Final Inquiries Read online

  "If a human being did it."

  "Bingo. Exactly. Right," said Jamie eagerly. "If a Kendari did it--either someone on that side killing for himself, or someone acting on orders--then none of my objections matter anymore."

  "Okay. But there's a flaw. You're forgetting that this embassy is not the only source of human beings on the planet. There are all those crazies on file up the street. And some of those groups could easily have an objection to our nabbing Pentam. And, while we're at it, there are plenty of Kendari who don't work for the embassy, right on up the same road on the other side. Let's not forget our buddy Tancredo Zamprohna. Maybe he figured it would be a good idea to throw a monkey wrench into the proceedings--and he wouldn't exactly have our qualms about offing a Kendari. He hops the wall, diddles the lock codes to the joint ops center, and kills Emelza, then escapes in the confusion. Maybe he came and went from the Kendari side, while they were all at dinner, and that's why no one saw him. Or if not him, any of his friends or enemies. Or any of the Kendari crazies."

  "I thought we were trying to limit the number of suspects. You've just wheeled in a few hundred more!"

  "Sorry about that," said Hannah. "Sometimes reality intrudes. But if it's any help, I agree with your basic premise. We all like to pretend otherwise as hard as we can, but every police investigator knows that, given the exactly right--or maybe exactly wrong--circumstances, anyone is capable of some murder. Push someone hard enough, far enough, and they can snap. Fact of life."

  Hannah stood up and went to the window, and looked out at the joint ops center. "But look at the way this murder was done," she said. "Then look at the alibi witness information. Look at the physical evidence of the surveillance video that shows no one coming or going through the human-side entrance of the joint ops center at the critical times. And, for whatever it's worth, remember that everyone at this embassy was supposedly vetted and checked and indoctrinated and so on to want to win the Pentam decision. It seems wildly implausible that anyone working at this embassy would have committed this crime this way--and there is strong physical and alibi evidence to suggest that none of them could have."

  "Let me hang one more angle on it," said Jamie. "From what I know, right now, this feels a lot like a political crime--an effort to sabotage the human claim to Pentam--disguised as a personal crime."

  "In other words, trying to frame Milkowski. I don't quite see how that's different from what we were saying."

  "On the surface, anyway, what was this crime supposed to look like? What were we supposed to think happened?"

  "That Emelza picked up Frank Milkowski's big old cup of hot black coffee from off his desk, stood in the center of the joint ops center, drank it, and died on the spot."

  "That's not a murder," Jamie said, "that's a suicide."

  "Plus she didn't swallow, plus Milkowski didn't keep his cup in the ops center, plus that's such a horribly painful way to die that I don't see why a Kendari would choose it." Hannah nodded to the big sealed box on her desk. "Plus the physical evidence I'm hoping to develop from that collection. There's lots of holes in that first-glance theory."

  "Okay, so were we supposed to think that's what happened--or were we supposed to see all of the holes?" Jamie asked. "Or just see some of them? Or any of them? Because neither our people or their people believed the suicide theory for a second. To the point that no one has even considered the implications of someone trying to stage this as a suicide. The killer had to assume there would be some reaction. The murder was done specifically to cause a reaction. Are we doing what the killer expected--or have things gone off script? What does the killer think we're supposed to do next? What will the killer do next?"

  Jamie turned and stared out the window at the embassy personnel outside. Their day had turned into a weird sort of post-incarceration half holiday. Had one of the people he was watching done this thing, because they hated Kendari, or hated humans, or had some morbid reason for opposing human expansion?

  "If we agree it was no suicide," said Hannah, "then I think we can't really buy that the killer was seriously trying to make it look like suicide. I think we're supposed to read the crime scene as an attempt to disguise a murder as suicide. We're supposed to think Milkowski killed Emelza 401 by somehow forcing her to drink from his coffee mug, and Milkowski was trying to make it look like suicide."

