The Domino Pattern

ELEVEN

Whoever our murderer was, he’d apparently decided to clock out for the night. I got Bayta to her compartment, made sure both our doors were locked, and just managed to get myself undressed and take one final QuixHeal before collapsing comatose on my bed.

I slept for ten hours straight, and when I finally dragged myself conscious I found the QuixHeals had done their chemical magic and I felt nearly back to full speed again. I took a quick shower, then opened the connecting door between our compartments to check on Bayta.

Only to find that she wasn’t there.

Muttering curses under my breath, I left the compartment and headed aft, fervently hoping that she was merely having breakfast and not off doing more solo sleuthing. I reached the dining car and went in.

To my relief, I spotted her sitting at a two-person table behind a plate of something Jurian-looking. “Good morning,” I said as I sat down across from her.

“Good afternoon,” she corrected, her eyes flicking measuringly across my face. “How do you feel?”

“Much better.” I said. “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I got a few hours of sleep before we reached the siding, and was able to sleep a little more afterward.”

“That all go okay?” I asked, lowering my voice.

“We think so,” she said. “But we can’t be completely sure.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” I said. “What’s good for breakfast today? Or brunch, or whatever?”

“The vistren is good,” she said, gesturing toward her plate. “But I understand the servers may run out of livberries before we reach Venidra Carvo.”

“Say no more,” I said. Livberries were my absolute favorite Jurian fruit. “A Belgian waffle with livberries, if you would, and a glass of sweet iced tea.”

Her eyes flattened briefly. No point in dragging a server all the way over to our table to get my order when Bayta had a direct line to the kitchen. “On its way,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about Dr. Aronobal.”

“What about her?” I asked.

“Mostly just wondering,” she said. “We talked a lot last night about the missing first-class pass. But Dr. Aronobal’s been moving fairly freely between third and first ever since Master Colix’s death.”

“So has Dr. Witherspoon,” I reminded her.

“True,” she said. “But Dr. Witherspoon wasn’t alone with Usantra Givvrac for several minutes before she called a conductor to help get him to the dispensary. Dr. Aronobal was.”

“You mean just before Givvrac’s death?” I shook my head. “No. The damage to his gleaner bacteria was done long before then. The poisons were already backing up into his system when we spoke to him in the bar yesterday afternoon.”

“But she could have done something to help the process along.” Bayta persisted. “The other two Filiaelians who were affected seem to be recovering just fine.”

“Givvrac was a lot older than either of them,” I reminded her. “Besides, unless Aronobal’s working with a partner, she’s off the hook for the attack on Witherspoon and me.”

“How do you know?” Bayta asked. “The only conductor in the area was waiting with Usantra Givvrac. Couldn’t Dr. Aronobal have followed you and Dr. Witherspoon to the rear, attacked you there, and then gone back to Usantra Givvrac?”

“For one thing, wouldn’t either you or the server in the dispensary have seen her double back?” I asked.

She grimaced. “Actually, probably not,” she said. “We were concentrating on di-Master Strinni’s body, preparing it for transport to the baggage car.”

So anyone could have been wandering around without being seen. That was useful to know. “It still couldn’t have been Aronobal,” I said. “Neither Witherspoon nor I heard the vestibule door open behind us, which means our attacker was already in the car waiting for us.”

“Because,” Bayta said slowly, “he knew you would come to help Osantra Qiddicoj. So could Osantra Qiddicoj’s poisoning have been a deliberate way of drawing you there so that he could get that hypo?”

“Possibly,” I said. “It’s not like the killer hadn’t already used the same stuff on Usantra Givvrac and the others. And of course, with di-Master Strinni gone, he even had the perfect hiding place to wait for us.”

Bayta’s lip twitched. “Di-Master Strinni’s empty seat.”

“Exactly,” I confirmed. “And since we saw Dr. Aronobal leave the dispensary heading the opposite direction, there’s no way she could have doubled back and gotten to Osantra Qiddicoj’s car ahead of us.”

“All right,” Bayta said. “But it still couldn’t have been Master Tririn.”

