Pet Noir (29 page)

“Right. Catch you later.”

I glanced at the chief, then headed for Security. We could talk in his office.

He let out a sigh as he sat down in his big, executive chair, actually slumped in it. Very unlike him.

“What's the word on Devin?” I asked.

“Amy said it's touch and go. They'll keep a close watch on him. If he makes it through the night he should be OK.” He leaned back in the chair and looked at me. “You saved his life.”

“Maybe.”

“He'd be dead for sure if you hadn't called for help.”

I licked my forepaw, feeling embarrassed. The whole situation was uncomfortable. I just wanted things to go back to normal, but they wouldn't. Not while someone was killing judges and trying to kill my partner.

“Mind if I use your com station?” I asked.

The chief waved a hand toward the controls. “Be my guest.”

His com setup was top drawer, of course. Miles better than Devin's and Sheila's and Ralph's. The holopad was half a meter in diameter.

I brought up the list of recent releases and pulled a subset of cases Devin had worked. Big surprise, our boy Roy was the only name on the list.

“This is our prime suspect,” I said, pulling Roy's ID up on the holo. His big, dumb face looked slightly belligerent as it rotated above the pad.

The chief leaned forward. “Reuter Galloway?”

“Devin busted him, and Judge Calloway sent him to jail. He got out a month ago and came back to work on Gamma. Works for Tristar up in the warehouses. Only one problem. He wasn't anywhere near the rotunda today.”

“Not even in his off hours?”

“Not during the day shift, and that's when the judge was poisoned. He would have to have paid someone to deliver the poison, and he doesn't look like the type who could sweet-talk a waitress into committing a crime.”

“No, he doesn't.” The chief frowned. “It wouldn't have to be the waitress, though. Could be a cook.”

“Or Ling2,” I said. A sudden shiver crossed my shoulders as I remembered Ling2 handing Devin our takeout.

“Ling2 wouldn't do it. What reason would she have?”

“None that I know of.” I got up and paced on the desk, trying to remember her conversation with Devin. “Are her finances OK?”

The chief called up the Imperial Gardens' most recent quarterly report. “Booming,” he said. “She's in great shape.”

“If she doesn't need money I don't know why she'd get involved. She likes Devin.”

But she'd been cold to him tonight. He'd even noticed it, and Devin can be pretty obtuse where women are concerned.

“Something's going on with her.” I realized as I said it that I was echoing Devin's words.

“I'll pay her a call in the morning,” said the chief.

“And I'll check out Roy, I guess.”

“Can you get around the warehouses all right?”

“Sure. Haven't had any trouble since I got tall enough to reach the access pads.”

A funny look crossed the chief's face. It was gone the next second, and he looked his usual, stern self as he shut down the com and stood up.

“Let's call it a night,” he said.

~

We went by Devin's place to pick up my bowls and my kibble. The chief piled them in Devin's laundry basket along with the litterbox, and carried it all down to his place down on Starview Terrace.

This was the most expensive, most exclusive tier of living accommodations on Gamma. I wondered how a Security employee, even the top guy, could afford it. Independent means, I decided. His salary probably barely covered his suits, come to think of it.

His apartment was masculine and cool—lots of brushed chrome and glass, shadowy and austere with striking touches of color like the blood red art glass vase that stood empty on the coffee table. The whole place looked like one big, walk-in piece of modern art.

I felt awkward and tried not to shed. For all my carping at Devin about being a slob, at least his apartment was comfortable.

The chief cycled the outer wall from opaque to starview, and I wandered over to gaze out at the universe. The stars burned white and cold in the black velvet of space. They were beautiful, but they offered no comfort.

Thumping noises drew my attention and I followed them to the laundry room, where the chief was setting up my litterbox. He looked up at me, his face slightly red with exertion.

“How does this connect to the recycler?”

I directed him and we got it hooked up and running. The chief stood up, brushing his hands.

“Want some kibble?”

“Yeah,” I said automatically, though in fact I wasn't feeling hungry at the moment. I make it a rule never to pass up an offer of food.

