The Domino Pattern

“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.”

FOURTEEN

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 resume 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.”