Some things just couldn’t be kept quiet. No one had paid much attention after Ituri told Rita Valerie’s crew chief that the woman had been reassigned to another job in Port Authority.
But with Petre Howe’s very public poisoning, everyone at Corporate Mine was wondering about just where Valerie had been “reassigned.” Especially a particularly distraught Ashanti Kung.
At this stage, Kalico had Corporal Abu Sassi admit that both Valerie and Howe had been murdered. That Valerie’s death had been suppressed as part of the investigation into the killer’s identity. They’d taken Kung into protective custody, and the growing camaraderie among her people had been substantially shaken.
Kalico fingered the healing scar on her cheek and stared woodenly at the cafeteria walls, wishing she had more of Talina Perez’s wonderful breakfast on her plate and fewer problems at Corporate Mine.
They’d lost another acre to the trees over the last couple of days. Photoimagery showed no difference in the spacing between the encroaching trees. The forest could have been likened to water pouring into a hollow. None of the molecules were any farther apart. The whole forest was flowing in from all sides to reclaim her precious farm and smelter.
And then there was the mine. The mucking machine in Number One had broken. One of the gears that drove the conveyor had given way with a bang, leaving the machine useless.
This morning she was dispatching an aircar with Stryski aboard to see if Toby Montoya could machine a replacement.
Damn it. If only they’d thought to ship a machine shop aboard Freelander. Corporate, for whatever reason, hadn’t thought another machine shop worthwhile.
So once again, Kalico found herself reliant on Port Authority. And it galled the hell out of her.
Not to mention the debacle down at Mundo. And what to do about Spiro.
“She shot a man in Inga’s,” Aurobindo Ghosh had told her after a quick trip to check the Freelander cargo for a crate of overalls. “Fair fight. The other guy shot first.”
So which problem was more pressing? Spiro’s growing reputation for shooting people, or the fact that her folks were working in patched clothing that was ever closer to rags?
If anything alleviated the near hopelessness, it was the four-day rotation into Port Authority. She’d had Ituri schedule the rotations so that crews worked ten days, then took four days in Port Authority. After which they helped load the shuttle with supplies and food purchased from the farmers, then flew back.
Not that it’s done me a bit of good, she groused.
The constant problems had kept her shackled to Corporate Mine. One minor crisis after another. No sooner did she deal with one than another popped up. Equipment, personnel, the murders, technical problems at the smelter, decisions at one of the mines, medical emergencies, shortages, maintenance.
God, I’m tired.
Images of Talina Perez and Shig Mosadek formed in her memory. Fragments of conversation replayed. Kalico imagined herself sitting at Talina’s breakfast bar, eating that magnificent breakfast, bantering with Shig about life, about government. Even hearing him lecture about religion while Talina chafed and shot back snide comments.
Wouldn’t that be a welcome relief?
Kalico shook her head, blinking back to the reality of the cafeteria and the cup of tea before her.
“Get a grip on yourself, woman. What does it say about the rest of your life when all you can think about is wasting time with people you don’t even like?”
She rubbed her face, massaging her eyes. Damn it, she was supposed to be a Corporate Supervisor. All of her life she’d been trained for higher purpose than mere existence. More had always been expected of her. Anything else was proof of weakness. The mere notion of socializing with inferiors unthinkable.
“God, Kalico, you’re a vacuum-sucking mess.”
“Supervisor?”
She looked up, seeing Abu Sassi where he’d stopped a couple of paces short so as not to startle her.
Shit. What had he heard?
“What is it, Corporal?”
“Sorry to interrupt.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Go ahead.”
“It’s the woman. Ashanti Kung.”
“Corporal, I know she’s unhappy. I’ve already been appraised of her complaints. She’s not getting out of that room until we’ve figured out who hung Valerie and poisoned Howe.”
Abu Sassi winced. “Um, that’s just it. Private Michegan went in to take her breakfast. Thought the woman was asleep on that cot we set up. That’s when she noticed that last night’s meal hadn’t been eaten.” He took a deep breath. “She’s dead, ma’am.”