Privately, I’d already put Tririn low on my suspect list—poisoning your dinner companions without giving yourself so much as a stomach ache was a little too obvious for someone with our killer’s brand of subtlety. But it would be interesting to hear Bayta’s reasoning. “Why not?” I asked.

“Because even if he has the missing first-class pass, going up to di-Master Strinni and Usantra Givvrac would mean approaching people who knew he was supposed to be in third,” Bayta said. “Surely someone would have thought to mention that to us.”

“Good point,” I agreed, leaning back a little as the server appeared at our table and set my breakfast in front of me.

“Besides which, with di-Master Strinni’s death the team is back to an anti-Pellorian vote count,” she continued. “Why then kill Usantra Givvrac. too?”

“Let’s assume you’re right,” I said, spreading the berries across the waffle. “Here’s what we’ve got. Opportunity and motive are only so-so tor Tririn. Opportunity is good for Aronobal and Witherspoon, but we have no motive for either of them.”

“And both doctors also have method, assuming the poison was injected.”

“True,” I said, taking a bite of my waffle. Now that I knew the meals were prepackaged, damned if they didn’t taste prepackaged. Sometimes it didn’t pay to know how the magician did the trick. “But if either of the doctors is involved, why go to all that effort to clobber Witherspoon and me to steal a hypo? They have plenty of their own. And unlike the rest of the passengers, they have a legitimate reason to carry them around.”

“Except that most of the time their hypos are locked up and inaccessible, even to them,” Bayta reminded me.

“Unless they’re out using them,” I said, thinking that one over. “What about people who have to self-medicate? Type Four diabetics, for instance? Do they get to carry their own hypos aboard?”

Bayta shook her head. “The Spiders store them in the drug cabinets along with the doctors’ bags. The passenger has to go to his area’s dispensary to use them, under a server’s watch.”

“Any chance someone could smuggle one out of the cabinet?” I asked. “Take one while palming a second, for instance?”

“It wouldn’t be easy,” Bayta said thoughtfully. “At the very least you’d have to distract the server.”

“So he’d probably need an accomplice.” I concluded. “You have a list of passengers who have hypos on file?”

“Let me get it.” Her eyes unfocused as she consulted with the Spiders. I took advantage of the break to work some more on my waffle. “There are three in second and one in first,” she reported. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“The first-class passenger is Esantra Worrbin,” she said. “Isn’t that one of the Filiaelians on the contract team?”

“Not only one of the team, but one of the team opposed to the contract,” I confirmed. “Just like Master Tririn. Do we know what Esantra Worrbin’s particular condition is?”

“It’s listed as Tintial’s Disease,” she said. “It’s a rare form of diabetes that only appeared a few decades ago.”

“Of course it is.” I said with a cynical smile. “Rare diseases are so convenient when you want to snow a doctor or investigator.”

“You think Esantra Worrbin and Master Tririn could be working together?”

“It’s something we’ll want to look into,” I said, stacking my two remaining bites of waffle onto the fork and stuffing them into my mouth. It was a stretch, but I managed it.

“So what do we Jo now?” Bayta asked as I chewed my way valiantly through the mouthful. “Go see if Esantra Worrbin can account for all his hypos?”

I swallowed the last of the waffle. “Not quite yet,” I said. “Something else occurs to me as a possible reason why Witherspoon and I were jumped last night. Which of the baggage cars is serving as our temporary morgue?”

“The third one back,” Bayta said. “There was enough room in there to set up the isolation tanks.”

“Okay,” I said, taking a last swallow of my tea. “Let’s go take a look.”

We set off on the long walk toward third class. Three cars behind the dining car we passed the dispensary, and I noted that for the first time in a bad couple of days the room was empty except for the server Spider on duty. I wondered it we would catch the killer before it started filling up again.

The next car back, Bayta informed me, was the one where Esantra Worrbin and the two remaining contract team members were seated. I spotted the group at once as we headed through the car: three Fillies with their chairs turned to face each other, a hand of push-pull cards dealt onto their extendable trays. For the moment, though, the game was being ignored, the aliens instead speaking together in low voices. One of them glanced up as Bayta and I passed, but turned back to the conversation without speaking to us. I thought about pausing to introduce ourselves, decided I wanted to check my hunch about the bodies first, and passed them by.

