**--Warning--**
Gross stuff coming up in this chapter.
**--Warning--**
Chapter Three
--- Monday, mid-day
Lois was shocked beyond description. Of all the things she might have imagined seeing on the space station, Claude’s dead body wasn’t one of them.
The reporter part of her mind cataloged the details of the scene. There wasn’t really a breeze, of course, but Claude’s body was turning slowly as air flowed past him. This was an air circulation passage, after all. The pipes above, where the line was tied at the top, were probably water pipes, since there were occasional drops of condensation gathering on them. As she watched, one of those droplets found the braided line and flowed down it to the knot in the noose around Claude’s neck.
There was duct tape around his ankles, binding them tightly together. More tape secured his wrists behind him, and yet another piece of tape covered his mouth but not his nose.
His expression was frozen into one of sheer panic. His eyes were open and looked bloodshot, possibly from blood vessels inside his eyes which had broken while he struggled.
And he had struggled, at least after he’d been hung there. The line around his neck had been tied in a loop and the knot had been placed just behind his right ear. The noose had cut into the left side of his neck and torn the skin. Several small trails of dried blood leaked down onto his left shoulder and chest, but not enough to kill him. He hadn’t bled to death.
He turned slowly as if to let Lois see his hands. His fingernails were undamaged, although the tape around his wrists was twisted by his attempts to free himself and his wrists were badly bruised.
Down his legs and splattered against the sides of the access tube was evidence that Claude had evacuated his bowels before he’d died. The reporter part of her mind remembered that this often happened to a person who was hung. The terror of impending death did nasty things to both the human mind and the human body.
She couldn’t see any other visible signs of trauma, like bruising or abrasions or cuts anywhere else. And there wasn’t much of Claude that she couldn’t see.
Vukovich grabbed her shoulder and Lois jumped. She also gasped deeply and coughed twice, then grabbed her stomach and tried to retch.
“NO!” the major shouted. “Don’t you dare throw up on this man! This is a crime scene and we can’t have it contaminated!”
Lois swallowed and turned to the side, breathing deeply. After several deep breaths and a number of gulps, she nodded without opening her eyes. “Okay. I’m okay now.”
“You sure?”
Lois opened her eyes and stared into the unblinking face of authority. “Yes. I’m under control now.”
“Good. When’s the last time you spoke to or saw the victim?”
Lois took a fluttering breath. “Yesterday in the lobby when I checked in.”
“You haven’t seen him or spoken to him since?”
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
Irritation began building in Lois. “Why, am I a suspect or something?”
Vukovich sat back. “Right now, I can’t rule out anyone but myself.” She looked down at the body, slowly swaying in the flow of air through the passageway. “Except I’m pretty sure he didn’t commit suicide.”
Lois risked another look. Sure enough, the emotional impact of the scene was blunted the second time, and Claude was almost just another murder victim.
Almost.
Lois forced herself to be clinical. “I don’t think it’s physically possible to kill yourself and end up looking like that. How would he wrap the tape around his arms? And it looks like it took him quite a while to die. He can’t weigh very much this close to the hub.”
Vukovich looked up at her with a flat expression. “About twenty-six pounds. We’re at point one-six gee or a bit more here, and that’s about what his weight would be on the moon, give or take a couple of pounds. I’d guess you weigh just a shade over sixteen pounds right now.”
“Just enough to hang me, right?”
“I don’t know.” Vukovich shook her head. “Just enough to hang him, that’s for sure, although we’ll have to let the doctor tell us if he died of suffocation or the cutoff of blood flow to the brain. But you’re right. I don’t see any way this can be anything but deliberate murder.” She sat back and called to the man behind Lois. “Sergeant Walker! Take Ms. Lane to my office and wait there with her. Start the query I asked you about. And check on Doctor Watson, see if he’s coming or if he’s sending someone.”
“Yes, Major. Ms. Lane, if you’ll come with me, please?”
Lois nodded and followed Walker out of the passageway and down the tube again. This time he preceded her, and he coached her as they went lower and grew heavier.
