Change of Command - Heris Serrano 06 Page 21

  “He’s my uncle,” Brun said.

  “And you never have family murders here? No, never mind. It’s time I went to work.”

  Kate looked and sounded a lot less Texan when she was detecting, Brun decided. She had acquired copies of all the relevant surveillance materials, on the grounds that she needed to prove that the Lone Star Confederation had not been ­involved in any way. Now her room was festooned with charts and lists and flatpic blowups.

  “This here is a list of every person registered in the Monos Hotel; I don’t think much of your investigators for only getting the list of those on the fifth floor and above. Sure, the shot came from that high, but people can go up as well as down. They know at least one shooter was here, in room 517-”

  “They didn’t tell us that.”

  “Well, they wouldn’t. I wouldn’t, if you were back home and I was investigatin’ there . . . I’d have rules to follow, same as they do. Now, the couple in room 517 weren’t there at the time. They were attending the annual convention of the plumbing contractors, and we have good surveillance pictures of them in their booth for two hours, and another two if you don’t count the one trip each made to the john. Moreover, there’s witness statements, and an order book with an automatic time stamp, to show they took orders.”

  “They could have let someone else use their room-”

  “Yup. First thing I thought of. But as it happens, the room door was forced, not unlocked. A string of DJ-8, and someone took the trouble to overpulse the mag relays so that no alarm would sound when the lock blew. They wouldn’t bother with all that if they had a key. The Stringhalts might still be involved, but I doubt it. Right now I’m lookin’ at eight possibles.” Kate pointed them out on her list. “Two hotel employees-the assistant day manager, and the housekeeping supervisor-”

  “Why them?”

  “Access to files on which rooms were occupied, and which rooms were occupied at what times. I don’t want to drag you through the gory parts, Brun, but look at this here-” Kate put up another screen with the plan of the hotel and street overlaid in colors. “Your security personnel did a pretty good job, even though it wasn’t good enough. They’d moved all known foreigners out of rooms overlooking the route from the court to the Palace; they’d put spotters on the roofs, and the usual sort of net below. They had roving patrols, including in this hotel. My people might have made some changes, but nothing good enough to keep your dad alive, if his route was known. And his route was posted-everyone knew it.

  “I can tell you this much . . . I’m convinced it wasn’t even an outside job. I think it was someone in the Familias, who tried to make it look like the NewTex Militia.”

  “Well, I want to know who.”

  “D’you have any ideas? Your population’s a lot bigger than ours, and we usually start with some idea of who’s trying to kill someone.”

  Brun ticked them off. “There’s always my Uncle Harlis, though I don’t think he would-he wanted my dad’s property, and he’s doing his best to get it away from Mother, as you saw. His son Kell, who’s meaner than a-what’s your term?”

  “Rattlesnake. And?”

  “One of the Consellines, though I can’t see Hobart Conselline doing anything that stupid on his own.”

  “Hmm. If it was stupid-he did end up Speaker. Well, let’s go after this another way. Leaving aside the murder, for the moment, what else have we dug up?” Kate shoved one mess of papers aside, and brought up a printout that looked to Brun like rows of figures.

  “Are those numbers supposed to mean something?” Brun asked.

  “Quite a bit,” Kate said. “If you can follow the money, you can just about always find the criminal. I got these figures off the public newsfeeds, by the way, so I can’t vouch for their accuracy. But here’s some things to look at . . . see this? It’s your uncle’s shares in companies you told me were your family holdings.”

  Brun recognized most of the names. Her mother had mentioned them, but had given no details.

  * * *

  “Brun, I need to talk to you.” Lady Cecelia, sounding very upset. Brun hadn’t heard from her in days, and had been so caught up in Kate’s research that she’d almost forgotten about her.

  “Lady Cecelia, how-”

  “Now,” the voice said.

  “I have that Lone Star woman visiting . . .”

  “I know; I heard the rumors. But can I come out for a few days?”

  “Of course.”

  A few hours later, Cecelia erupted into the house in what Brun recognized as a fine white fury. She didn’t even glance at Kate.

  “Did you know that Kevil Mahoney’s been robbed while he was in hospital?”

