The Domino Pattern

For a second I could see Terese trying to decide whether or not she should just get up and make for the relative sanctuary of the restroom. But Bayta had moved up beside her, blocking easy access to the aisle. “The Shorshian’s fruit snacks,” she answered me. “Or whatever they were.”

“You think they were something else?”

“I don’t know what they were,” Terese snapped back. “All I know is that he never offered to share them, and he kept them right there under his legs where he could watch them until he swapped them out for his special sleepy-time blankie. And then he made double damn sure they were locked up tight.” Her lip twisted. “I also know that everyone and his dog Rolf seems to want them. You tell me what they were.”

I leaned over and pulled out the drawer of Colix’s under-seat storage. There was an assortment of personal stuff under there—a reader and a set of data chips, some headphones, fancier than Terese’s, a flexible water bottle, a compact toiletry bag, and the small keepsake box that a lot of Shorshians liked to travel with. All of it was neatly and precisely arranged.

And right at the front left of the drawer was a gap in the arrangement, about fifteen centimeters square. The perfect size for a bag of something.

“Who else has been looking for them?” Bayta asked.

“Well, there was you for a start,” Terese growled, flicking her a disdainful look. “Then there was that other Human you hang out with. He came by yesterday morning to look for them.”

“You mean Dr. Witherspoon?” I asked.

“No, not Dr. Witherspoon,” Terese growled. “I know Dr. Witherspoon’s name. It was the other one, the one you were with when you tried to ambush me outside the bathroom.”

I frowned. “Kennrick?”

“I don’t know his name,” Terese said with exaggerated patience. “Balding, mustache, a little chubby.”

“That’s Kennrick,” I confirmed. “And you’re sure he was after Master Colix’s fruit snacks?”

“Well, he was after something,” Terese said. “And he didn’t find anything, either. You about done here?”

“One more minute,” I promised. Returning my attention to the drawer, I slid my fingers over the lock mechanism. There was no evidence I could find that it had been forced. I stood up and gave the overseat compartment the same check. Again, nothing. Popping the compartment door, I peered inside.

There were two small carrybags in there, plus another toiletry bag, plus a carefully folded blanket. “Did he have the blanket down with him that last night?” I asked Terese as I pulled out the first carrybag and set it onto the seat.

“I don’t know.” she said. “I went to sleep before he did.” She grimaced. “I mean, before he …you know what I mean.”

“Before he went off to the dispensary to die?” I suggested.

I had the minor satisfaction of watching an emotion other than anger or resentment flicker across her face. “Yes.” she muttered.

I looked over at the Juri on my other side. He was half turned toward me, surreptitiously watching the whole operation. “What about you, Tas Krodo?” I asked as I opened the carrybag and started sorting through its contents. There was nothing there but changes of clothing. “Did you see him with his blanket that night?”

“Yes, he had it,” the Juri confirmed. “I distinctly remember him holding it when I returned from my evening ablutions.”

“Good—that helps,” I said. “Do you have any idea who might have put it back up in his compartment?”

He hesitated. “I’m afraid it was I,” he admitted. “The next morning.”

“Can you tell me why?” I asked, closing the carrybag and swapping it out for the other one.

“I heard about his death, and I saw his blanket lying crumpled on his seat,” he said. “It seemed wrong to leave it there. It had been a relic of his childhood, which he always traveled with as a reminder of home and family. I’m sorry if I did wrong.”

“No, it’s all right,” I assured him, pausing in my search of the second carrybag and pulling the blanket out of the compartment. It was old, all right, with a pleasant scent of distant spices to it. Exactly the sort of keepsake a Shorshian would like. “One could say it was your final honoring for Master Colix. When you put it back, did you happen to see whether or not his bag of fruit snacks was there?”

“It was not.” the Juri said firmly. “The blanket would not have fit otherwise.”

“Of course,” I said, returning the blanket to its place. “I should have realized that. Is there anything else about Master Colix that you can remember?”

“Nothing specific,” he admitted. “But he was very kind to me, and kept me entertained with tales of his many interesting journeys.”

“And about his precious Path of whatever,” Terese muttered. If the moment of maudlin sentiment was affecting her, she was hiding it well. “He talked about that a lot.”

I finished going through the second bag—again, there was nothing there but clothing—and replaced it in the storage compartment. “One final question. Tas Krodo. You say that Master Colix was kind to you. Did he ever offer you any of his fruit snacks?”

“He did not,” the Juri said. “And I certainly wouldn’t have taken one without his permission.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I assured him. “Thank you for your time.”

“You are welcome.” Tas Krodo said quietly. “I grieve Master Colix’s loss to the universe. If I can do anything to help you solve his death. I stand at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” I said. “If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

He bowed his head to me. I bowed back, then stepped over Terese’s legs out into the aisle again. Typically, she didn’t bother to draw up her knees to make the procedure any easier. “And thank you for your cooperation as well, Ms. German,” I added as I regained my balance.

She didn’t answer, but merely put her headphones back on and closed her eyes.

“A helpful public makes this job so much more rewarding,” I murmured. Tririn’s seat, I noted, was empty, our lone surviving contract team Shorshian out and about somewhere. That was all right—I hadn’t wanted to talk to him right now anyway.

“Do you believe him?” Bayta asked as we resumed our trip toward the rear of the train.

“Who, Tas Krodo?” I shrugged. “Assuming he has no connection to Pellorian Medical or the contract team, he shouldn’t have any reason to lie.” I nodded back over my shoulder. “Actually, I’m more intrigued by Witherspoon’s relationship with our helpful Ms. German.”

“What sort of relationship?”

“I don’t know, but there’s something going on under the table,” I said. “Remember when I confronted him with the fact that he was two cars away when he allegedly noticed all her stomach trouble?”

“But he explained that,” Bayta said, frowning. “He said he’d noticed her when he was visiting the three Shorshians.”

“That’s what he said,” I agreed. “But if that was actually true, he should have said it without floundering and fumbling all over himself.”

“Maybe he was just nervous,” she suggested. “You did catch him a little off-guard with those questions.”

“True,” I said. “But then he should have been caught equally off-guard when I told Kennrick that the good doctor thought I was the killer. But he wasn’t. He was quick, decisive, and in complete control of the English language. No, there’s something about him and Terese that we still haven’t got nailed down.”

We walked through the last seven third-class cars in silence, and finally passed through the vestibule into the first baggage car.

The casual passenger wandering into a Quadrail baggage car for the first time might reasonably think he’d accidentally stumbled into a classic English garden maze, with the role of the hedges being played by tall stacks of safety-webbed crates. Add in the silence and dim lighting, and the overall ambience could easily drift from the