In the Black (10 page)

“You’re a vet. You’ve seen death before.” Daniel watched Etts weave between the floating blood orbs. “You know the difference. I’d trust your assessment.”

Sam moved back toward the door. “Doesn’t matter what I think or who I was before I joined the Guild. I’m the
Belle’s
captain now and I wasn’t qualified to make that call. That’s between you and the good doctor.”

He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped. “Duly noted. So let’s go with the regular questions. Anyone you know have a grudge against Halley Comet?”

“She’s a Mercy woman, Marshal. Everyone loves a Mercy woman.” It was hard not to let the sarcasm into her voice.

“And the clients? Any of them ever get angry, threaten to kill her? Anyone, perhaps, on the ship with an ax to grind?” Daniel asked. His stare raked over her body, starting at the military-issue mag-boots and working up.

He was watching her, waiting for a reaction. She was as much a suspect as anyone else on the ship.

A flash of white-hot rage shot down her spine, pooling in her belly. This stranger, this cop thought she killed Halley?

Screw that.

Screw him.

The lust she’d nourished earlier turned into a cold, hard ball of steel in her belly.

“Marshal, we hit a different port every month for two weeks, on average. These boys don’t remember the names from one week to the next, much less holding a grudge out for the months it takes to cycle back around. There’s a complaint procedure they can use, file it with the Guild if they think they got ripped off.” She resisted the urge to add a comment about the amount of paperwork needed to get a refund. Right now anything she said could definitely be used against her.

“And the crew?”

“The crew?” Her blood was boiling and she had no way to let the pressure out. “Jenny busts her ass to keep the
Belle
running. She’s the only crew the
Belle
has other than me.”

“The other courtesans, then.” Daniel’s tone stayed steady.

“They bitch, they whine. It’s a brothel, for fuck’s sake.” Her control was slipping as the stress of the past few hours finally caught up with her. “Put a bunch of people together in such close quarters and you’re going to get brawls about this and that, who’s better than whom at giving blow jobs and what sort of technique works best for men who can’t get it up.”

“Is that a common problem?” Daniel deadpanned.

Despite her anger Sam felt her lips moving up into a smile. “You’d be surprised.”

A chuckle escaped and she covered her mouth, mortified.

“Don’t,” he said. “It’s perfectly acceptable in this situation. Murder traumatizes everyone, not just the victim.” He gave her a knowing nod. “But you know this already.”

The tiny sliver of humor burned itself out.

“Did you know her well?” he asked. “You’ve lived and worked alongside the victim for six months. What was your relationship with her?”

Sam didn’t flinch away from the direct questioning. “Halley was a pain in the ass. If she wasn’t bitching she wasn’t happy. And for the record, I don’t have a relationship with anyone on this ship. I’m the captain.”

“Ah, yes. Guild rules.”

“Yes.” The words clogged her throat like sour milk. “Guild rules.”

“No one...screws with the captain.” He tilted his head to one side. “No one.”

Sam blinked. He’d made it sound like a question more than a statement.

“What was your take on her, from a professional view?” His voice was low and calm, wrapping itself around her like a warm blanket.

She answered almost without thinking. “As good as could be expected. She was a woman looking to make money. I’m the captain, taking her from customer to customer. Last thing we spoke about was giving out freebies.” She bit down on her lip, breaking the urge to ask him to just keep talking, say anything at all with that sweet tongue.

This was infuriating. One minute he was addressing her as if she were a suspect, the next as an equal.

Or maybe something more.

“‘Freebies’?” He smiled at Sam across Halley’s outstretched arm. “I didn’t know the captain got to give out ‘freebies,’” he murmured, sending her pulse into triple digits.

“It’s not what you think.”

“Really.” He crossed his arms. “How do you know what I think?”

“You’re a man. It’s not hard.”

He looked down. “Not yet but we can discuss that later.”

Sam shot him the stink eye, perfected after almost fifteen years in the military.

“Point taken,” he acquiesced. “Now, about this ‘freebie’—”

“I gave out a special token at the presentation to a bitchy old man to calm him down before he started a fight. Good for one visit. But when I briefed the crew about it Halley got annoyed about me tossing two hundred creds into the crowd.” She shrugged. “Captain’s prerogative.”

“Why would she be upset? It’s not like the Guild wouldn’t reimburse it.”

“It seems to be the general consensus that a client using a token tends to not want to tip the courtesan or pay for extras, such as full gravity. They spend the token and that’s it.”

