Brother Death (4 page)

Moja. Could have even been the guy's name.

Not a whole fucking lot of help, that.

Taz finished packing her travel bag. Looked around the guest room in Saval's place, saw nothing she'd missed. She drew her pistol, popped the magazine, and checked to see that it was fully loaded, the battery and capacitor diodes green. The magazine was a blue code, the entire chunk of plastic and each dart a bright and unmistakable azure. That meant each needle collected a less than lethal electrical charge as it zipped through the muoplastic barrel, somewhere around seventy-five thousand volts with moderately low amperage. The needle would punch through clothes or even lightweight body armor to deliver its charge to bare skin or muscle, and the juice was almost always enough to knock a roegg off his feet. Blues were what the Leijona police were allowed in their duty weapons. Like most of the cools she knew, Taz had a couple of magazines of reds tucked away. A normal man or mue shot with a red needle wasn't going to get up on his own afterward.

She reholstered the pistol. This whole thing kept getting nastier and nastier, and she didn't have a good feeling about it. Not like she could do much other than what she already doing. At the very least Saval was going along. That was something.

She slung her bag. Time to go. Saval was down the hall, telling his wife goodbye in the way Taz had heard them communicating almost every night since she'd been here. She grinned. Well. Nobody had ever accused the Borks of being antisex.

She moved toward the door. Maybe she'd have time for lunch while she waited for Saval and Veate to finish.

Chapter FOUR

FROM LOW ORBIT Bork thought Raion looked something like a lopsided boomerang, fatter on the bottom than the top, thick with greenery. Taz had told him there were four major land masses on the planet, the continent of Raion being the second largest. The convex curve of the land was to the east, and even though much of the southern portion was obscured by clouds, it appeared that a range of fairly high mountains ran the length of the west coast. As the boxcar dropped in its spiral to the spaceport in Leijona, Taz pointed out other features on the seat's holoproj viewer.

"That's the Mafalme Ocean to the east, the Gulf of Pagotono to the west. The Tabik Coastal Range stops a lot of the weather, so there is some desert between them and the more temperate side of the island.

Most of the civilization is on the east coast. Leijona is the biggest city, million and a third population, Shaba City is next with half that-to the south on Mkia Bay, see there? That's Shaba. Tibois is a timber town, and pretty much the southernmost civilization on the east side of the island."

Bork nodded, letting the names soak into him. He had a pretty good memory, if he thought stuff was worth keeping, and since this was going to be work, everything about this world was potentially useful.

Emile used to teach them at the Villa that you never knew what tiny scrap might save your neck, so it was best to file it all away.

"We're coming in from the south, over Ini Bay," Taz said a little later. "The Rubani Spaceport is just offshore from Central City in beautiful downtown Leijona." She waved her hands over the holoproj and a map lit the air next to the nosecam view. Ini Bay was shaped sort of like a foot in a sock, with a bump on the front of the ankle. Leijona lay along the western shore of the bay, cupping it like a fat crescent.

The middle of the city was at the confluence of two rivers.

"There are the Zonn Ruins," she said, pointing at the 'proj.

Even under full magnification, there wasn't much to see at the boxcar's height. Dark lines against the greenery.

"I didn't know you had any of those on your world," Bork said.

She shrugged. "We knew they were there, but the Confed kept them off limits to civilians. I understand they're all over the galaxy, but the Confed kept them mostly hidden, too. You know anything about them?"

It was Bork's turn to shrug. "Not much. Some long-dead aliens supposedly built them. I've never been to any of the ruins, only know what I've seen on the ent- or edcom casts."

"They're in pretty good shape for being half a million years old. Impressive to see up close. We get some time, maybe we'll run out there," she said. "After you help me solve these murders."

Bork leaned back in his seat, feeling the hardfoam strain under his weight. He wore the matador uniform now, the dark orthoskins and spetsdods. Since the baby had been born, he'd mostly done local security consulting, and more often than not had been in biz clothes and unarmed. Muto Kato was a pretty peaceful world. Good place to raise kids.