  Jamie laughed, but there wasn't anything all that funny about the situation. "You've got us up to about three layers of deception right there. Mystery Killer X frames Milkowski so it looks like Milkowski was setting up Emelza to look like a suicide. You're not going to hang anything else on that, are you?"

  "I hope not," said Hannah. "I agree that it's damned complicated, but unless we're both missing something, it's the least complicated theory that actually fits the known facts."

  "In that case," said Jamie, "I hope we're both missing something." He turned to the desk and picked up the box. "Come on," he said. "Let's go find Zhen Chi and Remdex, and get started on ruining their day."

  EIGHTEEN

  DIRTY MUGS

  Fifteen minutes later, Zhen Chi, Brox, and Remdex 290 were gathered in the same side conference room of the joint ops center. Jamie had instructed all three to bring safe-handling gloves, masks, and gowns, but not to put them on.

  "Thank you for coming," said Hannah. "Let me start by apologizing to Remdex and Zhen Chi, because this is going to seem like my inventing work for them--but I honestly believe this will get us to the truth faster, and with less effort, than any other procedure I can think of."

  "I be worked already very hard," said Remdex in his clumsy Lesser Trade Speech.

  "I appreciate that," said Hannah. "But if my idea is right, we can move very quickly to put a great number of current potential suspects all but completely in the clear."

  "Those be human potential suspects?" Remdex asked sourly. "Limit the field to Kendari only?"

  "I'll answer that with 'yes and no,' and leave it at that," said Hannah. She reached out and patted the box. "In here, very carefully sealed and labeled, are coffee mugs, coffee cups, tea cups, and cola beverage containers--at least one from every member of the human embassy staff. A couple of people had more than one cup, and I took all of them. They're used and dirty. I am certain they all have caffeine residue on them. Some people drank decaffeinated coffee or herbal tea or whatever, but even those can have significant trace amounts of caffeine, so please be careful."

  Hannah pulled a Kendari data wafer and a human datapad out of her pocket. "Here are the recordings of all the interrogations we performed. Although they provided some useful information to us, the interrogations themselves were in large part deceptions on our part to allow us to sit down and get people talking over a nice cup of tea or coffee. You are welcome to view the recordings in detail. There were one or two instances where the subjects unintentionally discussed human-ears-only information. We have blurred the speakers' mouths and scrambled their voices in those passages, but we have left the sequences in, because the primary goal was to provide a visual record of each person selecting and preparing his or her own beverage. The recordings also show Special Agent Mendez and me packing and sealing the mugs, and putting tamper-proofing on the seals. The records thus provide a chain of evidence to show that the subjects were unaware of our intent to collect the cups and mugs, that they prepared or selected their own drinks, and that the cups or mugs have not been tampered with in any way."

  "And what we to do?" Remdex demanded. "Humans have those finger marks, or prints that you make fuss over for identifying. Have you caffeine marks as well? Do you expect me to compare residue each cup against crime scene mug find a match and culprit?"

  Hannah grinned. "If you can find the culprit that way, I will be delighted, and astonished. No. What I ask is that you take a sample of two or three of the cups--or five, or six, or all of them if you see fit, and do two things. First, scan the exterior surface for fingerprints, residue of the beverage, and so on. Then take a swab sample
of the interior, and analyze the compounds you find. Do whatever other tests, whatever comparisons you like. I won't try to guide you in that. If, if, you have the facilities, and if your first results intrigue you enough, you might try to get readings of the carbon-isotope ratios."

  "And what this all nonsense tell us?" Remdex demanded.

  "The best way to find out is to do the tests," Hannah said. "Special Agent Mendez and I were brought into this case without even being told what planet we were going to. We were not told who the victim was, or how or where she died--or if in fact there was a murder--until we were at the crime scene. We were kept in ignorance to prevent our preconceptions from misleading us, because the case was so delicate, so important, and the evidence so potentially misleading."