Three cars later we reached the coach car where the late di-Master Strinni had had his seat, and where Witherspoon and I had been attacked in the dark of night. My neck throbbed in memory and edgy anticipation as we made our way through the clumps of chairs, my senses alert for trouble.

But no one jumped out at us. We arrived at the rear of the car and I reached for the vestibule release—

“Mr. Compton,” a hoarse voice said from somewhere behind me.

A surge of adrenaline shot through my body and straight through my still tender neck and ears. I turned, trying to make the movement look casual, my hands ready to snap up into fighting stance if necessary.

It wasn’t. The speaker was merely Rose Nose, or rather Osantra Qiddicoj, the Filly Witherspoon and I had been on our way to examine when we were jumped. He was resting in his seat, a blanket spread out across his legs and tucked up around his torso. His face and blaze were still noticeably pale after his bout with the digestive trouble that had killed Givvrac, but he was definitely on the mend. “Good afternoon, Osantra Qiddicoj,” I greeted him, hoping I was remembering his name right. Fillies hated it when you called them something like Rose Nose to their long faces. “You’re looking much improved.”

“Thanks to you and your friends,” Qiddicoj said, inclining his head. “I’m told I owe you my life. My deepest thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “But your thanks should more properly be directed to Dr. Aronobal and Dr. Witherspoon. They’re the ones who actually cured you. All I did was point them in the right direction.”

“Yet without that direction, their skills would have lain fallow and unused,” he said. “Again, I stand in your debt.”

“Again, I’m glad I could help in my small way,” I said. “Rest now, and continue to heal.”

I turned and touched the release, and Bayta and I stepped into the vestibule. “Is extra modesty one of the necessities for detective work?” she asked as we crossed toward the next car.

“It wasn’t modesty,” I insisted. “I really didn’t say anything that Ar0n0bal and Witherspoon wouldn’t have caught on to eventually.”

“Maybe,” Bayta said. “But whether they would have or not, the fact is that you did save Osantra Qiddicoj’s life.”

“In a small way.” I gave her a sideways look. “Besides, it never hurts to be overly modest, especially where potential sources of information are concerned. People who consider themselves in your debt are often amazingly eager to help you out.”

“I thought so,” Bayta murmured.

We passed through the thirteen second-class cars without talking to anyone and entered third. Dr. Aronobal was seated in the first of the third-class coach cars, dozing in her seat after her grueling night, and I made a mental note to get the Spiders to pass her to first later so that Osantra Qiddicoj could give her his thanks in person.

Two cars farther back, we reached the scene of the first two murders.

I found myself looking at Master Colix’s scat as we approached, an empty spot between the Juri, whom Bayta had already talked to, and Terese German, whom I was frankly tired of talking to. The Juri looked up as we approached, nodding politely as he recognized us. Terese, her headphones firmly in place over her ears, ignored us completely.

I was starting to pass the row when Bayta nudged me in the side. “Master Colix’s storage compartments?” she prompted.

I looked at the upper set of compartments, then at Terese. She had slid down in her seat with her legs stretched all the way out in front of her. Getting to Master Colix’s storage compartments would mean stepping over her, and would probably earn me a withering glare at the least. “We’ll do it later,” I told Bayta.

“You said that yesterday,” she reminded me. “Don’t you care that someone stole Master Colix’s fruit snacks?”

Actually, I didn’t. Despite what the Spiders probably claimed, I was pretty sure this kind of petty theft went on all the time aboard Quadrails.

But if it came to facing someone’s irritation, it would be safer to deal with Terese’s than Bayta’s. “Fine,” I said, coming to a reluctant halt. “Excuse me,” I said to Terese’s headphoned cars. Not waiting for a response, or expecting one for that matter, I lifted one leg and stepped carefully over her outstretched body.

Her head snapped up with a quickness and preset glare that showed she hadn’t been nearly as oblivious of our presence as she’d been pretending. “You have a problem?” she growled, slipping the headphones down around her neck.

