CHAPTER 014
GOOD BOY
With the designated pet relief area located conveniently close to our room, it shouldn’t have taken more than a couple minutes to get CAT to do his business and head back. However, as he’d been cooped up all day—first on the supersonic, then in the room—I thought he could use the chance to stretch his legs. If that happened to take us past Matteo’s room, I could explain it away as getting turned around in the labyrinthine passageways. I’ve never been much for following directions in either sense of the phrase.
I passed Michelle Benoit’s room. A Do Not Disturb hanger on the knob seemed targeted directly at me. I wondered if she’d already been in touch with her publisher. There was a chance that all digital traffic from devices on board the Express was being monitored, but there was no way for Fox to act on anything his dragnet uncovered without exposing himself and Frankie Denaro to massive lawsuits. It would have been a dicey enough proposition when involving a respected member of the press, but if any of the other well-heeled guests suspected their privacy was being invaded, heads would roll. It would spell the end of Denaro’s credibility. It felt like I was only now coming to grips with exactly how much he had riding on this space elevator voyage going well.
As we approached the corner I considered sending CAT ahead to check if the coast was clear of security personnel. Flashbacks to my failed attempts to get him to understand how to moderate the volume of his voice convinced me otherwise. A shouting dog was barely less conspicuous than me showing up myself. I took my chances and followed CAT around the corner.
The door was untended. Portable stanchions had been placed on either side of it and connected with a retractable belt. Of all things, a wet floor sign had been chosen as the centerpiece of the display. The body had been moved but the door was still held open by one of the stanchions, the lone nod to preserving the state of the crime scene. I was sure that Fox’s crew had followed protocol to the best of their ability and documented everything in situ, but there was no set of photographs or forensic recreations that could substitute for the actual thing. We crept by the room at a snail’s pace in hopes that I might be able to spot something through the crack in the door.
Once again, CAT’s sniffing kicked into overdrive. I worried that Matteo had left his stash out, not so much because it might tarnish his reputation as because it might give my canine partner a contact high. CAT lunged for the door. I barely caught hold of the slackened leash, now thankful for the ship’s requirement for him to wear one in common areas.
His body stopped just shy of the threshold but his nose didn’t. Something in the room had captured his olfactory interest. I had no idea how he managed to pick it out over the unholy combination of ganja, liquor, and crappy designer fragrance still seared into my nostrils from my last run-in with Matteo.
“Onions.”
I took a whiff but caught none of it myself. I was probably still desensitized from my appetizer. Odds were good that the fallen Russo had ordered the same from the small prix fixe dinner menu, though it was interesting that CAT had not alerted on me in similar fashion. I suppose it was much easier when he wasn’t distracted with an entire rack of lamb.
My comex, set to vibrate, pulsed away in my pocket. I let the notification run its course. Now was not the time.
“Any chance you can smell anything non-food related? Gunpowder? Ionized air? I guess cyanide smells like almonds, but I’d take it.”
“Onions bad.”
“Sure are, bud.” I sighed. Late was now becoming early, and we weren’t getting anywhere fast. I looked up and down the corridor, convincing myself that there was no one around to notice if I nudged the door open for a quick peek.
My comex rumbled again. I still ignored it. Whoever it was could wait until I’d gotten a chance to look around the crime scene.
I edged up to the wall and leaned over the bollard, hoping a new angle might make for a better perspective. There was a brief crackle of static, then Dillon Fox’s stern voice came through a single unseen speaker straight overhead.
“You know I can see you, right?”
I stayed perfectly still. There was always hope that the camera array was motion activated.
“Pick up the call, you knob.”
My comex buzzed. I answered.
“Captain?”
“A few minutes ago I dispatched an attendant to your room to hand-deliver a message stating that Russo’s quarters were ready for your inspection. Imagine my surprise when said attendant returned, message in hand, saying there was no one there to receive it.”
I looked at CAT, wondering if Fox had been watching us long enough to see through our ‘lost in the hallways’ excuse. I figured it best not to find out.
