Alien Eyes (13 page)

Why had Mark McCallum been clutching his father-in-law's itinerary? An accusation? To protect his father-in-law? To say that's what the killers were there for?

David took a small sip of his coffee. It was acrid, tasting of ashes. He glanced at his watch. Arnold had had long enough.

Arnold was staring at the wall when David went in, and he didn't look up. His cheeks were wet, and there were deep circles beneath the red, bleary eyes. David thought of Wendy McCallum, and how she had blushed when she talked about Arnold.

Something there?

“Black.” David handed Arnold the cup. “Careful now, it's hot.”

Arnold took a small sip. David watched for the usual grimace that greeted departmental coffee. Arnold's face stayed blank.

“Dr. Arnold, did Charlotte or Mark seem worried, unusually? Were there odd phone calls, strange people hanging around?”

Arnold shook his head. “My son-in-law was his usual gloomy self. My daughter was … fine, I think. Everything was as normal as it ever is. With the boys and three working adults—the usual chaos. And Sitter? They said he's dead, too? Has his Mother-One been notified?”

“Yes,” David said.

“How did they do it? How did this
bastard
kill her?”

“She was shot.”

“
She
was shot. Mark?”

“Drowned.”

“
Drowned
? How?”

“They filled the tub with water and held him under.”

“
What
? They—this makes no sense. What kind of—” The thought hit him. Suddenly and hard. “Not thieves.”

“No.”

“Invaders. Cho invaders.
Cho invaders?
”

“That's how it looks.”

Arnold's hands began to shake and coffee slopped onto his fingers. His hand jerked, and the coffee went over his wrist and onto the floor. He cried out, face dark red, eyes squinted in pain.

David moved quickly. He grabbed Arnold's hand and jammed it down into the water pitcher. Ice chips and water sloshed over the side, and Arnold's shirt sleeve turned dark blue.

Arnold bellowed and swept his arm sideways, tearing his hand from David's grip and knocking the water pitcher sideways. It hit the floor and spun into the wall.

Arnold grabbed David by the collar and jerked him close. “Did they
cut
her?”

David's throat closed, throbbing. He reached for Arnold's hands, heard with relief the door thrust open and slam against the wall.

Arnold backed him into the corner, squeezing. David felt helpless against the man's sudden, adrenaline-hyped strength. Mel loomed behind Arnold and got him in a lock, pinning his arms behind his back. Arnold had a fistful of David's shirt, and the material gave, ripping from neck to waist. One of the buttons snapped and flew across the room, clattering on the linoleum.

Arnold was breathing hard and wheezy, sweat and tears running down his bloodred face. The veins in his neck were taut and throbbing.

“Did they cut her vocal cords?” The words came out hard, between clenched teeth.

David swallowed and it hurt. His breath came hard and fast and he was trembling. He touched the collar of his shirt and it pulled loose, hanging limply in his hands. Another shirt.

“David?” Mel said. “You okay?”

David nodded. “Fine.” His voice was hoarse. “I'm fine.”

Arnold gulped air. “Did they?”

“Yes, Dr. Arnold, they did.” David's voice was soft. “And your son-in-law died with your itinerary chip in his fist. Maybe you can tell me why that is?”

Arnold sagged like a rag doll, dragging Mel to the floor.

TWENTY-ONE

Stephen Arnold slumped in the chair. He was smoking hard, one cigarette after another.

The medic grimaced. “Put your cigarette in the other hand. I can't look at your burn with a cigarette in your fist.”

Arnold tossed the cigarette to the floor with a sudden jerk of his fingers. David flinched. Mel ground the burning cigarette out with the toe of his shoe.

“Needs a sedative,” Mel said.

Arnold made a face. “I don't want a sedative.”

Mel flicked a finger at David. “I meant
him
.”

David's throat was sore. He watched the medic hold Arnold's hand up to the light. The wide web of skin between the thumb and index finger had blistered and turned white. It didn't seem to be causing Arnold any pain.

David frowned. It would.

