“How is that better than changing in a restroom?”
“Because that way he could either have continued forward out of the vestibule and plopped down into the first available seat, or he could have reversed direction and headed back the way he’d come,” I told her. “Either way would have given him a good look at our presumed partner, who would be hurrying after him. The restroom change, in contrast, gives a normal pursuer a chance to settle into an empty seat of his own, which makes that pursuer harder to identify when the quarry
does
emerge.”
“Only he
did
change in the restroom,” Bayta said slowly, tracking through the logic. “Because he knew the Spiders didn’t have to actually follow him in order to keep track of him?”
“Exactly,” I said. “The vestibule change is useless if your tracker has watchers on both sides of the gap who can instantly compare notes. Since comms don’t work inside Quadrails, the only ones who can do such an instant comparison are Spiders.”
“All right,” Bayta said. “How does that help us?”
“Because it shortens the suspect list from the entire train down to seven individuals,” I said. “Witherspoon, Kennrick, and Aronobal, plus by extension the three remaining Fillies and one remaining Shorshian of the contract team.”
“Plus everyone in the car where we disassembled the air filter,” Bayta reminded me. “They all saw us talking to the Spiders.”
I shook my head. “People talk to Spiders all the time. The key here is that after I tripped over his little booby trap our friend knew we could still get a message ahead of him. That means your special relationship with the Spiders, and that means one of those seven people I mentioned.”
“Along with any secret allies any of them might have,” Bayta said. “You
did
say he might have an accomplice.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” I admitted, grimacing. Seven suspects had been such a nice, neat, manageable number. “Still, there’s a good chance the primary murderer’s ally or allies will also be from our same suspect pool.”
“But you can’t promise that.”
I snorted. “I can’t even promise we’ll make it to dinnertime before someone else snuffs it.” I drained the last of my iced tea. “Come on. Break’s over—time to get back to work.”
“Where are we going?” Bayta asked as she took a last sip of her lemonade and stood up.
“It’s time we got to know the rest of the suspect list,” I said. “Let’s go talk to some Fillies.”
We found the three Fillies right where we’d left them, with their seats formed into a circle and a hand of cards dealt out in front of them. This time, though, they were actually playing. I was wondering if we dared interrupt them when one of them looked up at us. “You are Mr. Compton?” he asked.
“I am,” I acknowledged. “And you?”
“
Asantra
Muzzfor,” he said. “Fourth of the Maccai contract team.” His eyes seemed to cloud over. “I correct:
second
of the contract team.”
With the late
Usantra
Givvrac and
di
-Master Strinni having been the team’s original first and second ranking members? Probably. “My condolences on your loss,” I said. “May I inquire as to which is your new first?”
“I am he,” one of the others spoke up, his voice dark and unfriendly. “
Esantra
Worrbin.”
“I greet you,
Esantra
Worrbin,” I said. I shifted my eyes to the third Filly. “And you must therefore be
Asantra
Dallilo.”
“I am,” Dallilo said.
“Do you wish something of us?” Worrbin asked in that same unfriendly tone.
“A moment of your time only,” I assured him.
Worrbin tilted his head. “We are otherwise occupied,” he said.
“I would speak with him,” Muzzfor said, setting down his cards. “Perhaps he has further information on
Usantra
Givvrac’s death.” He rose to his feet. “If you would accompany me to the dining car, Mr. Compton?”
“Reseat yourself,
Asantra
Muzzfor,”
Esantra
Worrbin growled, leaning a little on the
asantra
part as if to remind Muzzfor of his lower status in the group. “Very well, Mr. Compton. You may speak.” He cocked his head in challenge. “Concisely.”
“Of course,” I said, letting my gaze drift across them as I took a moment to organize my thoughts. Like many upper-class Fillies, especially those of the
santra
classes, these three showed the subtle and not-so-subtle differences spawned by their species’ penchant for genetic manipulation. Muzzfor in particular seemed to have been the recipient of a number of treatments, sporting an odd-shaped nose blaze, an interesting speckled eye coloration, and the kind of extra-large throat Filly high-opera singers often got to extend their vocal range. Dallilo’s customized body had extra-thick hair, flatter ears, and a two-tone blaze that shaded a dark brown into a lighter tan.
Esantra
Worrbin, in contrast, seemed to have skipped all external improvements except the long, slender fingers prized by the artist and surgeon classes. Judging from the extra-large glass of the god-awful Filly drink
dilivin
resting in his seat’s cup holder, I guessed he’d also opted for a strengthened digestive system. Given Givvrac’s fate, that might turn out to have been an especially wise use of his money.