“Easy does it, ma’am, we’re headed for level twenty-two and we don’t need to hurry. Don’t try to go too fast, and make sure your feet are set before you let go with your hands. You’ll feel heavier faster than you think you would.”
“I suppose you’re concerned about my safety?”
“If you were to fall, ma’am, I’d have to fill out about a half-million forms in longhand and I’d probably miss my movie tonight.”
Lois grinned slightly. The dumb joke relaxed her a little, just as she suspected it was supposed to. “Heaven forbid I keep you from your entertainment, Sergeant.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you, ma’am. Here we are. Just watch me on the hand rail and follow my lead. You might want to stand on the foot rail, too, just to be on the safe side.”
As they walked to the security office, Lois could feel the increase in gravity between this level and the level they’d just left. She concentrated on moving her legs just so to keep from either stumbling or hopping.
It also kept her from thinking about Claude.
She hoped she wouldn’t dream about him, but she knew she would.
--- Monday, mid-afternoon
Vukovich took what Lois considered to be her own sweet time in returning to the office, which didn’t improve Lois’s mood in the slightest. She sat and waited while the sergeant called the medical unit and spoke briefly to someone, then sat down at a computer and began typing. He frowned once, then printed several sheets of paper. Lois lost interest in his activities as it became clear that conversation with her wasn’t on his to-do list. She resolved to give the major a stern talking-to as soon as she could.
When the solidly-built woman finally arrived, however, the look on her face forestalled Lois’s budding tirade. Lois followed the major into her office and waited against the wall beside the door. Vukovich sat down heavily in her desk chair and put her face in her hands. Walker waited for a long moment, then picked up several papers from the printer tray and softly placed them in front of her. Lois moved quietly to a chair in front of the desk.
“Major?” Walker said softly. “I have those results you asked about.” She didn’t move for a moment. “Major?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She looked up at him and shook her head sadly. “No. Thanks, Matt, but no. Let me take a look at what you’ve got.”
He handed her the papers and stepped back, then assumed a ‘parade rest’ stance with his back straight, his feet at shoulder width, and his hands clasped behind his back. The major glanced through the papers in her hand and nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant, that will be all.”
“Yes ma’am.” He turned and strode out.
Vukovich fixed Lois with a glare. “You didn’t mention meeting Claude in any of your messages.”
Lois’s jaw dropped open. “What? You mean you read my personal e-mail? That’s illegal! That’s a violation of my constitutional right to privacy!”
“Not up here it isn’t! You signed a waiver allowing us to scan your outgoing e-mail for key words and phrases before you boarded the shuttle. Besides, you’re forgetting something very important.”
“What’s that?”
“This isn’t the United States, it’s an international space station. That means your constitutional rights are, shall we say, somewhat abridged?”
Lois felt a chill. Vukovich wasn’t just a law enforcement officer, she was an Air Force major. Was she headed for jail? Just how much trouble was she in?
Before Lois could ask another question, Vukovich spoke again. “You sent several e-mails to a guy named Kent. He your husband, boyfriend, chiropractor, what?”
The major’s abrupt manner made Lois uncharacteristically cautious. “We’re – dating, I guess.”
“Seriously dating?”
Lois shrugged. “I think so. Why?”
“He coming up her to join you?”
“No. Why do you – “
“You met Claude DuBois as soon as you arrived, a man you obviously had some stormy history with, yet you didn’t mention him to this Kent fellow. Not once. Why is that, I wonder?”
“Clark doesn’t have to know everything I – wait, you said DuBois?”
“Of course. Claude DuBois, computer tech level two, been aboard the station almost a year – “
“But he wasn’t a computer tech, at least not when I knew him. His name was Claude Guilliot and he was a journalist.”
The major’s eyes almost fell out of her head. “WHAT!!” she shouted. “He was a what?”
Lois tried to wiggle backwards in her chair. “Claude was a writer, a reporter for some European newspaper. I don’t know what he was doing here posing as a computer tech, but I doubt it was honest work.”