“Do you usually give out freebies?” The grin had returned with compound interest.

She glared at him. “No. Usually I keep it in my pants, thank you very much.”

“Such a waste,” Daniel deadpanned. “I’ll check the room for prints, but I’m assuming that there’s going to be too many here to track.”

She tried to hold back a laugh. “That’s guaranteed. Aside from the clients visiting, the women trade quarters every few weeks, some sort of feng shui thing.” Part of Sam’s mind wondered how she was having such a calm conversation while a dead body slowly rotated between them. The other part couldn’t take her eyes off the deliciously tight abs outlined through the snug white T-shirt under his leather jacket.

“And please don’t even ask about other
samples
, if you don’t mind.” The words were out before she realized it.

One edge of his mouth turned up. “Wasn’t even going to. But now that you mention it...”

Sam felt her cheeks burn. “Uh, if you don’t mind I’ll be waiting on the bridge for you.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Got to check on things, ship things, maintenance stuff. Anything you need, just shout. Belle can help you out, unlock doors to let you get where you need to go.”

Daniel waved her away. His expression had changed to business mode, hard and cool. “No problem. Time for me to get to work.” He cracked his knuckles. “I’ll be up to see you and collect on that coffee in a bit.”

Chapter Four

Sam waited for the metallic crunch of the door sliding shut before leaning against the wall and letting out a sigh. She shook her head once, twice, and then started down the corridor back to the bridge, using the loud stomping of her mag-boots to get herself focused.

That man was trouble and she didn’t like trouble.

Not when it came in a package like that.

“Anything yet?” Jenny poked her head up from one of the access hatches a few feet down the hallway. She clutched a small screwdriver in one hand.

Sam jumped, despite wearing her mag-boots. They crashed down on the steel floor, sending sharp pains shooting up through her legs.

“You’re going to have to stop doing that,” she said through gritted teeth.

Jenny laughed. “You should be getting used to it by now.”

“I might or might not be, but that’ll get you shot with a marshal prowling around. You pop out on him and he’ll zap you with a tranq. Then what will you do?” She jabbed a thumb at the closed hatch. “He’s just getting started with his investigation. Still doing maintenance?”

“All of that and a bit more. Making sure we’re ready to go whenever you say so. Better safe than sorry.”

“Good.” Sam deactivated the mag-boots and floated by the mechanic. She was too damned tired to keep walking. “Just keep clear of that marshal. Man’s got a job to do and doesn’t need us interfering. Best to leave him alone to his own devices.” She wasn’t sure if she was warning Jenny or trying to convince herself.

Jenny laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m no poacher. He’s all yours.” Before Sam could answer, the sassy mechanic disappeared back into the bowels of the ship. The clanging and smashing of metal on metal signaled her retreat.

Sam swam into the empty galley. A knife was missing from the magnetic strip over the countertop, matching the one found in Halley’s quarters.

“Belle, drop a text to the marshal and tell him the knife in Halley’s room is confirmed as coming from the galley.” Sam paused. “Tell him he can check it for prints but I doubt he’ll find much—damned thing’s probably been wiped clean.”

“Affirmative.”

She went to the refrigerator and grabbed a tube of iced tea. Her legs ached and she felt like she’d run a marathon.

It’d only been around ten hours since they’d made landfall.

She was getting too damned old for this shit.

It took a few minutes to swim down the hall to the cockpit but it was quiet and empty and just what she needed. Sam settled herself in the command chair, trying to calm her racing heart.

She didn’t need the Guild or Grendel to tell her this was not a good way to start a cycle. Belle’s route would take the better part of a year, hitting every mining site and industrial complex within a respectable distance of their imaginary road, with intermittent stops for resupply and restocking.

The word had already gone out to lonely men and women at distant outposts that the
Bonnie Belle
would be making a stop in the future, allowing them to start saving for their hour of pleasure.

Any prolonged deviation from their assigned route and there’d be hell to pay.

A blue light began flashing on one console.

“Sam, Andrew Trainer is calling.” Belle paused. “The foreman.”

She took a long drag on the tube. “Saw this coming.” Her middle finger rested for a few seconds on the switch before flipping it. “Mr. Trainer. What can I do for you?”

“Tell me you’ve got a suspect.” The disembodied voice shot out of the speakers. “I’ve got a lot of pissed-off men on both sides of the hatch wanting to file complaints with anyone and everyone.”