“You of course know about the tragic deaths of
Usantra
Givvrac and three of the Shorshians on your contract team,” I said. “My question for you is simple and twofold. First, do any of you know any reason, professional or personal, why anyone would wish any of those four people dead? And second, do you know any reason how anyone would profit, financially or in terms of honor, from any of their deaths?”
“Well and concisely stated,” Worrbin said with somewhat grudging approval. “It appears Humans can be efficient, after all.”
“We’re individuals, just as are the members of the Filiaelian Assembly,” I reminded him.
He snorted, his eyes pointedly flicking back and forth between Bayta and me. “With such minor genetic variants? You don’t even approach
asantra
class.”
“That’s all right,” I assured him. “We like ourselves just the way we are.”
“Then why does Pellorian Medical seek Filiaelian genetic manipulation equipment?” Dallilo put in. “If you don’t seek to improve yourselves, what
do
you seek?”
“You’d have to ask Mr. Kennrick or Dr. Witherspoon about that,” I told him, ducking a question that I sensed could only get me into trouble. “I know too little about the contract to either support or oppose it. I seek merely to find the murderer and bring him to justice.”
“Then look to Mr. Kennrick,” Worrbin said. “If there was indeed murder, I have no doubt he is the one you seek.”
“Nonsense,” Muzzfor put in before I could respond. “Mr. Kennrick is a fine Human.”
“Nonsense doubled and returned,” Worrbin retorted. “I am convinced he seeks to destroy the contract from within for his own ends. That leaves him alone with a motivation for murder.”
“That’s very interesting,” I said. “What are these private ends you speak of?”
“How would I know?” Worrbin retorted. “He is a Human, with motivations beyond the understanding of civilized beings.”
“Then what makes you think he’s trying to sabotage the contract?”
“Because he displays incompetence at every turn,” Worrbin said with a contemptuous sniff. “He deliberately ignores the finer points of dealing with superior peoples.”
“His slights are not deliberate,” Muzzfor insisted. “He is merely ignorant of proper procedure.”
“And yet you stand ready to defend him?” Worrbin challenged.
“Competent or not, he
is
only a Human.” Muzzfor looked sideways at me. “No offense to you personally, Mr. Compton.”
“No offense taken,” I assured him. First we’d had Master Tririn back in third class, whose profession of surprise at my understanding of alien ways had carried an implied dig at Kennrick, and now we had
Esantra
Worrbin singing the same tune. Either Kennrick had an outstanding knack of rubbing people the wrong way, or he really
wasn’t
very good at his job.
Which brought up a possibility I hadn’t thought of before. “Do any of you happen to know whose idea it was for Mr. Kennrick to represent Pellorian Medical to the contract team?” I asked the Fillies.
“That is hardly information we would have been given,” Worrbin pointed out.
“True,” I said. “But there was a chance you might have been so informed.”
“Then you agree with
Esantra
Worrbin?” Dallilo put in. “That Mr. Kennrick or someone in league with him seeks to destroy the contract?”
“It’s a possibility that can’t be ignored,” I said. “Especially given that three of the four deceased were in favor of the contract.”
“Mr. Kennrick would never be a party to such a conspiracy,” Muzzfor said firmly. “I know and understand this Human. He truly seeks only what is best for his corporation.”
“Yet he could be involved without his knowledge,” I pointed out. “Perhaps someone put him into this situation knowing he wasn’t properly equipped to handle it, in hopes that his bumbling would ruin the contract as
Esantra
Worrbin suggests. In such a case, Mr. Kennrick could be perfectly sincere about doing his best, yet nevertheless still be helping to bring down the contract.”
“And when his fumblings failed to turn all members against the contract, the evil one turned to murder?” Dallilo suggested thoughtfully.
“Then the murderer must be Dr. Witherspoon,” Muzzfor jumped in. “He’s the only other Pellorian representative aboard.”
“Or at least he’s the only Pellorian representative that we know of,” I said, my mind flashing to the spare first-class pass floating loose aboard our train. “Do any of you have any idea why someone would wish to sabotage the contract?”
“An irrelevant question,” Worrbin said. “The contract is dead. As dead as
Usantra
Givvrac himself.”