  That might not be one hundred percent accurate, but close enough for a rhetorical argument. She decided to hit him from another angle and play on his ego. "I ask you to work by that same principle, on a much smaller scale. And there is also the question of politics, and your reputation. It would be best if you found the truth without being told what to find. If I tell you what to look for, and you find it, you might easily spend the rest of your life being pointed at as the medical technist who did the human spy's dirty work for her. Do you want that?"

  Remdex made an odd little strangling noise and gestured vaguely. Perhaps a Kendari could have read his emotions, but Hannah certainly couldn't. "I'll take that as a no," she said sweetly. "I look forward to your cooperation. Dr. Zhen Chi. You will assist and cooperate, yes?"

  "Hmm? What?" she said distractedly. "Yes, yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it." Either Zhen Chi was starting to put the pieces together for herself, or else she was plenty smart enough to recognize an order disguised as a question.

  "Thank you both," said Hannah. "One last small point. The cups and mugs aren't really evidence in this case. It is the residues left on the mugs that we're interested in--and even that is only to provide a sort of statistical base, a general sampling. Once the analyses are complete, I would ask that the various beverage containers be returned. Many of them are personal property, and the owners likely have strong sentimental attachments to them."

  "Definitely," said Zhen Chi. "I sure want mine back. It'll make a hell of a souvenir after this."

  "All right, my fearless leader," said Jamie as they left the joint ops center. "Now what?"

  Hannah checked the time. "Now we hope and pray they get that analysis done fast--miracle-level fast."

  "You want to walk me through that?"

  "From what we've been told by the BSI agents and the ambassador, everyone is expecting the Vixa to convene an important meeting with Flexdal and Stabmacher some time today. The local BSI agents are supposed to provide escort service--but they can't while under suspicion of murder, so you and I have to do it. If that analysis does what I think it will, it ought to clear the BSI agents of all charges. Then they could do their own jobs--or at least come along with us."

  "Not all of them," said Jamie. "Milkowski's out of it."

  "But--"

  "But what?" Jamie asked. "He's only been slightly deceitful? He only told two or three lies meant to protect himself in his statement? And he only looked somewhat hungover when I saw him at breakfast?"

  Hannah paused and looked around the compound. It was still strange to see people in it--and just at the moment, she'd just as soon it was deserted. But at least there was no one in earshot. "All right," she said. "Point taken. He's screwed up. He's dug himself deeper into a hole that he never needed to dig in the first place. And it's probably not smart to tempt fate and let him near the Kendari or the Vixa in the state he's in. I'll go that far. But no further."

  "He's no prize," Jamie said brutally. "Why defend him?"

  Hannah felt her temper flare, and fought to tamp it down. Jamie could be so young at times. "I'll tell you why--partner. Because I've had good luck. I got good assignments, and I made career decisions that turned out to lead to good things. Because maybe, just maybe, that's the only difference between Frank and me. My luck has been better. Maybe I'm scared my luck could change, and I'll be blamed for something I couldn't control--like this case going bad, everything falling apart, and the whole human race pointing to me as the woman who lost Pentam. Maybe I'm scared that five years from now I might look in the mirror and see someone a lot like Frank Milkowski looking back at me. And I'm hoping that someone will give me a break when I need one. That reason enough?"

  Jamie was taken aback. "Yeah. Yeah, Hannah, okay. Okay. We lay off."

  "Good," Hannah said sharply. "Then let's go find the baby agents and pick their brains. You'll enjoy it. They're even younger than you are."

  Jamie was distinctly relieved that Hannah managed to calm herself down by the time they were settled into the BSI office with Singh and Farrell, and getting briefed on procedure. She must be a lot more on edge than he had realized. Were they that close to losing the Pentam System for humanity? Suppose they found the killer, and the killer was human, despite all their logic? Would history, or worse, the Bureau's Office of Personnel, somehow find a way to blame Hannah--blame both of them--for losing Pentam, instead of blaming the killer? He had never really thought over the huge career advantage he had gotten from being partnered with Hannah. Singh and Farrell hadn't seen a tenth of the action he had seen. Were Hannah and he one misstep away from the partnership being broken up? Three months from now, I could be the resident agent on Cinder, with nothing to do for entertainment but watching the crops die.

