“A bomb? Officer Monagan, are you out of your mind? If I were going to murder Talina Perez, it would not be through a means as messy and indiscriminate as a bomb. For the same reasons that Felicity Strazinsky’s unfortunate death so perfectly illustrates. I may be many things, but messy and gross aren’t among them.”
Dan Wirth’s words echoed in Trish’s thoughts as she stalked down the main avenue and away from The Jewel. Of course she’d gone there first thing. Hoped to catch the slimy cretin off guard, before he had time to devise a lie.
And the problem was, coupled with the man’s brown-eyed look of irritated disgust, she’d actually believed him for once in their miserable relationship.
Trish ran that knowledge through her head as she walked into the cafeteria, glanced around the big room. Not more than a quarter of the long tables were occupied even at peak hours, given the size of the place and how few people lived in Port Authority these days. Most of the families cooked at home.
But there, next to the dispensing line, sat the target of Trish’s quest.
As she walked across the room, all eyes followed her, the conversation this morning considerably quieter than usual. People were discussing Felicity’s murder, hard eyes fixing on Trish as she passed between the tables. By the time she arrived at Spiro’s, a tomb would have sounded cacophonous in comparison.
Lieutenant Spiro sat across from two of her marines, Anderssoni and Abu Sassi. A plate of corn, chili, beans, and tomatoes, bristling with chunks of chamois meat, sat on the table, half-eaten before her.
Spiro looked up, her black eyes hardening, a grim smile bending her lips. “Well, well, here comes Officer Monagan. Would have figured they’d send Talina. If what I hear is correct, it’d be her opportunity to shoot me in the back and blame me for that poor nurse’s death. What did Tal do? Leave a seismic charge lying around? That’s criminal negligence, even here in lawless Port Authority, isn’t it?”
Trish bit the inside of her lip until she had control of her emotions. Then she politely asked Abu Sassi and Anderssoni. “Could you two give us a moment?”
“Nope. They stay,” Spiro said in clipped terms. “Anything you’ve got to say? Questions you want to ask? Go for it. I was with both of these men last night at Inga’s. In fact, that’s why Abu Sassi, here, looks a bit peaked. This is one of those mornings he’s wishing he’d stayed a Muslim and didn’t succumb to the evils of alcohol.”
“You were in Inga’s all night?” Trish raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Spiro glanced at her privates. “What time did we first get to the tavern?”
“Five or six?” Anderssoni said warily, glancing sidelong at Trish and then Spiro.
“What time did we leave?” Spiro continued, her black eyes fixed smugly on Trish’s.
Abu Sassi’s expression was strained and slightly green. He glanced up. “It was after everyone heard the bomb.”
“So,” Spiro concluded, “If I were the culprit, I would have had to go to Perez’s before I went to Inga’s. Like early afternoon. Except I was with people the whole time. Different marines, the shuttle crew. Someone should have seen me entering Perez’s house, since it would have still been bright daylight. After that, I was at the tavern the whole night.”
“And you never left?”
“Nope. Ask around, Officer. And tell Perez that if I so much as catch a glimpse of her sneaking up to shoot me in the back, I’m taking her out first.”
“What makes you think Talina would shoot you in the back?” Trish asked.
“That’s how she did it yesterday. From behind. Put a pistol to my head.” She reached around with a finger and tapped the back of her scalp. “Just here.”
“Heard you were going to endanger a woman’s life.”
“I was going to shoot a quetzal!” Spiro’s voice boomed. “And anyone who says that those damn beasts can be tamed is a toilet-sucking fool!”
Mutters of agreement broke out around the cafeteria.
“And you never stepped out last night? Like just to get a breath of fresh air?” Trish prodded, aware that the privates were both sitting stone-face-forward, as if at uneasy attention.
“Went to the head a couple of times. You know the story: Inga just rents beer. You drink it at the table, and piss it out in the head.”
Spiro waved an irritated hand. “So there you go, Officer Monagan. Sorry. I wasn’t your mad bomber, so buzz off like the noxious little fly you are and go bother some other poor fool.”
Spiro lowered her eyes and went back to forking up corn and beans.
For a long moment Trish stood there, long enough to start looking foolish. “Yeah, later, huh?”
She turned and headed for the door, the room still silent. She nodded to people as she passed, seeing downright anger in their eyes mixing with the worry and uncertainty. Felicity was a beloved fixture in the community. She’d sewn up their wounds, dispensed the medicines that eased their aches and hurts, delivered their babies.
Now a quetzal was in their hospital, and someone had tried to assassinate Talina, but killed Felicity.
This could get really ugly, really fast.
Sure, you were at Inga’s all night. Why don’t I believe it?
At the door, Trish looked back. Spiro’s black eyes were like lasers, a mocking and victorious smile on her lips.