidation. All she had to look forward to was sweat, stings, bites and a domineering father.
It took but the briefest period of soul searching before she signed up for an expedition to a binary star system with not one but two probable Earth-like planets. Henry Primrose was predictably furious, cabling his daughter that if she didn’t resign her position and return home immediately he would disown her. Dolores thought it an ironic choice of words. She’d never thought of herself as an object of her father’s affection – more like one of his personal possessions, bound to a life of servitude and to be disposed of as he pleased. The word ‘dis-own’ neatly severed whatever bonds were left and she never went back to Janus again.
Dolores thrived in space and after a string of successful voyages she was encouraged to apply for officer training in the fleet proper. Two years later she passed out as Midshipman Primrose and served tours aboard a variety of vessels before being assigned to the Military Intel Office at Sector HQ. It was there that she met Commodore Jacks. When Jacks finished his time in Intelligence he offered Primrose the post as his adjutant, by which time they were already lovers. Dolores was surprised how quickly and completely she had fallen for him. True, he was quite a lot older than her but she found herself swept her off her feet in the most romantic, old fashioned of ways, so different from the clumsy advances of her previous suitors. They had to keep the affair a secret of course as it was, technically at least, against regulations. But, as Jacks pointed out, he’d be leaving the service before long and then they could stop skulking around and perhaps spend a little less time in the stationary cupboard.
The previous six months had been the happiest of Dolores’ life but ever since they’d arrived on O1 things had begun to change. Jacks had gradually become more and more preoccupied, distant even. That wasn’t like him; he could be gruff at times but he was usually attentive. Then he’d become edgy and that definitely wasn’t like him. Something was troubling him and in turn that troubled Dolores. And now there was this classified mission that he’d been called away on. He wasn’t in intelligence anymore; these missions were supposed to be in the past. What was going on?
After leaving Primrose to her thoughts, Burns wandered over to the hub. Out of curiosity he made his way down to the brig and asked to speak with the prisoner. Unsurprisingly he was met with a flat refusal.
“No visitors,” said Marine Dobbs gruffly. With the big marine being unlikely to be won over by charm Burns opted for his authoritative voice.
“Marine Dobbs…” he began, but got no further as Dobbs stood to his full height, dwarfing even the tall Burns. He folded his muscled arms across his huge chest and looked Burns squarely in the eye.
“Like I said, no visitors.”
Burns met the gaze and decided that he didn’t like what he saw. It was a look that he’d seen often enough, usually in the eyes of hard men with quick tempers and little conscience. No sense in pushing his luck; if he was going to speak to Poulson he was going to have to try a different approach. Time to have a word with Commander Jacobs.
Jacobs had also tried to visit Chuck and had been similarly rebuffed, much to his annoyance. The marines had shown him more respect than they had Burns but the outcome had been the same. Poulson was denied visitors.
“I understand that even under the new regime, in the a
bsence of Commodore Jacks you are in command of the station,” said Burns. “Can’t you just order the marines to acquiesce?”
“I tried,” replied Jacobs. “According to what they told me, they have received orders that can only be countermanded by a regular serving officer – in person.”
“And how many of those are there on the station at present?”
“Precisely zero,” said Jacobs. “Chief Inspector, do I get the impression that you are not convinced of Chuck’s involvement?”
“Why would you think that?” said Burns.
“Because if you were, you’d leave him where he is and be off home, wouldn’t you? Mission accomplished.”
“Ah well, I’m afraid that police work isn’t quite as simple as that. I’m not sure what goes on in a military court of justice but in my world you need solid evidence to get a conviction.”
“Is there any?”
“Not at present, though that’s not to say that we won’t find any. I’ve requested a detailed autopsy on Mr. Stevens. If I’m right that he was murdered – and believe me, I am – there’s an even chance that we’ll find something. It’s surprisingly difficult to get up close and kill a man without leaving – or taking away – some kind of evidence.”
“Why are you so sure that he was murdered?”
“Apart from the fact that I don’t like coincidences, the coroner’s initial report says that Mr. Stevens suffered a deep laceration to the back of the head, presumably as a result of hitting his head on the lip of the airlock as he was blasted out into space. Examination of the air lock does indeed show traces of blood on the door sill but Mullins and I also found traces on the floor near the inner door, where you wouldn’t expect to find any if he hit his head on the way out.”
“Splatter?”
“Wrong pattern,” said Burns. “It’s more of a smear, as if his body was dragged a short distance. He was injured before he went out, that’s for certain. If I had complete jurisdiction I’d call in a forensics team and find out for sure but for the time being it’s just Mullins and me. The thing is, Stevens went out of the same air lock that he’d been working on earlier that day. Assuming he was attacked, was he attacked there and tossed straight out, or was he attacked somewhere else and then taken back to the air lock to make it look like an accident? We know that he talked to Archie Andrews in Ops sometime around six and he met his end about thirty minutes later. So what happened during those thirty minutes? Did he go straight back to the airlock after talking to Archie Andrews? It’s possible, but wherever he went after leaving Ops, it’s my guess that he saw something he shouldn’t have and paid the price for his trouble. What route would he take between Ops and his quarters in Alpha Section?”
“Down the stairs to Level 3 and along the Avenue,” said Jacobs.
“Which would take him right past the holding room on Level 3 where Hector was kept. That’s where he got himself into trouble.”
“And he wouldn’t have noticed anything on the way up to Ops from Delta Section because he’d have used the stairs on the opposite side of the hub,” said Jacobs.
“Adds up,” said Burns.