A shiver went through me. Would I accept a handout from Ling2? Probably not, after today.

Maybe someone was trying to set her up, like she'd suggested. Or maybe she was poisoning people. She certainly had access to the fugu, and both times the poisoned food had come from her kitchen.

But why? Why would Ling2 want to kill people?

That was the problem. She was a suspect without motive. Roy was a suspect with motive but without means. Put them together and you had a killer, but I couldn't see any connection.

The chief put my bowls down on the kitchen floor. He'd put the kibble in my water dish and the water in my food dish, but I didn't complain. It was nice of him to put me up.

I nosed the kibble around and ate a couple of pieces, then decided to save the rest for later. I yawned and thought about catching some shut-eye, which was when I realized that we'd forgotten my bed.

I wandered out of the kitchen, looking for the chief. He was standing in his bathroom, brushing his teeth, already dressed in silk pajamas. I couldn't work up the nerve to ask him to go back to Devin's place for my bed. Finally I crawled underneath the chief's bed and curled up on the carpet, the vast expanse of box springs overhead offering shelter of a kind, even if it was too big and too austere.

In the morning we both took the lift, stopping by to see Devin on the way up. He was pretty much the same. The medic on duty promised to call the chief the minute he regained consciousness. We left, the chief getting out at the rotunda while I continued up to the warehouses.

Roy was working in sector 217, not far from the place I'd been undercover with Devin when I first came to Gamma. Not wanting to be too obvious, I didn't head straight for Roy's place of employment. Instead I hung around in the corridor pretending to chase mice until someone went into one of the adjoining warehouses, then slipped in behind them.

I'd been back up here a few times to hang out with Spats. The warehouses no longer intimidated me, and I could get around fine in low gee. I slipped back between the cargo bays and bounced my way to the airlock, and lucked out to find it open all around to the adjoining warehouses. I strolled into Roy's and made my way up to the desk.

Roy was sitting there munching a triple-decker breakfast sandwich from Zip Fix, not a care in the world. I realized belatedly that I couldn't just go up and talk to him. Devin usually handled that end of things.

I decided to use my com to call him. I could pretend to be the boyfriend of the waitress at the dim sum place and threaten to blackmail Roy. If he was guilty, that ought to light a fire under him.

I eased away from the desk and worked my way deep into the cargo area, looking for an out-of-the-way place from which to make the call. As I rounded a stack of boxes I beheld a sight that froze my blood.

“Spats!”

He was lying on his side with his legs awkwardly splayed, as if he'd fallen and been unable to get up again. His eyes were wide open, jaws open too in a final silent yowl, tongue swollen and white. He wasn't breathing.

I felt a stab of terror, followed by remorse. I took a step closer, sniffing. He smelled foul—smelled like puke—and I saw that he was lying in a pool of his own vomit. I caught sight of a fish fin and anger blossomed.

“Aw, Spats. God dammit.”

He'd gone cruising in the rotunda last night, and fish was his favorite. I doubted the killer had meant to poison Spats. It was probably meant for me. If only I'd gone along with them last night, I could have warned them off the fish.

My head jerked upward with realization. “Holy crap! Butch!”

I dashed for the warehouse door. There was no time to lose. Roy would just have to have a hallucination.

He didn't even look up as I darted past the desk and jumped for the access pad, hitting it square on so hard I bounced back a bit and had to stretch to catch hold of the wall. The door opened and I heard a startled “Huh?” behind me, then I was bouncing down the corridor toward the lifts.

I scrambled out into the rotunda and made a beeline for Tammy's Tea Shoppe. Brushed past the legs of a nice old lady on her way out, and came to a stop in front of the red velvet stand where Butch lay curled in a ball, eyes closed.

“Butch!”

His head shot up. “Wha, wha—?”

“Oh, thank God.” I stood in front of him, panting, icy relief pouring through my veins.

He got up, stretched, then jumped down beside me. “What's the matter?”

“Not here.”