  “No! George didn’t say-”

  “George has been trying to cope without getting them in deeper trouble. Someone swiped their accounts, the day of the assassination, though George was too busy to find out about it for a couple of weeks. And he had no way to trace it by then.”

  “But how? I thought the safeguards-”

  “Were safe. Yes. So did I. But George is trying to take care of Kevil, and finish law school-they can’t even afford a cook, and they’re going to have to sell the house! The thing is, Brun, George didn’t have the access codes and Kevil couldn’t remem­ber them. I have them, but I don’t know how to interpret what’s in the files.”

  “You have Kevil’s access codes?”

  Cecelia reddened. “Yes. And he has-had-mine.”

  “So what they were saying about you and Kevil-”

  “Was idle gossip. Brun, I’m ashamed of you! The man’s hurt, his memory’s damaged, he’s been robbed, and all you can think about is that?”

  “Sorry,” Brun said. “It did come to mind.”

  Cecelia looked at the papers and films spread all over the library tables, and then at Kate. “What were you looking up?”

  “Goin’ through the public financial records, trying to find out how Harlis was gettin’ so far with a ridiculous claim, and tryin’ to cross the trail of the killer. Brun’s mama’s over at Sirialis, doin’ the same thing.”

  Brun looked at Cecelia.

  “Kate, we need to join forces here. With the codes Cecelia has, and your ability to interpret the files, this might go a lot faster.”

  “If you’ll keep intruders out,” Kate said. “Remember what I said about your inept security-”

  “I worry more about Kevil,” Brun said. “Why don’t I go bring him out here?”

  “Excellent idea,” Kate said.

  “But that’s all wrong, that’s-”

  “Somebody’d do all that, wouldn’t stop at a little shootin’.”

  By the time Brun got back with Kevil Mahoney, Kate and Cecelia were hard at work. Brun helped Kevil into the library, and moved a pile of printouts off a chair for him.

  “Looks . . . like fun . . .” he said. “You . . . must be the . . . Texan.”

  “Ranger Briarly,” Kate said. “Just call me Kate. Somebody sure knocked a hole in your stock tank . . . but I’ll get ’em.”

  “Kate has a healthy disrespect for thieves,” Cecelia said.

  “I don’t like people hurtin’ people, and takin’ advantage, ’specially of people that’s just been shot.” Kate gave Kevil one of her wide smiles. “I will bet my best show saddle that there’s not but one or two villains in this drama, and I aim to catch every one of ’em.”

  “You’d be interested in what I found at Kevil’s, then,” Brun said. She held up a sack and shook it. “Interesting meds to give someone with a brain injury . . .”

  “I thought so,” Cecelia said. “Was that nurse there? He’s been harder to shake with every visit.”

  “Oh, yes. Very eager to give Ser Mahoney a little something to make the trip out here easier. Then very eager to clear the shelves of the meds.”

  “I don’t suppose you have his access codes,” Kate said, looking up.

  Brun grinned. “When I got back home, and wasn’t going out much, I spent my time b
uilding some of the gadgets Koutsoudas has . . . so yes, an illegal datasuck gave me every bit of data on him. Here.” She put it down on the table. “Interfaces to the cube reader or the computer, whichever you want.”

  Three nights later, Brun was dozing on one of the long leather couches in the library, an arm shielding her eyes from the light, when the breakthrough came.

  “Gotcha!” Kate muttered. She no longer looked like the sexy blonde in red fringe; back-to-back all-night work sessions had flattened the hair, and put circles under her eyes. Instead of the tight red suit, she wore loose knit pants and shirt. But nothing could dim the grin she turned on the others. “This is it, partners-we’ve got what we need.”

  “Ummm . . .” Brun heard only the first of that, but managed to open a bleary eye for the last phrase. “Got whom?”

  “Your uncle Harlis, for starters. He’s been acquiring stock in ways that are illegal even here-and I have to say, Brun, that your government needs to overhaul its legal system in a big way. There’s holes you could drive a herd of longhorns through, with this bylaws arrangement. All you have to have is one generation of idiots, cowards, and a few bad guys, and it’d be all over for you.”