“This is connected to my work.” Arnold looked at David. Coldly. “I don't expect you to go along with that. You folks have done nothing but ignore the political implications of these cho invasions.”

“You're wrong, Dr. Arnold. I think it's likely you were the target. You just didn't happen to be home.”

“Should have been.” Arnold was awkward with his left hand. He brought a new cigarette to his lips, lit it, inhaled.

Mel shrugged. “Who knew you were leaving?”

“It was a last-minute thing. I hadn't planned to go to the conference, but a colleague of mine, Paul LeMatt, decided to go, and I wanted to meet with him.”

“When did you make your decision?”

“Just … really, two days before I went.”

“That would be when?”

“Let's see. I left Tuesday morning. I called the airport Sunday night. And one of my colleagues, to see if she would take my classes.”

“And that would be?”

Arnold looked at David. “The Elaki. Angel Eyes.”

David looked at Mel.

“You know her?” Arnold asked.

Mel grimaced. “I seen her on TV.”

“I saw an Elaki out there,” Arnold said, waving a hand at the door.

Mel stuck a finger in his ear and scratched. “So?”

“Izicho?”

Mel looked at David. “This guy's a diplomat?”

Arnold stretched his legs and looked up at the ceiling. “I am something like an expert. On cho invasions, and Izicho.” He narrowed his eyes and looked at David. “I want to know exactly what happened to my daughter. You understand? My imagination is filling in detail after detail. Nothing could come close to what I'm imagining.”

David took a breath. He wasn't sure that Arnold was right. He glanced at the medic. “Sedative?”

“Done.” The medic packed his bag, leaving a crumpled pile of wrappers on the table. Arnold held his bandaged hand in the air.

“Hurt?” the medic asked.

Arnold ignored him. The medic shrugged and left.

Mel examined the end of his finger. “Dr. Arnold, we'd like your theories on why your son-in-law died with your itinerary chip in his fist.”

Arnold narrowed his eyes behind a wisp of smoke. “Mark,” he said. “Give him a name.”

“They put him in the bathtub. Filled it up and held him under. He died with it in his fist.”

David watched Arnold's face. In a small corner of his mind he felt cruel. But fascinated.

“He died with it in his hand,” Arnold repeated.

“His
fist
,” Mel said. “Why do you think that is?”

“Why do you think?”

“I was asking you.”

“To keep it from them. They might not know he had it. He must have thought they were after me, and took it. Except …”

“Except what?” David asked. He tried to gentle his voice, but it was hoarse.

“Except why would he be worrying about
me
, when Charlotte … He had Charlotte to look after.”

“Where was the chip?” David asked. “Where did you leave it?”

“It was one of those kind with the magnets,” Arnold said. “I left it stuck to the front of the refrigerator. Like I always did.” He stubbed his cigarette out. “Detective Silver?”

“Yes, Dr. Arnold.”

“Tell me what happened to my daughter.”

“We're still piecing it together. It looks like she and your son-in … Mark … were getting ready for bed. The doorbell rang. Somehow, the killers gained entry.” David paused. “Your daughter was shot and killed. Your … Mark was drowned. The Elaki was in your grandsons' room. He was shot and died instantly.”

Arnold nodded slowly. “Were they tortured? Did you find burn marks, missing fingers …”

David did not look at Mel. “Their vocal cords were cut. Vocal chamber pierced on the Elaki. Other than that … I haven't had autopsy reports.”

“Was it Elaki? That did it?”

“As I said, Dr. Arnold, we're waiting for results.”

“You know,” Arnold said. “You just won't say. Which answers my question, doesn't it?”

“Dr. Arnold, why would the Izicho want to kill you?”

“Because of my work.”

“Teaching?”

Arnold grimaced. “I've been researching the politics of Elaki revolutionaries. The Guardians. And so I've collected a great deal of information on the historical working of the Izicho. The old Izicho. In particular, whether or not they've really changed all that much. From the bad old days.”

“And have they?” David asked.