“I just need to get through,” I soothed, getting my first foot planted in front of Colix’s seat and lifting my other foot over her legs.

“For frigg’s sake,” she grumbled. “How many times are you people going to do this?”

I frowned as I brought my other foot back to the floor. “I don’t know,” I said. “How many times have we done this?”

“How about just talking to each other for once?” she bit out. “They’re gone, I didn’t take them, and I don’t know who did. Can you leave me alone now?”

“What didn’t you take?” I asked, sitting down in Colix’s seat.

For a second I could see Terese trying to decide whether or not she should just get up and make for the relative sanctuary of the restroom. But Bayta had moved up beside her, blocking easy access to the aisle. “The Shorshian’s fruit snacks,” she answered me. “Or whatever they were.”

“You think they were something else?”

“I don’t know what they were,” Terese snapped back. “All I know is that he never offered to share them, and he kept them right there under his legs where he could watch them until he swapped them out for his special sleepy-time blankie. And then he made double damn sure they were locked up tight.” Her lip twisted. “I also know that everyone and his dog Rolf seems to want them. You tell me what they were.”

I leaned over and pulled out the drawer of Colix’s under-seat storage. There was an assortment of personal stuff under there—a reader and a set of data chips, some headphones, fancier than Terese’s, a flexible water bottle, a compact toiletry bag, and the small keepsake box that a lot of Shorshians liked to travel with. All of it was neatly and precisely arranged.

And right at the front left of the drawer was a gap in the arrangement, about fifteen centimeters square. The perfect size for a bag of something.

“Who else has been looking for them?” Bayta asked.

“Well, there was you for a start,” Terese growled, flicking her a disdainful look. “Then there was that other Human you hang out with. He came by yesterday morning to look for them.”

“You mean Dr. Witherspoon?” I asked.

“No, not Dr. Witherspoon,” Terese growled. “I know Dr. Witherspoon’s name. It was the other one, the one you were with when you tried to ambush me outside the bathroom.”

I frowned. “Kennrick?”

“I don’t know his name,” Terese said with exaggerated patience. “Balding, mustache, a little chubby.”

“That’s Kennrick,” I confirmed. “And you’re sure he was after Master Colix’s fruit snacks?”

“Well, he was after something,” Terese said. “And he didn’t find anything, either. You about done here?”

“One more minute,” I promised. Returning my attention to the drawer, I slid my fingers over the lock mechanism. There was no evidence I could find that it had been forced. I stood up and gave the overseat compartment the same check. Again, nothing. Popping the compartment door, I peered inside.

There were two small carrybags in there, plus another toiletry bag, plus a carefully folded blanket. “Did he have the blanket down with him that last night?” I asked Terese as I pulled out the first carrybag and set it onto the seat.

“I don’t know.” she said. “I went to sleep before he did.” She grimaced. “I mean, before he …you know what I mean.”

“Before he went off to the dispensary to die?” I suggested.

I had the minor satisfaction of watching an emotion other than anger or resentment flicker across her face. “Yes.” she muttered.

I looked over at the Juri on my other side. He was half turned toward me, surreptitiously watching the whole operation. “What about you, Tas Krodo?” I asked as I opened the carrybag and started sorting through its contents. There was nothing there but changes of clothing. “Did you see him with his blanket that night?”

“Yes, he had it,” the Juri confirmed. “I distinctly remember him holding it when I returned from my evening ablutions.”

“Good—that helps,” I said. “Do you have any idea who might have put it back up in his compartment?”

He hesitated. “I’m afraid it was I,” he admitted. “The next morning.”

“Can you tell me why?” I asked, closing the carrybag and swapping it out for the other one.

“I heard about his death, and I saw his blanket lying crumpled on his seat,” he said. “It seemed wrong to leave it there. It had been a relic of his childhood, which he always traveled with as a reminder of home and family. I’m sorry if I did wrong.”