  And staring into space during a vital briefing would be a great start toward making that happen. He blinked and forced himself to focus on what Farrell was saying.

  "The first time you went into the Grand Warren, you were going in for yourself," she was saying. "Not this time. This time you have no status--you are the status. You're not going to be escorted. You're going to be the escort. Go armed. Loaded weapons, prominently displayed."

  "Are you sure that's wise?" Hannah asked.

  "No," said Singh. "We're not at all sure. But it is necessary. All the other escorts will be carrying deadly-force weapons--their stingers. You should do the same. The surest way to avoid attacks is to be prepared to repel them. You will be at a considerable disadvantage as it is. Any escort Vixa you encounter will be controlled by a higher-caste Vixan who regards the escort as expendable--and the escorts themselves regard themselves in that way. They will not hesitate to get themselves killed if it is to the slightest benefit of their superior. You, I assume, won't feel quite the same way about it."

  "No, we won't," said Jamie.

  "So a Grand Vixa could and would send twenty escort-caste Vixa to attack you, forcing you to kill them all, just in order to empty your weapons. You would be of no account, but that would leave the ambassador defenseless, and thus more likely to agree to their proposals in the negotiations."

  "So maybe we pack some extra ammo and a backup gun or two," said Jamie.

  "I'd advise it," said Singh. "And carry it all where it can be seen."

  "Let's get back to routes and locations," said Hannah. "The more we know about where we're going, the better I'll like it."

  They were still at it a few minutes later when Ambassador Stabmacher walked in, dressed in an immaculate business suit of absolutely conservative cut. Farrell and Singh instantly got to their feet, and Hannah and Jamie did as well. We never did that before for him, Jamie thought. Should we have?

  The ambassador smiled at them all, and gestured for them to take their seats again. "Just checking in," he said, standing at the head of the meeting-room table. "We don't know for sure when--or if--we'll be summoned today, but we believe we will be. And we think this is going to be a significant meeting. It seemed very much like all the pieces were in place--at least, before the, ah, incident. We were on the verge of getting a settled framework for an agreement. So this could be big. Special Agents Mendez and Wolfson, I know you'll do your best, and I know our local agents will give you the fullest and best briefi
ng possible."

  "We will, sir," said Singh.

  "I know," said Stabmacher. There was something sad about him in that moment. Somehow the small pomposities of the man, the fumbling good intentions, all seemed to melt away. Jamie suddenly understood Stabmacher, and the airs he had seemed to put on. On Tifinda, to the Vixa, he stood for Earth, for humans, for Humanity with a capital H. He suddenly regretted yelling at the man, and felt shocked and ashamed that he could have done such a thing. Berndt Stabmacher was about to stand up and speak for them all, speak to the Vixa, speak whatever truth he had to more power than any of them could imagine. They owed him their respect, and much more besides.

  "Speaking of the local agents, however, I only see two of you," said Stabmacher. "The senior local agent should be present. Where is he?"

  Singh and Farrell exchanged looks, Hannah frowned and looked down at the table, and Jamie winced inside. "He's, ah, not feeling well, sir," said Singh. You don't lie to the ambassador, thought Jamie, but sometimes it is wisest to let the truth out in gradual stages.

  "I see," said the ambassador, his face hardening. "He's drunk again. Or still. Passed out in his room?"

  Singh and Farrell both muttered something inaudible, but they might as well have shouted out loud.

  "I see. Special Agent Farrell, I believe you are the more senior. As soon as possible, I would ask you to draw up a list of charges against him for my signature. I think it's time we put an end to that man's troublemaking--and his career."

  "No, sir," said Hannah.

  "I beg your pardon?" said the ambassador.

  "No, sir," said Hannah. "Forgive me, sir, but I am the most senior agent present--and I am senior in rank to Milkowski as well. I should be the one to draw up that list of charges. But I would respectfully request that you withdraw your order."