CHAPTER 022
SKULL RATTLING
I pounded away at Tamsworth’s door, not giving much of a whit whether I disturbed his neighbors with my knocking.
“Archie, it’s Max. I need your help.”
I waited for what felt like a reasonable amount of time before hammering away again. There was no time to waste. Without access to an up-to-date database, his brain was the closest thing we had to an onboard reference system. I did not expect him to be able to identify everyone on board, but the more people he could rule out, the better.
I unleashed another round on his door then shook the sting out of my hand. It was a miracle I hadn’t woken up everyone in his wing. I wouldn’t put it past the engineers of the Express to have mastered the acoustics behind limiting the sound of knocks to their own door. They’d figured out everything else.
“Mr. Tamsworth, it’s an emergency. If you don’t open the door I’m bringing back someone who will.”
I could picture Tamsworth tiptoeing around inside the room, silently mixing and matching different accessories to his pajamas in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. No matter the time of day or night, there was no way he’d be caught dead not looking his best.
“Fine. Have it your way.”
With the comms network still on the fritz, I had to make the long walk back to the security command center to enlist Fox’s help. Now that I’d caught him up to speed on what I’d found in Matteo’s room, I felt more comfortable asking him for a favor. The notion of a cyberware-targeting device in the wrong hands was not a threat he took lightly. He’d allowed the guards to resume their positions as I was leaving, but was still looming over their shoulders by the time I returned. Whatever benefits they might have imagined the graveyard shift having evaporated under the strain of this unforeseen development. Their previously relaxed postures had stiffened. Idle banter was replaced by terse exchanges in a technical jargon I could not decipher. Lines of code like the ones I’d seen on G’s handheld scrolled across their screens. I had no idea how much Fox had told them, but the mood was heavy.
Without looking up from the monitor bank, the captain greeted me. “Any luck, Miller?”
“None, I’m afraid. Mr. Tamsworth put in some solid work at the bar while we were there.”
“Nothing a little cold water won’t fix.”
“Not from the fountain outside the Northstar Lounge, I hope.”
Fox glared.
“Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”
We made the double-time walk back to Tamsworth’s room in silence. Upon arriving, the captain rapped smartly at the door three times, announced his presence, and without waiting for a response allowed himself in. I followed right behind.
What struck me first was that the lights were still on. From his excitable nature, I’d have picked Tamsworth to be a finicky sleeper: silk eye mask, white noise machine, a whole routine. Even after our lengthy bar side chat he didn’t seem the type to fall into sloppy habits. To wit, the room itself was neat as a pin despite Tamsworth’s massive wardrobe. From my vantage point in the abbreviated foyer, my eyes were drawn to the rainbow avalanche spilling out of the modest closet in every direction. Stacks of folded garments occupied furniture and countertops alike. Matching separates hung in clusters from the curtain rod, lighting fixtures, and framed artwork. He’d brought with him more than anyone could be expected to wear in three weeks, much less three days. An open suitcase on the chaise lounge contained nothing but his suit from the day before, as if mocking me for my own luggage deficiencies.
“Are you sure he came back here after the lounge?” Fox asked.
“That was his plan. He said he was going to have one more drink in case anyone from the kitchen got close enough for him to complain, then he was going to turn in for the night.”
“Well, I don’t see anyone.” He stepped further into the room to make space for me to enter fully.
The captain was right. The only sign that Tamsworth had returned to his room after I’d seen him was the tail of a bright red scarf peeking out from under the piles of clothes on his bed. Wondering why he’d draw the line at folding a scarf, of all things, I approached the bed. I was within mere inches when I got the answer I dreaded.
The scarf was still tied tightly across Tamsworth’s throat. He was dead.
“Captain.” I pointed at the body, unsure if Fox could see it in its hiding spot.
His eyes narrowed and his mouth drew into a taut grimace, then he lowered his head as if accepting the full weight of responsibility.
“This isn’t your fault,” I said instinctively.
“Is it yours?”
Unable to formulate a response, I looked at him blankly.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s figure out whose it is.”
As pleased as I was to discover that our standoff had reached its conclusion, I was unsure how comfortable I was operating within the captain’s rigid command structure. “Should we notify your team to secure the scene?”
“You’re the professional. Why don’t you take a look around before we give anyone else the chance to tamper with the scene?”
“I can do that.”
“Good. Let me know if there’s any way I can help. Otherwise I’m going to stay right where I am.”
If Fox and I could manage to stay out of one another’s way, we might learn to get along after all.
After using my comex to document everything in its current place, I moved the stacks off of Tamsworth’s body and onto the floor on the other side of the room. Once his body was fully uncovered, I offered his memory a silent apology and went to work.
Tamsworth’s glasses had slipped off, leaving no barrier to the petechiae in his bulging, lifeless eyes. Out of an abundance of caution, I still checked for a pulse. “He’s ice-cold,” I announced to Fox. “It looks like he was strangled with his scarf.”