Arnold frowned. “Until these invasions started, it was really hard to say. There were stories, of course. They have incredible autonomy, so they're wide open to abuse. There's always rumors, but nothing I could honestly pin down. Of course, their methods of working aren't …” He grimaced. “I was going to say constitutional. But the kind of things the Guardians, Angel, would recount.” He shook his head. “I did a number of Elaki interviews. I could never corroborate anything until the invasions. Historically, yes. There was a bad element in power when Angel was young. But nothing recent.” He flicked ash from his cigarette. “Until this.”

“You don't got any doubts?” Mel said. “No question in your mind who's doing it?”

“Of course I have doubts. It could be an offshoot, some kind of new bunch with Izicho ties.”

“That doesn't really explain why you're a target,” David said.

“It would if the Izicho are behind it.” Arnold had a satisfied but hard smile on his face.

David cocked his head sideways. “Were your publications so dangerous?”

Arnold leaned back in his chair. “There's a possibility, given the circumstances, that our government might refuse to allow anyone who is Izicho, or who has Izicho ties, to emigrate to Earth. If it can be documented that the organization is persecuting Elaki who embrace the ideals of our own government … We may establish policies to keep them out.”

David frowned. Dahmi had attended meetings, that was all. Except that she was wealthy. Were there connections here that he did not understand?

“Did you know an Elaki Mother-One named Dahmi? I understand she attended lectures.” David got up, opened a file on the table, and picked out a picture. He handed it to Arnold.

Arnold frowned. “I don't … I don't think so. It's hard for me to tell.”

“They all look alike,” Mel said sourly.

Arnold looked at him coldly. “Not to me they don't.” He tapped the picture with a fingernail. “I don't know if I've seen her or not.”

David took the picture and slid it back into the file. “Dr. Arnold, I've arranged protection—”

“No.
Hell
, no. I don't want it.”

David stared at him.

“I want to see my little … Charlotte. And then I'm going home.”

Mel sighed. “Dr. Arnold, you do that, they'll kill you.”

Arnold was stony-faced. “I'm going to see my grandsons. And then I'm going home. Is it—”

“It's cleaned up,” David said. “For the most part. But it will be a couple of days before you can go home. Let us—”

“I want to see Charlotte.”

“You go visiting those grandsons,” Mel said, “you could be putting them in danger.”

Arnold stood up. “Can I go now?”

David nodded. “Don't go out of town, unless you let us know.”

“And Charlotte?”

David nodded again. “Right now, if you'd like.” He wasn't looking forward to it.

TWENTY-TWO

The conference room had—miraculous this—a tiny window, the panes reinforced with wire mesh. David wondered how long since it had been cleaned. He leaned close, squinting. She was out there, the old Elaki, teetering on the sidewalk. He turned back around to face the conference table. Ash—the smallest of the Elaki-Three—was unbending paper clips, then hooking them together.

Captain Halliday scratched the back of his neck. “So the consensus is, then, that the Guardians took Dahmi from the hospital, and are hiding her.”

David's stomach had that tight, burning sensation that was becoming too familiar.

“But if they wish to protect,” String said. “Why not take her before?”

“Before what?” Mel asked.

“Before she kill the young ones.”

Walker teetered backward. “Likely did not know she was going to do this thing. Only find out after happen.”

David looked at Della. “You get anywhere, piecing together her last few days?”

Della shook her head. “Still don't know what spooked her.”

David looked at Pete. “Any ideas on where she got the gun?”

“Any
criminal
could get one.” He shrugged. “It doesn't explain where she got it. No luck so far.”

“Are political assassinations, these killings,” Ash said. “Elaki targets should be warned. Arnold Doctor should be in the protection.”

“He don't want it,” Mel said.

David looked back out the window. It was hot today. It couldn't be good for the Elaki, as old and frail as she looked, to be standing for hours in the heat. What made her do it?

“David?” Halliday said.

“I'm sorry?”

“I said Ogden wants to go with this. He wants to hold a press conference, and say these killings are political.”

“And?”

“Do you have any objection?”

“I don't care what he does.”

Halliday sighed. “Do you agree? That they're politically motivated?”