Take The Star Road (The Maxwell Saga) (34 page)

"How will his private computer be classified?" Higgs demanded. "Is it personal or professional?"

"I've no idea. You'll have to check with the Prize Court. They make those decisions."

"Will you let us examine his personal gear before you leave with it for New Brisbane?" Michaels asked.

Steve frowned, puzzled. "Surely you can get a search warrant for it while it's in the Prize Court's custody?"

"We don't need to waste time on the paperwork if you'll co-operate," Higgs grunted. "If you won't, that makes you a suspicious character in my book."

"That's a very stupid thing to say." Steve was beginning to lose patience. "If it's important to your investigations that you examine the Bosun's gear, get a warrant and do it properly. That's routine police work - you must do it all the time. If it's not important, why are you asking me about it? And I notice you're asking lots of questions about the Bosun's private affairs, and a jade knife, but not a single one about Mr. Lamington's murder, which is the only thing you've mentioned that's a crime under Vesta law. The Bosun couldn't have killed him - he died before the murder was committed. That makes me wonder just what you're investigating."

"What are you suggesting?" Michaels' voice was a mixture of annoyance and caution.

"Only that I don't see why you keep asking me about an object that isn't illegal, and a dead spacer's private affairs, when it must be obvious I know little or nothing about either. You allege they're connected to a murder, but you haven't asked me a single question about that crime. And I still want to know who told you I was 'part of the whole affair', as you put it earlier. I don't like people lying about me, and I want to put a stop to it."

"You're in no position to ask us questions," Higgs grated. "You're the one under suspicion, not us!"

Steve laughed aloud. "Oh, come off it! I don't believe I'm under suspicion of anything at all. I didn't kill Mr. Lamington, and you obviously know it; that's why you haven't asked me about it. I'm confident I'll be able to prove I was nowhere near the scene of the crime, even though I don't know when it was committed. If necessary, I'll go under a truth-tester to confirm that. You've produced no evidence against me at all; only vague accusations, which I think were intended to unsettle me. They didn't, so now you're trying to intimidate me. A shipful of pirates didn't succeed in doing that, so I can assure you, you won't either."

Higgs visibly seethed. "What if we report to the Fleet that you're under investigation? If you don't co-operate with us, we'll make sure your military career is over before it starts!"

Steve lost his temper. He shoved back his chair, rose to his feet and slammed his fists on the table, resting the weight of his upper body on stiff arms. "Report what the hell you like!
I'm
going to report this entire conversation to the liaison officer in the Sector Admiral's office that I mentioned earlier." He glared into Higgs' eyes. "I'll send her a copy of my recording of this meeting, and ask her to give it to Fleet Security. Any further discussions
will
include them, and
will
include my lawyer, whom I'm going to engage through the Merchant Spacers League. Since you seem to enjoy playing hardball, I'll be asking Fleet Security to find out when and where you got your
alleged
information,
and
who gave it to you,
and
why you're trying to examine the Bosun's gear without obtaining a search warrant,
and
why you're trying to browbeat me."

He transferred his furious glower to Michaels. "I'll volunteer for a truth-tester examination, if necessary, to prove I didn't murder Mr. Lamington - but I doubt it'll be necessary at all. Also, if it comes to that, you'll submit your questions in writing, in advance. My lawyer will approve or reject each one. If you don't like that, too bad. Now
get out!
"

Michaels picked up his recorder, switched it off, and put it in his pocket as he stood. "If you're not willing to co-operate, I guess we'll talk again under more formal circumstances." He avoided Steve's eyes as he spoke.

"I'm perfectly willing to co-operate - just as soon as you decide to be honest with me. This whole situation smells worse by the minute. I don't know what's going on, but I intend to find out."

"And what if we take you downtown for a little talk?" Higgs blustered.

"You'd better have a warrant for my arrest before you try, or probable cause to detain me that will stand up before a judge. If you don't, I won't be coming."

"And if we decide to take you anyway?"

Steve nodded to Tomkins and Makin, who'd abandoned their food and risen from their seats. The two policemen turned to look at them. They were standing facing them, obviously ready for anything that might be necessary.

"My shipmates and I will have something to say about that. We'll let you explain the resulting mess to your superiors, and to Fleet Security as well."

"There's no need to go that far," Michaels said, jabbing his right elbow swiftly into Higgs' left arm. "I'm sorry you can't see your way clear to helping us any further this morning. We'll be in touch."

Fuming, Steve watched them walk rapidly out of the cafeteria, heading for the front door. He picked up his recorder, switched it off and pocketed it, then moved to keep them in sight as Dale and Dan joined him.

"What was that all about?" Dale asked.

Steve thought quickly.
Better not involve them in this
, he decided.

"They said they were detectives investigating a murder, but they didn't ask me any questions about it. Instead, they wanted to know about other stuff, things I know nothing about. They even tried to intimidate me. I'm going to ask Fleet Security to check on them."

"Think they were journalists trying a new angle to get information?"

"Maybe."

No way they were journalists
, Steve decided privately.
What's going on? Did Lamington try to claim part of the reward for information about that jade knife? Who did he contact? And who sent those two men?

###

"Whoever they are, they're not ours," Sergeant Kuiper stated flatly. He wore the dark blue uniform of the Virginia City PD, his shield displayed on his left chest. "I've analyzed the security vid from the front desk, and your recording, Mr. Maxwell. Their faces, build, gait and voice prints don't match anyone on our payroll, and they don't generate any matches in our criminal database. We're running fingerprint and DNA tests, of course, but already the absence of any prior record makes me fairly sure they're from off-planet."