The other two Fillies stirred uncomfortably in their seats. It
was
a rather offensive comment. “As I said, I know too little about the contract to comment one way or the other,” I said diplomatically, skipping over Kennrick’s earlier claim that none of the team had the authority to make such a pronouncement.
“Yes, I’m quite certain of that,” Worrbin said loftily. “Have you any further questions?”
It was obvious he was fully expecting the answer to be no. “You still haven’t answered my first one,” I said. “Do any of you know of a reason why someone would want
Usantra
Givvrac and the others dead?”
“No,” Worrbin said shortly. “In that I speak for all.”
I looked at Muzzfor and Dallilo. But if they had dissenting opinions, they were keeping them to themselves. “Then I have only one further question,” I said. “
Esantra
Worrbin, if we checked with the Spider at the dispensary, would the number of your visits correspond to the number of hypos used?”
“Yes,” Worrbin said without hesitation.
“You’re certain of that?”
“I brought twenty aboard,” he said stiffly. “I have visited the dispensary seven times this journey. You may confirm for yourself that there are thirteen remaining.” His eyes bored into mine. “As I’m certain you already have.”
I inclined my head to him. “Then we’ll take our leave of you,” I said. “Thank you for your time. And yours,” I added, nodding to the other two.
We left them to their cards and headed forward. “What do you think?” I asked Bayta as we stepped into the vestibule.
“
Esantra
Worrbin doesn’t seem to like Mr. Kennrick very much,” Bayta said. “But I find it hard to believe someone in Pellorian Medical would deliberately try to sabotage his own contract.”
“I’ve seen political moves that were equally crazy,” I told her. “But usually when there’s someone trying to pull down the barn, the rest of the power structure learns about it quickly enough to counter the maverick’s moves. I suppose this could be an especially clever maverick, though.”
“Do you think we should tell Mr. Kennrick about
Esantra
Worrbin’s animosity?” Bayta asked, lowering her voice as we emerged from the vestibule into the next car.
“I would guess Mr. Kennrick is fully aware of
Esantra
Worrbin’s opinion of him,” I said. “Still, I suppose it’s only fair to get his side of the story. Let’s wander up to his compartment and see what kind of reaction we get out of him.”
Kennrick’s reaction was pretty much what I’d expected.
“Ridiculous,” he snapped. “Which one of them made a boneheaded suggestion like that?”
“I don’t think we need to name names,” I said, giving his compartment a quick glance. It was about what I’d expected given the occupant: neat and tidy, no messes, no surprises. A few hangers’ worth of clothing hung together in the clothes rack/sonic cleaner, a reader sat on the computer desk, and the luggage rack held the three bags I’d seen him board with at Homshil Station. “Incidentally, if
bonehead
is your typical characterization of non-Humans, I can see why you don’t get along very well with them.”
“Don’t start, Compton,” he warned, glaring at me. “I’m not in the mood. You have
no
idea what I’ve been through with these people.”
“I’m sure it’s been difficult,” I said, again cranking up my diplomacy level. “Still, at least one of the team is solidly on your side.”
“
Asantra
Muzzfor,” Kennrick said, nodding. “Yes, he’s been the one bright spot in all this.”
“He’d certainly make a good sidekick, if you’re ever in the market for one,” I said. “So how exactly
did
you get hired?”
He shrugged. “The usual way. A matcher put my résumé with an opening at Pellorian, and next thing I knew I was on the payroll.”
“Any idea why you were chosen for this particular job?”
“Obviously, my legal background,” he said. “I was at Shotoko Associates, remember, and we were heavily into Filiaelian and Shorshic contract law.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I said. “Strange that Pellorian didn’t also send along an expert on Filly and Shorshic cultures.”
“Not when you consider the price of Quadrail tickets,” Kennrick said. “But you see now what I was talking about earlier. These people are bound and determined to dump this whole mess squarely on Pellorian’s shoulders. That’s why I want—that’s why I
need
—the Spiders to take a little of the heat.”
“No.”
The word was so flat, so cold, and so unexpected that it took me a second to realize it had come from Bayta. Apparently, it hit Kennrick that way, too. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I said no,” she repeated. “The Spiders aren’t to blame for any of this, and they’re not going to take any of the responsibility.
Any
of it.”
I looked at Bayta, then at Kennrick, then back at Bayta. Suddenly, my quiet, emotionless, self-effacing assistant had caught fire. A slow fire, maybe, volcano rather than cooking-surface deep. But it was fire nonetheless.