“No, it’s all right,” I assured him, pausing in my search of the second carrybag and pulling the blanket out of the compartment. It was old, all right, with a pleasant scent of distant spices to it. Exactly the sort of keepsake a Shorshian would like. “One could say it was your final honoring for Master Colix. When you put it back, did you happen to see whether or not his bag of fruit snacks was there?”

“It was not.” the Juri said firmly. “The blanket would not have fit otherwise.”

“Of course,” I said, returning the blanket to its place. “I should have realized that. Is there anything else about Master Colix that you can remember?”

“Nothing specific,” he admitted. “But he was very kind to me, and kept me entertained with tales of his many interesting journeys.”

“And about his precious Path of whatever,” Terese muttered. If the moment of maudlin sentiment was affecting her, she was hiding it well. “He talked about that a lot.”

I finished going through the second bag—again, there was nothing there but clothing—and replaced it in the storage compartment. “One final question. Tas Krodo. You say that Master Colix was kind to you. Did he ever offer you any of his fruit snacks?”

“He did not,” the Juri said. “And I certainly wouldn’t have taken one without his permission.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” I assured him. “Thank you for your time.”

“You are welcome.” Tas Krodo said quietly. “I grieve Master Colix’s loss to the universe. If I can do anything to help you solve his death. I stand at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” I said. “If I need you, I’ll let you know.”

He bowed his head to me. I bowed back, then stepped over Terese’s legs out into the aisle again. Typically, she didn’t bother to draw up her knees to make the procedure any easier. “And thank you for your cooperation as well, Ms. German,” I added as I regained my balance.

She didn’t answer, but merely put her headphones back on and closed her eyes.

“A helpful public makes this job so much more rewarding,” I murmured. Tririn’s seat, I noted, was empty, our lone surviving contract team Shorshian out and about somewhere. That was all right—I hadn’t wanted to talk to him right now anyway.

“Do you believe him?” Bayta asked as we resumed our trip toward the rear of the train.

“Who, Tas Krodo?” I shrugged. “Assuming he has no connection to Pellorian Medical or the contract team, he shouldn’t have any reason to lie.” I nodded back over my shoulder. “Actually, I’m more intrigued by Witherspoon’s relationship with our helpful Ms. German.”

“What sort of relationship?”

“I don’t know, but there’s something going on under the table,” I said. “Remember when I confronted him with the fact that he was two cars away when he allegedly noticed all her stomach trouble?”

“But he explained that,” Bayta said, frowning. “He said he’d noticed her when he was visiting the three Shorshians.”

“That’s what he said,” I agreed. “But if that was actually true, he should have said it without floundering and fumbling all over himself.”

“Maybe he was just nervous,” she suggested. “You did catch him a little off-guard with those questions.”

“True,” I said. “But then he should have been caught equally off-guard when I told Kennrick that the good doctor thought I was the killer. But he wasn’t. He was quick, decisive, and in complete control of the English language. No, there’s something about him and Terese that we still haven’t got nailed down.”

We walked through the last seven third-class cars in silence, and finally passed through the vestibule into the first baggage car.

The casual passenger wandering into a Quadrail baggage car for the first time might reasonably think he’d accidentally stumbled into a classic English garden maze, with the role of the hedges being played by tall stacks of safety-webbed crates. Add in the silence and dim lighting, and the overall ambience could easily drift from the disconcerting into the spooky. Bayta and I had spent so much time in places like this that I hardly noticed. “Third car, you said?” I confirmed as we made our way through the second car and into the vestibule connecting it with the third.

“Yes, near the back.” She shivered. “I don’t like looking at dead bodies.”

“They tell me you get used to it,” I said.

“Have you gotten used to it?”

“Not really.”

We were halfway down the car when I caught a subtle shift in lighting and shadow somewhere ahead. “Hold it,” I murmured, catching Bayta’s arm and bringing us both to a halt.

“What is it?” she murmured back.

For a moment I didn’t answer, wondering if I’d imagined it. I stood motionlessly, staring at the stacks of crates and the meandering aisles between them.

And then, I saw it again.

So did Bayta. “Frank?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said grimly.

We’d come way back here to examine the victims’ bodies. Apparently, someone else had beaten us to it.