I glanced over at Steadly's, saw that it was empty, and gave Butch a nod indicating he should follow me there. Tammy was busy with customers, and we slipped unhindered into the cozy dark of the smoking room. I stopped behind a leather sofa and groomed my ruffled fur. Butch crouched down beside me.

“What's up, Leon? You look like you seen a ghost.”

I grimaced. “Sort of.”

I told him about finding Spats and about the poisoner who was loose on the station. Butch was as mad as I was about poor Spats.

“I let him have the Gardens while I cruised Steakmeister,” he said, “cause I knew he was a sucker for fish. There was a big, fat pile of scraps in a half-open carton by the kitchen's back door. He was already into it when I left, poor bastard.”

I frowned. “I'm pretty sure that fish was meant for me.”

“Yeah? Well, when you find whoever put it out, let me know,” Butch growled. “My claws could use a workout.”

“I'll let you know. In the meantime Imperial Gardens is off limits. Ling-Ling's too. Pass the word.”

“Will do.”

I sighed. Things were going from bad to worse. I couldn't work up any enthusiasm for going back to Roy's warehouse. I decided I'd better tell the chief about the latest development and see if he'd arrange for a decent disposal of Spats's remains.

I said goodbye to Butch and promised to come by later in the day. Prowling through the rotunda on the way to Security, I found myself looking suspiciously at everyone in the crowd.

I was angry about Spats. I wanted to
do
something.

The chief had a couple of civilians in his office, suits from Station Management. I slunk around the outer wall and under the desk where I curled up by the chief's feet to wait. The suits were worried about the poisonings. Apparently word had gotten around.

“We can't have this!” one of the suits complained. “It'll hurt the tourist business!”

Tourism was about 97th on Gamma's active trade list, but never mind. We did get visitors from nearby settlements now and then, and most of them came for the restaurants in the rotunda.

“We have every reason to believe these attacks are targeted, not random,” the chief said. “Don't worry, we're following strong leads. We should have the killer in custody very soon.”

With a few more reassuring words he ushered the suits out and closed the door. He came over to the desk to get his coffee mug and carried it to the wet bar. I followed him.

“Hello, Leon. How's it going?”

“Not great.”

“No luck with Roy?”

“Roy can wait.”

I gave him the no-frills version about Spats. He sat down with his coffee and frowned as he listened.

“I'm sorry about your friend, Leon. You did right to come and tell me.”

“Could you maybe send someone to collect him?” I asked. “I'd like him to have a space burial, not just get tossed in the recycler.”

“Of course.”

He made a call to Mainteance, then at my request he called Elsa and told her to keep away from the Gardens and Ling-Ling's for the present. Leila had been involved in the sedonai mess and I just wanted to make sure no one tried to poison her, too. She was probably safe, since Elsa didn't let her out of the apartment unsupervised, but I didn't want to take any chances.

The chief swivelled in his chair to look at me. “You think the killer was trying to get you?”

“Why else put out poisoned fish scraps?”

“Maybe it was just waste. Fugu scraps from the sushi bar.”

I shook my head. “They keep close track of the deadly bits. It's priority waste, has to go straight into a sealed recycle container.”

His frown deepened. “Until we catch this killer, you're not to eat anything that doesn't come from my hand,” he said.

“Fine with me. By the way, you ready for lunch?”

He glanced at his clock and sighed. “I suppose so. I haven't had any luck contacting Ling2. It's like she disappeared.”

We stared at each other for a long moment.

“Blast,” he said, getting up from the desk.

I trotted to the door ahead of him. “Going to her apartment?”

“Yes. I went by earlier and no one answered.”

“So either she's not there, or she's there and dead. Gonna arrest her if you find her breathing?”

“I just might,” he said as the door opened.

~

Ling2's place was a lot more modest than the Starview Terrace condo where she'd lived with Ling-Ling. After Ling-Ling went to jail Ling2 had sold the condo and taken an apartment on one of the lower tiers. It was still a starview apartment, but much smaller and more reasonable. Ling2 was frugal, or maybe she just wasn't comfortable yet with her newfound wealth.