  Cecelia’s rumpled red head rose from the other couch. “That’s all very well, but what did he do?”

  “He extorted stock by roughing up some of your weaker relatives . . . you remember tellin’ me how surprised you were that your dad’s aunt Trema left her stock to Harlis? That was no accident. I’ve got the paper trail where Harlis got some local toughs to come in and stomp on some of her favorite china, and tell her they’d break her bones just as easy. And he had the police around there in his pocket, told ’em she was a crazy old lady who dropped things and had hallucinations.”

  “And they believed it?”

  “Money makes a strong argument. Anyway, that’s not all I’ve got, and the evidence ought to stand up even in a crooked court. Which is what you’ve got, I gather-Harlis contributed quite a bit to the education of certain judges’ children. If you’ve got any kind of an opposition journal, this’ll be meat and gravy for ’em.”

  “I can . . . help write . . . the appeal . . .” Kevil Mahoney said. He was standing, leaning crookedly against the doorframe.

  “You’re up,” Cecelia said. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

  “I’ve done nothing . . . but rest for . . . weeks. Enough. My memory’s still as spotty as a Dalmatian dog, but if you feed me the facts, I can write. I think.” His speech had already improved, but now it smoothed even more the longer he talked.

  “Good,” Kate said, with another of those blinding grins. “Then I think it’s time for this Texas gal to go have a rest and a shower. I must look like something the barn cat dragged in.”

  Kevil Mahoney’s name on the bottom of the petition for summary judgement upholding the late Lord Thornbuckle’s will might have had little effect, but the thick stack of supporting evidence did. One of the court clerks called Brun that very afternoon.

  “The judge hasn’t heard of any of this before-” The clerk’s voice was sharp with disapproval.

  “Of course not,” Brun said. “Ser Mahoney was critically injured, as you know; some of the family files were under his personal lock.” She said nothing about Kevil’s other problems; a clerk wouldn’t have reason to know anything about them.

  “Is this all the data you have, or can we expect more?” That was sarcasm, but the clerk sounded uneasy.

  “No, this isn’t all; this is merely the preliminary filing. My mother, Lady Thornbuckle, is on Sirialis, getting additional data from the main family archives there.”

  “I see. Well . . . you’ll hear from us.”

  Two hours later, Harlis came storming up the drive, only to be stopped by Brun’s new security force. After they disarmed him, and checked with Brun, they escorted him to the door. Brun met him there, backed by Kate, Cecelia, and an upright Kevil, who was leaning on George. Kate had reappeared in full Texan persona, but this time she wore her Ranger badge.

  “Before you say anything,” Brun said, “let me make it clear: we have all the evidence we need that you engaged in criminal activity to get control of family companies, and we are gathering more.”

  Her uncle glared. “I don’t believe it! You can’t do this to me! I didn’t do anything . . . it was all perfectly legal. Hobart will take care of you-” Then he blenched.

  “How very interesting,” Cecelia said. “Hobart . . . Could you possibly mean Hobart Conselline . . . now why would someone in our sept be working with a Conselline . . .”

  “I didn’t say Conselline,” Harlis said. But he had changed color, and his voice shook. “But it’s my right-”

  “You had no right to terrify poor old Aunt Trema,” Brun said. She was startled to realize that she sounded very much like her father, and wondered if the others noticed. “And yes, we will press charges.”

  “I’ll-I’ll see you in hell!” Harlis wheeled and strode down the front walk, shadowed by the guards.

  “It’s not over,” Brun said, as much to herself as to the others. Harlis wasn’t ready to give up, and she didn’t know what he might do next.

  “No, but it’s a good beginning,” Kate said. “C’mon, hon, wait until you hear Cecelia’s next good idea.”

  “What?”

  “She’s found a place for all those inconvenient women and children that Lieutenant Serrano is stuck with. She’s going to take them off to a pioneer planet she knows about, where they’ll be happier and their skills are needed.”