“The marshal’s on board right now. We should be able to deal with your boys soon enough, sort out the wheat from the chaff.” Sam tried to sound nonchalant, as if she dealt with murdered courtesans every day.

“We’re okay for a few more hours until shift change and then we’re going to start falling behind as long as you’re keeping my men locked up. I won’t have people working double shifts and risking their safety.” He drew a deep breath as if exhausted from the speech. “Just want that on the record. Any failure to meet our quota will land squarely on your shoulders and the Guild’s.”

Sam smiled. They were being recorded so he could cover his ass.

This might be her first flight out but she wasn’t a rookie to politics.

“Understood, Mr. Trainer. And I promise we’ll have your men back on duty as soon as possible.”

“I also have a complaint here about you kicking the shit out of a few of the men.” His tone was bland, unreadable. He might as well be reading directions for one of the mining drills.

“There was a small group attempting to break into the
Belle.
While I secured the front hatch one of your men assaulted me. After I took care of him I walked down the corridor to make sure the entrance to my ship was safe, and I was attacked. I have the good marshal as a witness for that one.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “If I wanted to I could file a complaint against you through the Guild for not providing enough security.”

“You could. But then I’d file one back against you for not calling my security men and staying in your cockpit, watching through your little camera.” His voice grew softer. “Look, you know Huckness isn’t just there for show. They know how to deal with miners. You’re not the only ship that docks here. We have other merchants who drop by looking to sell their wares and we keep the peace with all of them. If anything happened to you I’d have my ass in a sling and Huckness would be up for reprimand or even dismissal. It’s not your job to knock heads. You call Huckness, you call me, you call Swendson. You don’t go all vigilante on their asses.”

She sipped her drink, letting him talk. There was no point in detailing her encounter with Huckness; best to let the foreman get it out of his system. He’d pick up the report eventually and realize the chief had already taken her to task.

Trainer continued. “I know you’ve got experience in dealing with this sort of stuff but you’re not in the military anymore. Think about the next ship coming through. I don’t want that captain thinking he or she has to brawl with the fellows to prove they’re as tough as you were. That road leads to ruin for all of us.”

Sam nodded, taking her lumps like a good little Mercy ship captain. “Point noted. Next time I’ll call your chief first.”

“Thank you. No use anyone getting hurt if they don’t need to, you know?”

The static rose and fell for a few seconds. Sam waited. There was more to this call than just chatting about who had seniority over cracking thick skulls.

“Marshal LeClair’s a decent guy. Heard good things about him,” Trainer offered.

“Really.” She kept her tone level. She’d figured out years ago that men could gossip as much, if not more, than women if allowed to go at their own speed.

“Fellow on the security squad worked with the Service some time ago, mustered out to work here. Says that this sort of work runs in LeClair’s family. His dad and granddad and all that family tree stuff. All the way out from Earth. Original Texas Rangers heritage, if you believe that.”

“Oh.” She tried to sound bored. “Must be good at what they do.”

Trainer chuckled. “Very good. He’s got a drawer full of citations and awards. Man’s one of the best, which is why they sent him here.”

The butterflies in her stomach settled a little. “I’d expect nothing less of the Service.”

“And the Guild,” he added. “You know they want this solved pronto, slap the cuffs on the guy and drag him off to justice. Just wanted to advise you that LeClair’s a no-nonsense guy who gets his man. Like that old thing with the Mounties.”

She didn’t ask who or what Mounties were, making a mental note to check the history banks. “Good to hear.”

“Word is he’s honest to a fault. Turned in some of his own when a raid went bad and civilians got hurt. The powers that be banished him to patrol duty for the time being,” Trainer added, almost as an afterthought.

“Interesting.” Sam kept her voice as calm as possible. “I’ve got things to do here, Mr. Trainer. So if you’re done gossiping about the marshal I’ll be going.”

“Sure.” The smug bastard had to be smiling; she could practically hear him grinning. “Just don’t beat up too many of my men. Gets them all excited and stuff. Security boys say you gave a better show in the tube than the one you gave in that leather jumpsuit, and between your presentation and the vid of you kicking the crap out of those two fellows, we’re running out of cold water.”

She flipped the switch and cut the connection, a curse on the tip of her tongue.

The miners weren’t the only ones who could use a cold shower.

* * *

Back in the dead courtesan’s quarters, Daniel nodded at the AI’s black box.

“Etts, get to work. Full sweep.”

The small device began to swim around the room, propelling itself with small bursts of air. A blue beam of light came from one side as it scanned the murder scene on a preplanned search pattern, rising and falling. A nozzle popped out of one side and deftly sucked up one floating blood drop for later analysis.