And it wasn’t hard to figure out why. There was a murderer running loose on the Quadrail—
her
Quadrail—defying not only us but the Spiders who had made these trains the safest mode of transportation in the history of the galaxy. Kennrick was pushing for Spider admission of responsibility, and if he was thinking such things it was a safe bet other passengers were thinking them, too.
And anything that reflected badly on the Spiders also reflected badly on their Chahwyn masters, including the Chahwyn bonded to Bayta within her own body.
For Bayta, this had become personal.
“Fine,” Kennrick said. “Whatever. I just thought—never mind. Fine.”
“Then let’s hear no more about it,” Bayta said darkly, the fire in her eyes slowly fading into watchful embers. “Have you anything else to add about your appointment to this job?”
“No, I think that’s been covered,” Kennrick said. He was still trying to be contrary, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it anymore.
“Then I believe we’re finished here,” Bayta said, her tone stiffly formal. She looked at me, and I could tell she was belatedly remembering that I was supposed to be the one in charge.
But I wasn’t about to undercut her. Not after that performance. “Thanks for your time,” I said to Kennrick as I took a step backward toward the door.
And as I did so, my eyes drifted again to the clothing hung neatly on the sonic rack. The clothing, and the considerably larger capacity of the three bags sitting on the luggage rack. “We may have more questions later, though,” I added.
“Feel free,” he said sarcastically. “My door’s always open.”
We left, Kennrick closing and undoubtedly locking his door behind us. “Where to now?” Bayta asked.
“Dining car,” I told her. “I’m hungry. Did you happen to notice the clothing hanging on Kennrick’s rack?”
“Not really,” she said, her voice suddenly hesitant. “Frank—”
“Interesting thing is that there wasn’t much of it,” I said.
“Not nearly enough to fill all three of those carrybags.”
“Maybe the rest of his clothing is in the drawers,” Bayta suggested.
“I doubt it,” I said. “I’ve seen what sort of outfits he typically wears, and I’m guessing the drawers are no more than half full. But even if they were loaded to the gills, he should still be able to cram everything into the two larger bags.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Which leads to the intriguing question of what he’s got in the third one.”
“You have a theory?”
“Of course,” I said. I might be rotten at solving actual murders, but theories I had by the truckload. “Remember when we asked Kennrick why the contract-team Fillies had come aboard our compartment car even though they had regular coach seats?”
“He said they had documents they wanted to store in his compartment.”
“And since at least some of those documents might have concerned the Pellorian contract, I’m guessing they wouldn’t want Kennrick snooping through them any more than they would want random citizens doing so,” I said. “Which suggests that one of Kennrick’s bags may in fact be a portable lockbox.”
“How does that explain why they came aboard in our car?” Bayta asked. “Shouldn’t the documents have already been inside the lockbox?”
“They should indeed,” I agreed. “The only logical explanation is that the Fillies came aboard with Kennrick because he couldn’t heft the thing up onto the luggage rack by himself. Which immediately implies that it’s not just a simple lockable file case, but a genuine monster of a metal or layered-ceramic safe.”
“Kennrick could have asked a conductor to help.”
“And yet he didn’t,” I said. “He didn’t put the papers into a standard Spider lockbox, either. That tells me Kennrick and the papers’ owners didn’t want the Spiders knowing what they’ve got, or having access to them.”
“Considering Mr. Kennrick’s attitude toward the Spiders, I’m not really surprised,” Bayta said stiffly. “Where does that leave us?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But if there’s something in Kennrick’s safe that somebody wants, and if
Usantra
Givvrac was the one carrying the key—” I shrugged. “We might have yet another possible motive for our murders. Like we needed one.”
“Yes.” Bayta wrinkled her nose. “Are all murder cases this messy?”
“Hardly ever, actually,” I said. “We’re just lucky.”
“I suppose.” She hesitated. “Frank… about the way I talked to Mr. Kennrick back there. I’m sorry if I was out of place.”
“You weren’t out of place, and I’m not sorry at all that you slapped him down,” I assured her. “The whole idea of trying to pin any part of this on the Spiders is ridiculous. It was about time he heard that in a format he could understand.”
We reached the dining car and went in. “I suggest you eat well,” I advised Bayta as we seated ourselves at one of the tables. “I have a feeling we’re in for another long night.”
“You think someone else is going to be murdered?”
“Our killer didn’t clobber Witherspoon and me and take that hypo just for the exercise,” I reminded her grimly. “One way or another, he’s going to use it.”