I tugged at one edge of the improvised noose. It was knotted so tightly that it was digging into clammy, swollen flesh.
“Do you see any other injuries?”
I paused. I wasn’t expecting Fox’s active involvement. It had been a while since I’d worked with a partner other than CAT, and in the field we tended to let each other do our own thing. That said, there were certain advantages to having the ranking captain of a vessel on your good side.
“I’m not sure. Let me check.” I scanned the body, looking for obvious signs of trauma or any defensive wounds. “There’s what looks like a small gash in the back of his head. Dried blood around the wound but none on the pillow. My guess is that there isn’t any in the rest of the room either. He was killed somewhere else and then dragged here. Does this room have access to the utility corridors?”
“Behind the window, same as yours.”
I paced out the rest of the suite, looking for any other clues as to what had happened but came up blank. Fox didn’t bother asking me what I was doing, and I was thankful for it. Explaining my process was not something I was in the mood to do. There was no indication as to what might have happened to Archie Tamsworth since I’d last seen him. As I investigated, I found myself avoiding direct sightlines of the body. Images of him alive were too fresh, too powerful for my brain to accept the obvious. The lingering smell of dinner made it seem like only minutes had passed since he’d shown up to meet me at the Northstar Lounge. What could I have missed in the meantime that had cost him his life?
After my fourth lap around the room, I felt my diligence devolving into procrastination. “There’s nothing left for me to find in here, at least not without a multispectrum scanner. I’m sure LunaSec will bring one of their own.”
As I stepped out into the hall, Fox took one last look around. “Let’s just hope that by the time they show up, this is the last crime scene they have to deal with.”
I walked the captain part of the way back to his command post so we could discuss our options moving forward. We agreed that some sort of lockdown would be the safest option, but could not figure out the best way of accomplishing it. The killer had put a reasonable amount of effort into hiding Tamsworth’s body. If we acted calmly while enacting our plan, they might assume the body had not been found yet and that they were still operating in the clear. That would give us the time we needed to set our trap.
Now without an HR expert to verify the identities of the other passengers, Fox reasoned that our best bet was to start by working through the members of the crew via their respective chains of command. He could personally vouch for all of the members of the flight crew, both day and night shift. Additionally, he’d worked with the acting chief of security, Lieutenant Reg Bailey—another Denaro lifer, it turned out—enough to trust him implicitly. Though the captain was confident that Bailey would have sniffed out a turncoat in his corps well in advance, he agreed to touch base with him just in case.
That left the various branches of the domestic crew. Fox explained that although their actual classifications broke down into a number of smaller, overlapping hierarchies with strong group identities, for all intents and purposes they could be split into the hospitality and the culinary wings. Trying to get a reliable headcount for every housekeeper, bag porter, and other assorted valet would take time. He figured that if he split the duties with Bailey, they had enough reliable contacts between the two of them to make it through the full roster without arousing too much suspicion. When it came to the kitchen staff, however, he had no idea how to proceed. Of all the units that comprised the Lunar Express workforce, they were the most independent of core oversight. In his experience, cooks tended to be a transient bunch. That left little opportunity for them to form lasting impressions, positive or otherwise.
“Let me handle the kitchen brigade,” I told him. “I think I’ve got a friend on the inside. If my vast experience in diners holds true, breakfast prep should be starting any minute now.”
“That works for me. The less time I have to spend with those greasenecks, the better.”
We shook hands and parted ways with the intention to meet back up in a couple hours. With us heading in different directions without any idea when comex service might be restored, scheduling our future communications was the only way to guarantee that they would happen. Otherwise it would be too easy to get wrapped up in our respective duties and forget to keep the other updated.
There was precious little time left to kickstart the crew audit before the majority of the passengers woke up and started complicated things further. My room, and the comfort of any unoccupied surface that might remain within, seemed miles away. A conversation nook tucked into the corner of a gallery connecting adjacent blocks of suites beckoned. If I could just sit down for a second, gather my thoughts, maybe rest my eyes for a minute…
No. A single death would have been bad enough, regardless of what role Matteo might have played in bringing it upon himself. Stealing the prototype and smuggling it on board would have put him in someone’s crosshairs, but could it have been Vance’s? They were strange bedfellows, obviously, but it would have explained how Wilder’s name was added to the guest list as well as Matteo’s insistence that the two had business together.
A second dead body bedeviled the case even more. I’d had two lengthy conversations with Tamsworth in as many nights and nothing about either suggested he’d had involvement with Russo or Wilder. He made it clear that he did not operate in the same social circles as Matteo, and his loathing for his former boss could not be overstated. Their spat over dinner might have been arguable as motive in the court of law, but in my gut it did not carry water. Besides, Wilder had been placed in the brig long before I bid Tamsworth goodnight.
All I knew for sure is that the killer wasn’t finished. Half-formed thoughts rattled around my throbbing skull. Perhaps talking them out would help me focus. Bidding the promise of the unattended conversation nook a reluctant farewell, I headed for the one person I could count on being awake at this hour.