“Dead?” Kalico stiffened, her tea forgotten, any refreshing thoughts shredded by this new reality. “How?”
“We’ll need an autopsy, but Dina thinks someone broke her neck.”
“Who? How? Damn it, she’s been under surveillance, hasn’t she? Check the cameras, Corporal.”
Kalico stood, shoving her chair back. “Come on. This is like a slap in the face. As if we’re completely incompetent. She’s in the middle of the admin dome. Right down the hall from my room. How could it be more secure?”
“Easy, ma’am,” Abu Sassi soothed. “Whoever got in there, we’ve got them. Sure, they might have gotten past building security, might even be an inside player, but they can’t have managed to get past the cameras. Paco put ’em up. He’s the best we’ve got.”
Despite the frustration, Kalico knotted a fist. “As soon as we know who it is, I want them taken quietly, by surprise. We’re going to have to deal with this publicly. Reassure people that we don’t tolerate murderers. And we’re going to need a confession as to who’s really behind all this.”
“Dan Wirth?”
“Got to be. Sending a message to the rest of his people. Don’t make trouble. Grin and bear it. You know it’s him.”
“What if the murderer won’t rat him out?”
“I ratted out,” Kalico said thoughtfully. “That’s what was scrawled on Rita Valerie’s chest. I finally understand.”
“Is that good enough to file charges?” Abu Sassi asked.
“No. Think, Marine. We’ve got to have a confession that ties the murderer to Wirth. Something concrete. The moment we get that, we go in, arrest the slimy son-of-a-bitch, and bring him here for trial.”
They were in the hallway now, headed for the radio room with its security monitors. She led the way in, nodded to the woman at the radio, and watched Abu Sassi seat himself at the small side table.
The marine wasn’t exactly greased electrons when it came to operating the holo projectors, accessing the right files, and bringing up the displays, but he finally managed to isolate the images taken by the security cameras outside Ashanti Kung’s door.
Working backward, Abu Sassi ran the images starting with Dina Michegan finding the body, fast-tracking back. Each time someone entered the frame, it slowed to real time, showing everyone who entered, the time, and the duration of their visits. During the night, no one entered.
At 23:15 hours, it showed Paco Anderssoni escorting Kung to the women’s room, and then locking her door behind her.
“I don’t get it,” Kalico muttered. “She’s alive. Run it back farther.”
Abu Sassi did. For the next hour they ran and reran the footage. In the end, the result was the same: From the time Paco locked a living Ashanti Kung into her room until Dina Michegan found the woman’s corpse that morning, no one entered Kung’s room.
“Could it have been Dina?” Kalico wondered, disbelieving that the private could have betrayed them all so.
“No,” Abu Sassi told her reluctantly. “Look. She’s not in there for more than three minutes before she’s out in the hallway. That’s at 07:05. I’m there with Tompzen by 07:13.”
He looked up at Kalico. “I checked for a pulse immediately. Kung’s body was stone cold. If Dina had gone in, broken her neck, and called me, Kung would have still been warm.”
Kalico felt her stomach sour. “So it has to be someone on the inside.” She glanced at the radio operator, a petite brunette woman. “What time did you come on duty this morning?”
“05:00, ma’am.” The operator turned around in her chair. “Tam logged out last night at midnight. I found the door locked this morning. Um, that’s five hours where this place is unoccupied.”
“Five hours?” Kalico slumped back against the door.
“What do you want to do about this, ma’am?” Abu Sassi asked.
Kalico rubbed her forehead, the beginnings of a wretched headache beginning to stab at the back of her right eye. “Call Port Authority. See if Cheng can fly down. Maybe he can get something. A fingerprint. DNA. Some fiber or hair. And meanwhile, fly Ashanti’s body up to PA. Maybe Raya can find something on the body that will give us a clue as to who killed her.”
“You got it, ma’am,” Abu Sassi told her with resolve.
Somehow, however, she already knew what they’d find: nothing conclusive.
Dan Wirth would have covered his tracks.
That meant she didn’t have quetzal shit for proof.
Wirth was going to slip away like a slug through mud.