  “That’s nice for Barin and Esmay,” Brun said. “But I wanted her to go tell my mother what we’ve accomplished. She needs to know that we have evidence against Harlis. We can’t trust that to ordinary communications-”

  “You’re right, but now that Harlis is on the run there’s no hurry, is there? Your mother’s not going to do anything rash.”

  Excet-24

  Ruth Ann took a long look out the windows. It looked cool and green, and she didn’t know if this was spring, summer, or winter. Puddles reflected the sky, patches of blue and rolls of gray cloud like unspun wool.

  No towering cities, no noisy crowds. When the hatch opened, the air that swept in was cool, moist. She could smell green growing things on that air. The red-haired woman led the way; Ruth Ann followed close behind. The ground felt good to her feet, even through shoes. It held still; it didn’t vibrate.

  The red-haired woman with the fancy name-Cecelia whatsis, a Rejuvenant-led the way into a little square building, where they each had to show their ID. Ruth Ann felt the oddness of it, that each person handled their own cards. And hers had her own name on it, Ruth Ann Pardue.

  Once they were all finished with “Customs,” whatever that was, and had new purple stamps on the cards, the red-haired woman led them down the street. This was scary. The little town looked like the backwater village where she’d grown up, where she’d have been whipped till her legs bled for walking around wearing shoes and looking at people . . . but here were men and women, dressed almost decently, except that they all wore shoes, and the women didn’t keep their eyes down. People looked at her, but with hope, not distaste. She recognized the admiring glances at the children.

  They turned into the open doorway of a two-story building, and the red-headed woman yelled, “Ronnie! Raffaele!” Immediately, a woman yelled back. “Lady Cecelia! Just a second-I’m coming!” Then a clatter on the stairs, and a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes came running down, and gave the red-headed woman a hug. Then she looked at Ruth Ann. “I’ve got dinner on-we’re so glad you came; I hope you’ll like it here. Ronnie’s out trying to see why a machine won’t work or something . . . he’ll be back soon.”

  Ruth Ann recognized, in the woman who introduced herself as Raffaele, the same signs of abomination she had seen in Brun. This woman had never lowered her eyes in respect; she had never stood back keeping silence; she had never been denied access to anything she wanted to learn.
>
  But-from the smells coming from the kitchen-she had also never learned to do more than push buttons when she wanted something to eat.

  “And we hope-” Raffaele was still talking, when Ruth Ann interrupted.

  “What were you trying to cook?”

  “Just some . . . some meat . . .”

  “Let me take a look.” Ruth Ann sailed into the kitchen on a wave of unexpected delight. Sure enough, the place was a mess, sticky implements cluttering the counter-and not a big enough counter, either, that would have to change-and a stove leaking smoke from a badly-hung oven door.

  “Secunda-Shelly Marie, you get that counter cleared. Tertia-Terry, get this floor clean. Benji-” Her oldest son stared at her, wide eyed. “Benji, we need that stove fixed.”

  “Pri-Mama?”

  “Now, Benji.” She could feel her confidence coming back. “Simplicity, honey, you take the littles out into the garden-you do have a garden, don’t you?” she asked Raffaele.

  “Y-yes, but it’s not-it’s kind of a mess.”

  “Not for long.” Messes she understood, and what to do about them. “Simplicity, just you start the littles weeding, and make sure nothing bothers them.”

  The dark-haired young woman was fluttering now, like a gaudy butterfly in a net. “But-but Sera-Ruth Ann-I didn’t mean for you to go to work-I was making dinner for you-”

  “Never you mind-why don’t you go set the table or something?”

  “Come on, Raffa; I’ll explain about Ruth Ann.” The tall lanky redhead led the younger woman away.

  In a kitchen again at last, a real kitchen. Too small by far for all of them, but bigger than any of the cubbyholes called kitchens in the spaceships and space stations. Shelley had found a kettle and had water heating on the stovetop; Benji had already taken off the oven door. Inside was a lump of meat, charring on one side.

  Shelley handed Ruth Ann a couple of folded towels, and she pulled out the cooking pan, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Raw inside, burnt outside; the girl had built up the fire too much too fast, trying to compensate for the ill-hung door. Probably she’d never cooked without the electric, and the electric was off.