“If that’s the case, whoever attacked him must have known that he’d been working on the airlock and then taken him back there later. It must have been someone from the station, but still I can’t believe that it was Chuck.”
“Well, at present all we have is circumstantial evidence and if that was all we needed we’d have enough to convict him twice over. However, since that isn’t all we need, we’ll have to do a little more digging, and we do have other tools at our disposal.”
“Such as?”
“Criminal profiling, psychology, getting into the offender’s mind, that sort of thing, not to mention years of experience interrogating suspects.”
“And what does all that tell you?”
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look into all the possibilities, but I’d bet a steak dinner that Poulson was clean.”
“Even though everything points to him?”
“When we did the interviews we deliberately saved Poulson until last. He was our prime suspect – maybe the only suspect. We had that much figured out before we even arrived here and from there it was just a matter of getting him into the interview room and leaning on him, coaxing and cajoling until we got the truth.
“That’s the real trick. You pressure the suspect and then you look into their eyes, you look at the way they sit, the way they fidget. Then you pressure them some more, and still more until you find what you are looking for – the truth or the lie. And then you have the measure of the man. It’s not that difficult when you know what to look for.
“What is difficult is delving into a man’s heart, into his soul. No-one can teach you how to do that, but it’s only there that you can discover the baser qualities that drive him: the greed, the lust, the jealousy or the hate. And only then can you gauge what he might be capable of doing in his darkest moments, if he has the stomach to kill, and do so without remorse.”
“And Chuck?”
“I doubt if he has the stomach to fiddle his income tax,” said Burns. “He’s not our man.”
“But the fact still remains that everything points in his direction. If he gets sent to a military court martial I fear the worst – it’ll be an open and shut case.”
Burns frowned. “It’s too pat, too easy. I’ve met a lot of crooks in my time, some of them very, very clever. Of course, I’ve come across some complete numbskulls too, and Poulson would have to be right up there with them to attempt a job like this and expect to get away with it. The good thing about the really dumb ones – at least from our point of view – is that they always leave clues behind. Lots of them. But what do we have here? Nothing – except circumstance. It’s as if someone was trying to fix him up, in which case the only thing missing is the murder weapon with his fingerprints on it.”
A knock at the door announced the arrival of a visitor. The door opened and Sgt. Mullins entered the room holding up a plastic evidence bag. “Found this, boss,” he said. Inside the bag was a steel wrench, upon the head of which appeared to be several hairs matted together in congealed blood.
“Bingo,” said Burns.
Commodore Jacks cut power and lined up on his final approach to Phoenix Station. He made a pass underneath the station where the defense forces docking arm was located, noting a pair of Ajax class gunboats. Instead of docking, he headed for the civilian terminal and after receiving landing clearance he allowed the on-board nav-system to bring him gently up to the gate. He was a little early and wasn’t due to meet his contact until the evening but it gave him the chance for some well earned rest and relaxation at his favorite port of call. It would be his last visit to this particular establishment but Madame Fifi had other branches scattered throughout known space, ensuring that even the loneliest space-farer didn’t have to stay lonely forever. There was a spring in his step as he left the ship and made his way onto Phoenix. Today was going to be a very good day.
“Where was it found?” said Burns.
“Instrument locker in the server room, next to the core,” replied Mullins. “Mr. Graham found it. I think he was a bit reluctant to come forward in case it implicated Poulson further, but in the end he did the right thing.”
“I hope you commended his sense of public duty. Did he touch it?”
“No. He called Ops and Ops got in touch with me.”
“Definitely looks like blood,” said Burns. “Get it off to forensics for a DNA match as soon as possible. Any prints?”
“I gave it a scan – clean as a whistle,” said Mullins. “Forensics will have to confirm it but it looks like whoever left it there wiped it clean first.”
“The server room, you say? Commander Jacobs, how many people have access to the server room?” said Burns.
“As a general rule, just the shift leaders…”
The three stooges again, thought Burns, shaking his head. “So we’re to believ
e that the perpetrator wiped his prints off the handle, left the blood on the head of the wrench and then left it where it was sure to be found. Someone must think we are complete idiots. Commander Jacobs, I need to speak to Poulson and I need to do it now. Any ideas?”
Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. “Not unless we can find ourselves an accommodating regular officer from somewhere. We could get in touch with Admiral Giles but it could take ages to get someone here.”
“Commander, I fear time is very much of the essence.”
“I don’t know what else to suggest… unless… Sgt. Mullins, have you had the pleasure of meeting Marines Burke and Dobbs?”
“No sir. Can’t say that I have.”
“Then they haven’t seen you either.” He paused for a moment. “Sergeant, how tall are you?”
“Five feet ten, sir.”
“Just the job.” He tapped a button on his console. “Ops, is Penny there?”
“Yes, sir. Shall I put her on?” replied Shorty.
“No, just tell her grab her academy encyclopedia and to get down here straight away. No, tell her to go to my quarters.”
“Your quarters, sir?”
“Yes, Shorty. My quarters. Quick as you can.” Then he turned to the two detectives. “Sgt. Mullins, how would you like a sudden promotion?”
Five minutes later Burns, Mullins and Penny waited as Jacobs rummaged away at the back of a closet in his quarters. “It’s been a while but it should be OK,” he said. “Ah, here it is.” He emerged holding a garment in a suit cover. He laid it on the table and unzipped the cover to reveal the uniform of a commander of the defense forces. “Haven’t worn this since I retired from the military fifteen years back. Doubt I could get into it now, but Sgt. Mullins might. What do you think?”
The Blunt End of the Service Page 17