Of course, he'd stayed in shape. Went to the range now and then and shot a few magazines, kept the skills up. It wasn't the same as being in a shoot-or-get-shot situation, though, and was a long, long way from the revolution. Last time he'd been in any real danger was when Sleel had needed a hand with that crazy nobleman on Rift. Reminded him, he'd have to call Dirisha and Geneva pretty soon, he owed them a com. They were training a police force on a new wheelworld somewhere in Delta last he'd heard. Sleel would know.

But he didn't think there would be any real problem on Taz's planet. A few local murders didn't stack up against some of the bad spots he'd been in.

It felt good to get home, Taz thought. As she and Saval made their way through customs-here she had some clout and they weren't bothered-she noticed some of the stares. She was a fairly large woman and used to drawing curious looks, but Saval made her seem quite ordinary and even small. People would glance at him, then away, then back again, as if seeing a big cat escaped from some zoo. His years with the matadors had given him a smoothness when he moved, a kind of grace that she admired. Oh, she was strong enough, more powerful than an average basic-stock man, and she had learned some useful fighting tricks from her years as a street cool, but she wasn't much of a gymnast. Saval almost glided when he walked, very little friction evident in his stride.

A blue-and-blue waited where the pedway met the street, and a uniformed officer Taz vaguely recognized stood leaning against the side of the vehicle. The officer was in work tans, short-sleeved khaki shirt and knee-length pants with thin, matching osmotic socks flowing into darker tan flexboots.

He wore the garrison hard cap, and the usual gear on his belt: pistol, a reel of memory cuffstrap, shockstik, override keycard, com. He snapped upright when he saw them, and Taz knew he'd had been sent to collect them. The Watch Commander had supplied a ride. How nice.

"'Lo, Chief," the officer said.

Saval looked at her.

"Even the assistant chief gets the title," she said. "This is Peace Officer Jolerie," she said, spotting the man's name on his badge. "Po, Saval Bork, my brother. And if you remember your training from the academy, you might have noticed he's a matador."

Jolerie nodded once at Saval. "M. Bork." He looked back at Taz. "Chief, the Supervisor sends his best and hopes you had a nice vacation."

"Why is it I hear a 'but' attached to that?"

"We just found another one," Jolerie said. "Got the com not half an hour ago. The labbos have secured the scene and the Supe wants you to take a look at it before anybody else tromps around in it."

Taz shook her head. "Welcome home," she said.

"Sorry, Chief, I didn't kill him."

"Maybe. We'll see." She turned to look up at Saval. "Well, don't say I let you sit around doing nothing to earn your money."

"I get paid?" he said. He grinned.

"Get in the flitter, big brother. Somebody might mistake you for a bus and try to put their luggage in your mouth."

The crime scene was wound with flashing ribbons, plastic strips that alternated orange and red pulses to warn off the curious and threaten punishment for trespassers. Taz led the way and the uniformed cools patted in front of her without asking for ID.

The building was low, almost a squat rectangle of cast plastcrete designed by somebody with taste and a lot of money to spend on it. The entire front was decorated with a bas-relief sculpture that cleverly included the door and windows as part of the design, and the mural told a story of natives dealing with gods and magic and a lot of bad weather, from what Bork could tell.

"Nice artwork," he said.

"It was done by Fabrini Senh Buel."

"I think I've heard the name."

She laughed. "He's the highest-paid artist in the entire galaxy, Saval, he got more for this mural than you and almost everybody you know put together will make in the next ten years. He has a waiting list he won't live long enough to do half of, and his staff won't even return your calls unless you have half a billion stads in your personal accounts."

"Yeah, that's the guy."

"That's what I like about you, brother; you're so easy to impress."

Armed men and women in different uniforms than the tan and sandy tropical wear of Taz's department paced in front of the building.

Taz said, "Bevin's private guards. He's got-he had fifty of them. Lot of ex-military and ex-cools among them."

"Bevin being the dead guy?"

"Yep. Tibois Bevin, named for his grandfather. The family owns half of the Kimanjano Rainforest, made their money in wood products, timber, exotic papers, livestock feeds. His grandfather built most of the town of Bully Bay, which the locals later renamed 'Tibois' in his honor."

They reached the door. The private guards nodded at them. Bork watched the men move, decided they were not too bad. But somebody had gotten past them.