“Well, the good news is that you still managed to find me.”
“Cut the shit, Miller. I asked you to stay put. Next time I’ll be telling you.”
“Between you and me, I’d much prefer there be no next time. Let me get in there, look around, and then I’ll stay out of your hair. Where’d you stash the body?”
“Mr. Russo’s remains are currently being stored in the cryochamber in the medical bay. I’ll arrange for the chief medic to contact you when she reports for duty in the morning. Don’t bother trying to break in, it’s locked up tight.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. Getting stuck in a freezer with a corpse was the stuff of nightmares. That part of the investigation could wait.
“Got it. Is there anything else I should know?”
There was a long pause, like Fox was deliberating over how much he should let me in on. “The security team’s been going over the footage between Russo getting back from the ballroom to you two coming across his body. We also checked the access log to his door and scanned it for prints and trace forensics.”
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“And?”
“No one came in or out of that room during that period except for Matteo himself.”
A chill ran down my spine. “The killer was still in there when Michelle and I found him.”
“Impossible. The guard swept the room right after you left. Luxurious as the accommodations may be, they offer few places to hide.”
“What’s your theory then? Poisoning? Microwaves?” Venting my frustrations at Fox was unfair, but he hadn’t left me with many options.
“Are you finished?” His tone was terse but his patience was admirable. I assumed that he, like me, had military experience in his background.
“Sorry.”
The captain waited a beat to make sure that I was both. Satisfied, he continued. “We’re still waiting on the final word from the medic. The Express has all the equipment to provide life-saving treatment, but an autopsy is a different story. There’s a limit to what we are able to accomplish without cutting him open.”
“Which you can’t do before handing the body over to Lunar Security.”
“The protocol leaves it somewhat open to interpretation but I imagine it would be frowned upon.”
At least Fox and I could agree that neither one of us wanted anything to do with LunaSec. Attracting their attention was just asking for trouble. Our best bet was to put our differences aside to see what we could figure out before they took over the investigation. Worst case scenario if we botched things or got caught was that he and I had to make a run for it as soon as we touched down on Luna. Hey, at least he was a qualified pilot.
With visions of a future on the lam together, I figured now was the time to start making amends. “Thanks for setting this up for me. I’ll try not to make a mess of the place. I will brief you on my findings as soon as I can.” How heavily redacted they would be depended entirely on what my analysis turned up.
“Please see that you do. I prepared you a copy of the pictures from before they removed the body but it seems that the nanodrive’s gone missing.” There was the sound of shuffling papers from the other end of the comex, which was interesting considering how tidy Fox’s desk was when I’d last left it. His contingency plans, much like the crime scene photos, were too sensitive to commit to virtual storage. “I’d swear I left it right here.”
“It’s been a long day, Captain, for you and me both. Why don’t you get some rest while I see what I can dig up over here? One of us is going to have to be in shape to fly this beast tomorrow.”
“I’ll expect your report first thing in the morning.”
He disconnected, not giving me the chance for a pithy retort. Not that I had the mental capacity to deliver one.
After making a final scan of the hallway to rule out onlookers, I unhooked the retractable belt from the nearest bollard. It went whizzing back to its point of origin, tucking itself neatly away until it was needed again.
“All right, CAT, you know the drill. Don’t touch anything, don’t taste anything.”
“Look. Smell.”
With field discipline like that, who cared if he responded to lay down?
Captain Fox was right. Matteo’s suite might have been bigger than mine but it was all out in the open. There was hardly room to stash a murder weapon, much less the person wielding it. What appeared to be the entire contents of the minibar had been emptied, the bottles strewn carelessly across tables and countertops. Ashes and crushed butts were piled high in a thick glass dish. I caught CAT sneaking a furtive glance at the pungent container next to it. He quickly found something else interesting on the opposite side of the room.