"Not journalists, then?" Chief Petty Officer Watanabe asked. He wore no departmental identification on his uniform, but Steve knew he was with the Fleet's Bureau of Security.

"Very unlikely," the Sergeant replied. "They're not registered with any media organizations under those names, and their pictures don't match those on any press passes issued by our agency. Also, it's illegal to impersonate a police officer. Local journalists know we enforce that law very strictly, so they generally don't break it."

"So what do I do now?" Steve asked.

"From the Fleet's perspective, you did exactly the right thing by informing BuSec about this," Watanabe assured him. "We'll co-ordinate further investigations with VCPD."

Kuiper nodded. "You gave us an early break when you called Lieutenant Abuan right away. She called BuSec at once, and they called us. That rapid reaction means those two didn't have time to get off-planet through any normal channels, or go deep underground to hide. We've got a good chance of finding them. If they brought up Lamington's murder, they may know something we don't. I look forward to asking them about that." The Sergeant's expression turned hungry for a moment, like a predator scenting its prey.

"Also, in case you're wondering, you're not suspected of anything. A guilty man wouldn't have called in the authorities as fast as you did, and he wouldn't have volunteered for a truth-tester exam. We haven't asked you to take one, because as far as we can see you've done nothing to make it worthwhile. Also, it's been our experience over many years that anyone making that offer isn't guilty of anything. As far as we're concerned, you're in the clear."

"That goes for BuSec too," the Chief declared. "I can't see this affecting your enlistment in any way. I'll report that to Lieutenant Abuan and PO Gilroy, officially and for the record."

Steve exhaled in relief. "Thanks a lot! I was worried about that. Do I need to watch my back?"

"We don't know who these men really are, or who may have sent them, so we can't assess any threat they may pose to you," Kuiper pointed out. "I'd say be more careful than usual, but don't be paranoid. It's obvious from what you said to them, and to us this afternoon, that you don't know anything about what they wanted to find out. They must realize that, so I don't see why they'd want to target you again. There'd be nothing in it for them."

"That makes sense to me," the Fleet NCO agreed.

It's all very well for you
, Steve thought silently as they tried to reassure him,
but I still don't know how those men knew me, or located me, or why they chose to impersonate cops. Where did they get their fake credentials? What'll they do next? I can't defend myself if I don't know where or when the next attempt will be made, or what it'll be, or who'll launch it!

"All right." Steve rose to his feet. "Thank you all very much for your help. If it's OK with you, I'll head back to my hotel."

"Sure," Kuiper agreed. "Would you like a ride? I can get one of our patrol cars to run you back."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that."

As the patrol car turned into the heavy evening traffic, other vehicles carefully opening a gap for it as they saw its distinctive appearance, Steve sat silently. His mind was racing.

Should I -
dare
I - take a chance? Will it make things worse? I don't know... but that's precisely the problem - I don't
know!
I've
got
to get a handle on this situation and figure out what I'm facing, or it'll be like fighting blindfolded. Until I know what's going on, the other side, whoever they are, has the initiative. I've got to take that away from them... and there's only one way I can think of to do that. It's risky, but I don't think I have any choice.

He stretched casually, and said, "I'm looking forward to a shower, then I want a really good supper. My last meal was an early breakfast, and it's been a long day."

The patrolman driver chuckled. "So I hear. There's a great steakhouse and pub two blocks from your hotel. It's called the Saddle and Spur. Know it?"

"I'll try it sometime, but I'm not in the mood for steak tonight. I think I recall hearing about an Far Eastern restaurant in town called the 'Royal Golden Dragon', or something like that. D'you know it?"

"Sure. It's an up-market place, about ten clicks from your hotel. You'll need to take a taxi."

Chapter 23: June 29th, 2838 GSC, evening

The taxi deposited Steve at the foot of a winding path leading through a immaculately maintained garden to an ornate pagoda-style building. The extensive parking lot around three sides of the building was filled with upmarket, gleaming vehicles.

As Steve walked along the path, he drew a deep breath.
I've got to sell these people some of the truth plus a tissue of lies
, he thought,
all woven together to look like whole cloth. I hope I convince them to buy it, otherwise I'm screwed! They can probably offer more help than anyone else, if they believe me... but they'll be ruthless if they think I'm lying.

A doorman bowed him into an anteroom. A podium was set just inside, with a black-suited headwaiter standing behind it. Two uniformed waiters hovered behind him, ready to run messages or take diners to their tables at his direction.

Steve looked around at the decor, trying to seem casual but examining it intently. Almost immediately he saw a dragon's claw decoration carved into the wooden frieze around the ceiling, repeated every meter or so. A tapestry on one wall depicted a dragon in flight, its left claw shaped in the same fashion as the Dragon Tong's symbol.
Guess I've found the right place
, he thought, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

"Good evening, Sir," the headwaiter greeted him smoothly, eyes running over his dark blue trousers and open-necked light blue shirt beneath a black blazer. Steve was sure he'd instantly categorized him as a nice young man, but not a member of the socioeconomic class that usually frequented the place. "Welcome to the Royal Golden Dragon restaurant. Do you have a reservation?"

"I'm afraid not."

"In that case, Sir, the wait for a table at this time of the evening can be well over an hour. If you're hungry, you might wish to look elsewhere for faster service - although you're very welcome to visit us when we're less busy, of course."

"Thank you. I appreciate the advice. In the meantime, may I please speak with the manager on duty?"