Inside, more local cools, more bodyguards.

Taz and Bork took a lift up three levels.

A man nearly as tall as Bork but maybe a third as heavy stood outside a door, blinking as if somebody was shining a bright light into his eyes. He wore a stretch-white coverall that hung loosely on him.

Didn't see that very often.

"Missel," Taz said.

The gangly man blinked at her. "Where have you been, Taz? WC says that Supe says I can't run the drill until you get here. Jesu Buddha, woman, evidence is evaporating and breaking down in there!"

"Damp your drive, Missel. This killer doesn't leave tags."

"Not before. This time, maybe. Go, go!"

He reached down and touched a control on a chunk of metal with heat sinks along one side. Bork felt a blast of warm air splash against his face. An airwall, to seal the room once the door was opened.

The entrance slid wide as Taz palmed the admit. She looked inside for a moment, then stepped across the threshold. "Behind me, Saval."

As Bork moved, the tech said, "You aren't going to take this human tank in with you? Jesu, Taz-!"

"This is Saval Bork," she said. "My brother. He's a matador, Missel, he knows about this kind of stuff."

"He's got feet like cargo carriers!"

"I'll try not to step on anything important," Bork said. He knew tech-types. He would bet money that Missel's next words would be something about everything being important at a crime scene.

"Everything is important at a crime scene!" Missel said.

Bork smiled.

"Do you want us to stand out here in the hall all day discussing this while your evidence decays or do you want us to get in and out so you can run the drill?"

"Go, go, go!"

Inside, Taz said, "He's really not a bad guy."

"I used to get along with Sleel before he met Kildee," Bork said. "No problem."

They were in an outer office, and to look at, nothing was amiss. As they moved, Taz handed Bork a com button from her belt. He pressed the speaker into his left ear.

"Assistant Chief Bork making inspection of the Tibois Bevin homicide site. Who's first on the scene?"

A female came on the com. "Officer Trager."

"Okay, you're in the barrel. Tell me a story, Trager. Give me an outline, we'll get the names and titles later."

Moving slowly and with care, Taz worked her way toward the inner office, the door of which was open.

Bork catalogued what he saw around him. Plush carpet, some kind of animal fur analog, a dishwater blond color and centimeter-thick nap. Not cheap. The furniture was organoplast, fully mechanized and computerized. Paintings on the walls, some flats, some holoprojics. Probably not copies, either. Lots of money showing here.

"Bevin was in his office, working," Trager said. "Door closed, only two ways in or out, both locked from inside. Secretary and bodyguard, three of them, parked at the main entrance in the outer office; three guards outside the connecting door to a hall that leads to the fresher. Three more guards outside the fresher door into the hallway. He was alone in the room."

"Windows?" Taz said.

"Full wall, view of Vilas Park. Denscris plate as thick as your wrist, comp-control polarized against photon or lasers. Can't be opened, not a scratch on it."

"Keep talking."

"An alarm went off. The guards called to Bevin, didn't get an answer, overrode the door's lock. Didn't wait for the simadam to clear the system, two of them were knocked cold going in before somebody coded the door field off.

"Bevin's body was on the floor. Except for his head. That was in the middle of his desk." She sounded crisp, but Bork caught a hint of something in her voice. Squeamishness. Revulsion. Something.

There was a com and computer terminal on the secretary's desk, a form-couch and chairs on either side of the inner office door. Indirect lighting. A chem and smoke detector was mounted in the door frame, and a poison and probably a hard-object scanner pick-up was inset flush into the frame. Somewhere there would have been an operator checking the sensors.

"Zap field inside, too?" Bork asked.

A moment of silence.

"My brother," Taz said. "He's working with us on this."

Trager's voice again. "Yes. Variable field, state of the art, automatic in the door if a weapon is detected, manual override on Bevin's desktop. All he had to do was wave his hand and anybody anywhere in the room but his chair would get zapped cold."

"Unless maybe the attacker was in an insulated groundsuit," Bork said.

"And invisible," Taz put in. "Even a ninja in a shiftsuit couldn't open the door and sneak in without somebody noticing. And a groundsuit makes you look like you're wearing an overstuffed chair."