“Right, let’s get this going. Start recording. Subject’s name, Halley Comet.” Daniel walked around the dead body. “Female, twenty-four years old according to her Guild sheets.” He moved closer, studying the deep gash. “Cause of death at first glance is a cut across the throat. Waiting on tox screen from Etts on victim’s blood sample, verification through the base medical officer. Murder weapon appears to be a knife of some sort. A kitchen knife found at the scene, tentatively matching one missing from the ship’s galley. No defensive wounds on her hands or arms.”

Etts paused, then burped out a series of short dashes and beeps.

Daniel nodded. “Confirmed the knife is from the galley. No big shock there. Scan it for prints, please.”

He waited, watching Etts move around the knife. The small blue beam spun around the length of the blade.

Etts blew a raspberry.

“Knife wiped clean of prints. Not surprising but we had to try.” Daniel cleared his throat. “I agree with the captain’s assessment that this is a murder made to look like a suicide. Tox screens to be run for drugs in her system. Full autopsy to be done by the M.O. on base to determine the cause of death.”

Etts beeped a series of different tones before giving off three short bursts of air, moving to hover at Daniel’s eye level. It repeated the sequence and waited.

Daniel shook his head. “I’m willing to bet a sweep of this room for prints and other, ah, specimens, would reveal a thousand hits across half the galaxy. We’ll have to be content with the blood as far as samples go.” His eyes narrowed as he inspected the red dress floating around the corpse. “Two buttons out of three undone on the back. Either she was getting dressed or undressed and she didn’t mind having someone else in the room. Interesting.” He studied the empty walls. “She seems to have been killed here instead of the client room, where she’d be entertaining someone. It doesn’t mean one of the crew killed her but if I was one of her customers I’d have to drag her here from the other room and clean up the blood drops with a vacuum, not worrying if someone would walk in on us. But if it was one of the crew, he or she sure didn’t care about leaving her here in the private area and drawing attention to himself.”

Etts burped.

“I’m not saying it’s one of the crew. Could just as easily be a client. According to the records she was on a break, an open slot.” He pressed his lips together, running possible scenarios in his mind. “Could have been the previous appointment—never went off the ship, came back in and killed her. Or another customer from another suite knocks on her door and she answers it, thinks about taking some work off the books and lets him or her in. Turns her back for a second and it’s on.” He pointed at the small bathroom leading off the bedroom. “She’s getting ready for a shower maybe, gets interrupted before she fully disrobes. Don’t forget to scan the room for any bloodstains.”

Etts made an electronic growly noise.

“Yeah, I know you know what you’re doing. Now let me just talk.”

Working alone had given him this habit of speaking aloud to keep his thoughts in line and on the record.

He looked at the laundry chute, discreetly built into the corner. He knew from his research on Mercy ships that an extraordinary amount was generated by the
Belle
on each landfall.

New sheets were mandatory with each client, regardless of services provided. You chatted, the sheets were changed. You got down and dirty, sheets were changed. No one wanted to be near someone else’s dirty laundry, literally and figuratively.

After each visit the courtesan would drop the laundry down the chute in his or her private quarters, along with any clothing used for the appointment.

While the ship was in transit the chute would lead to the undercarriage and a tiny room where the mechanic would load the sheets and other clothing into the small washer and dryer in daily batches, in addition to her usual duties. Given the small amount of laundry generated while they were traveling between stops, it wasn’t a big deal.

But when docked, a Mercy ship could go through an obscene amount of washing between sheets and the courtesans’ outfits, not to mention just plain old running out of cleaning supplies. During landfall the chute was rerouted through a special connection to the base laundry room, allowing the
Belle
to save money and supplies. Carts would fill up quick and be dumped into the industrial washers and dryers before being shipped back within hours to be reused and recycled for new clients—sheets and outfits. All at the base’s expense, part of the payment for the privilege of having a Mercy ship visit their staff.

The Guild never passed up a chance to save money.

“Etts, run through the cleaning cycles for this room—link up with the base computer and see if her recent deposit’s already in the washer. Comet stripped the client bed before she came in here. Maybe there’s some trace left on that of her customer.”

Etts circled back toward him, letting out soft electronic sounds. “I’m ruling out Sam Keller as a possible suspect.” He rubbed his jaw, feeling the first bristles of a five o’clock shadow. “Call it a gut feeling.”