It didn’t take a chalk outline to remind me where the body was. No matter how frequently I encountered death, I never built up a tolerance to it. The jokes and the distractions had helped me cope since before my time with the Sol Detective Agency, but I always swore that the second I could see a life taken without feeling anything was the second I turned in my badge. Problem was, now that I no longer had a badge I wasn’t sure what was left to give up.
I looked past the spectral version of Matteo still embedded in my memory to the floor beneath. Even without his corpse in the way, there were none of the traditional hallmarks of a murder scene—shell casings, blood spatter, or the like. There were a few irregularities marring the otherwise spotless rug. Upon closer inspection, they appeared to be burn marks. Small clusters of the hand-woven fibers had been melted from intense heat, but there was no other evidence of scorching or smoke damage. I documented them with my comex and moved on.
Next, I rifled through the various cabinets and drawers. I worked cautiously, reminding myself that I didn’t have free reign to toss the place. LunaSec would follow up on anything that looked out of place. The polymer bags I’d brought to clean up after CAT were a long way from disposable gloves but they made for serviceable mittens. At least I wasn’t leaving fingerprints everywhere.
The cabinets and drawers came up empty. That was not a surprise, as Matteo’s full knapsack slumped on a chair in the corner. I reached in on the off chance that he’d managed to forget my valise was inside it, but there was only clothing. There was no sign of my case or the metallic object I’d heard it smack into when he threw it into his bag. A toiletry kit matching the satchel spilled its contents next to the sink, eliminating my working theory on that minor mystery. In all fairness, that one was toward the bottom of my priority list anyhow.
My eyes fell on a steamer trunk at the foot of his bed, a matching piece to the one back in my room. He’d suggested mine as a location for concealing my valise. Maybe he was putting his to similar use. I popped the lid and thrust my arm into the surplus bedding.
I had almost given up when my fingers brushed against something coarse and flimsy that stood out against the quadruple digit thread counts. It was a small shred of papery tape, the kind used to provide a tamper-evident seal. Diagonal lines of various widths and colors crisscrossed its silver surface in random patterns, making it next to impossible to reassemble a cut piece without it being noticeable. Microprinted at random intervals throughout were the words PROPERTY OF STELLAR ENGINES.
I pocketed the scrap. On the surface there was nothing incriminating about Matteo possessing material that could be tied back to Denaro’s company. He was, after all, an employee. For all I knew it was a remnant of the remodel, a piece of detritus that had evaded the housekeepers’ grasp. But my gut told me it was worth keeping. At that moment, I needed something to hold onto.
I eased the trunk shut to not wake the neighbors in the adjoining suites. I had already stayed longer than intended. Every moment I lingered increased the chances that someone stumbling down the hall would notice light leaking from the doorframe and poke their head in to find out why.
“All right, CAT, you ready to get out of here?” I surveyed the suite one last time for anything glaring that I had missed. Hopefully, Fox’s crew was at least half as well trained as I expected them to be and they’d generate reasonable photographic coverage.
“Stay.”
“No, buddy. I think we need to be getting back now.”
“Look. Stay.”
When I spotted him, CAT was lying on the ground with his limbs tucked neatly under him, his snout buried in the carpet. He looked like he was in the middle of a swim before being teleported into the middle of the floor.
“That’s a great looking stay, bud. Top notch. We can practice more in our room.”
“Look.”
As exhausted as I was, I put on a display of admiring CAT’s flawless technique. Everything I’d read stressed the fact that positive reinforcement was integral to developing lasting behaviors.
Then I noticed something sparkling from the end of his nose.
At first I thought it was a droplet of liquid, that maybe he’d jammed his snoot in a bottle or glass when I was preoccupied and had not been able to lick away all of the evidence. I reached out to wipe it off with my thumb. It was hard and deceptively sharp. The glittering object dug into my flesh at the slightest pressure. When I recoiled, more from surprise than from pain, it clung to my hand, giving me the opportunity for a closer look.
It was a stunningly brilliant single-cut diamond.
“Good boy, CAT,” I whispered. “Good boy.”