The Domino Pattern

after a few seconds Kennrick got the message. “Right,” he said. “See you later.” He picked up his drink and strode out of the bar, heading forward toward the upper-class sections and their better selection of drinks.

I watched until he had disappeared from view. “Nice guy,” I commented, letting go of Bayta’s knee and taking a sip of my iced tea.

“If he thinks the Spiders are going to take any responsibility for this, he’s crazy,” Bayta said stiffly. “Why didn’t you let me tell him about the hypo marks?”

“Partly because it wouldn’t have done any good,” I said. “He could claim those marks came from the medical treatments Witherspoon and Aronobal gave the Shorshians before they died.”

“The doctors would say otherwise.”

“They could say otherwise,” I corrected her. “The question is, would they? Especially Witherspoon—don’t forget that as a fellow Pellorian employee he’s in the same leaky boat as Kennrick. But the more important reason not to mention the marks is that Kennrick doesn’t need to know about them. Information is leverage in this game, Bayta. Never give people more of it than they need.”

“Even if it means letting someone get away with murder?”

“A temporary situation only,” I promised. “Patience is a virtue.”

Her eyes were still burning, but she reluctantly nodded. “I know.”

“Good,” I said. “Meanwhile, what’s happening with our mystery guest?”

She gazed off into space. “He’s gone into a restroom,” she said. “Three cars ahead, the car just behind the second/third dispensary.”

A bad feeling began to rumble through me. “How long ago was that?” I asked.

“About ten minutes.”

The bad feeling grew stronger. “Has anyone come out during that time?”

“Two Filiaelians and a Human,” Bayta said, a dark edge starting to come into her voice. “Oh, no. You don’t think—?”

“Yes, I think,” I growled. “Can you get a mite into the ceiling over that restroom?”

“It won’t help—he won’t be able to get into the lighting or ventilation grilles,” Bayta said tightly. “I could have a conductor go in and take a look.”

“Don’t bother,” I said, trying not to sound as angry as I felt. Damn stupid non-initiative-taking Spiders. “If by some miracle he hasn’t flown the coop, that would just tip him off. If he has, it’s already too late, and having a conductor charge in there would just start all the rest of the passengers wondering.”

“I suppose,” Bayta said, sounding miserable. “I’m sorry, Frank. I should have told the Spiders to alert us at once if he went out of sight.”

“Yes, you probably should have,” I agreed, a little more sharply than I should have. “But even if they had, you could hardly have said anything. Not with Kennrick sitting right there listening.”

“But I could at least have let you know something was wrong,” Bayta said. “We could have made an excuse and gotten away.” She grimaced. “I did warn them he might take off his cloak and hood and so to pay particular attention to everyone’s shoes.”

“And did they?”

“Yes,” she said. “But they insist none of the passengers who came out were wearing the same style of shoes as our attacker.”

“He was probably wearing oversilks,” I said. “Very thin, very light covers you can wear over other clothing. A good quick-change artist can get them off in seconds, even faster if he’s got them tear-threaded to a magician’s pull. He can then either flush everything down the toilet or else drop the pull into his pocket and stroll innocently back to his seat. The cloak and hood were probably made of the same stuff.”

“Sounds very neat,” Bayta said sourly.

“Very neat, and very fancy,” I agreed. “And it tells us something new about him.”

“That he’s a professional?”

“No, we knew that from the trip wire,” I said. “What we know now is that he knows about our chummy connection with the Spiders.”

She frowned. “We do? How?”

“Because the only reason to wear a disguise out of the baggage car is if he thought we might have a partner watching for him. But if he was assuming a Human partner, he should have pulled his quick-change as soon as he was out of sight inside the first vestibule.”

“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.”