Vukovich snarled a curse and leaped to her feet to stride aimlessly around the room and wave her arms. It was the first time Lois had seen anyone not named Clark Kent actually jump out of a chair as opposed to just standing up abruptly. The lower gravity helped, of course. “A writer! A reporter!”
“Why, what’s wrong with – “
“If I’d known that I might’ve pushed him out an airlock myself!”
“Because he was a reporter?”
“Yes!” She turned and loomed over Lois. “The only thing lower than a reporter is a lawyer and not by much!”
“You don’t like – “
“I hate them! They lie, they steal your privacy, they ruin your reputation, they destroy relationships! I detest them!”
Lois relaxed slightly as the major turned away from her. “I don’t think all reporters are like Claude.”
Vukovich spun to face her again. “Really? You ever read good news in the newspaper or hear it on the radio or TV?”
“Good news doesn’t sell like – “
“Of course not!” The major resumed her pacing. “All they want to do is tear people down and ruin their lives!”
The woman was making Lois very nervous. “Ah, maybe we should focus on Claude here.”
“Yeah. Yeah! The low-life rat!” Vukovich stalked to her terminal and tapped several keys.
“What now?”
“I’m pulling up his data file.” As the major read it, her face flushed crimson again. “I don’t believe this! If you’re telling me the truth, that means he lied on his employment application and job history! That’s grounds to terminate his contract and cost him his bonus back down!”
“I’d say losing his bonus was the least of his worries.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Wait a minute!” The major straightened and pointed at Lois. “You.”
Uh-oh, thought Lois, that couldn’t have been good.
“Come with me.”
Without waiting for Lois to stand, Vukovich pulled her out of her chair and dragged her across the room to a locked standing cabinet. The major tapped in a multi-digit code on the keypad, then pressed her left thumb against the print reader. The cabinet door drifted open and she pulled out what looked like a thick bronze chain.
“Turn around, Lane.”
No, this was not good, not good at all. Before she could react, Lois felt the chain around her neck, cool against her skin. There was a soft click behind her, and the major closed the cabinet and stepped around to gaze upward into Lois’s face.
Too close, thought Lois. This was very not good.
Vukovich locked eyes with Lois. “That chain won’t let you off the station unless you want to try to breathe vacuum. It will send a signal that will set off an alarm in the outgoing shuttle airlock if you try to leave, so I’d suggest you not do so.”
The major was still standing too close, and Lois’s natural orneriness began to reassert itself. “Why am I wearing this? Am I a suspect again?”
“You had a history with the deceased, Lane. The first time you set eyes on him when you got here you almost started a fistfight with him. Yeah, you’re a suspect.”
That was enough. Lois’s temper rose also. “And if I’m the killer, why was I so stupid as to voluntarily tell you his real name and real occupation? Why would I kill him my first day here, and kill him like that? I might as well wear a neon sign that says ‘Arrest me, I killed Claude Guilliot.’ How dumb do you think I am, Major?”
Vukovich blinked and took a step back. “Maybe you have a point at that. Look, I only know this is the first murder we’ve had on this station, ever, and I don’t want to screw up and let the killer get away. If my having to solve this my way hurts your feelings, too bad. If you’re innocent, you’ll get over it, and if you’re guilty, I’ll find out.”
Lois took a breath to pop off again, but something held her back. She let the breath out slowly and silently counted to ten, then said, “Okay. I understand. Can I go now?”
“Yes. Go ahead.”
Lois tromped across the office angrily, but slowed as she approached the door, thinking. Then she stopped and turned. “You said this was the first murder on the station?”
The major nodded. “I’ve been here for three years, since before the first boatload of colonists. We’ve had, um, four accidental deaths in that time, and maybe a dozen in the whole history of the station, but yes, this is the first murder.”
“Are you an experienced investigator?”
The major shook her head and dropped her gaze. “I’m security and law enforcement, not criminal investigations. There’s a big difference between the two in the Air Force. None of us are exactly dummies, but I’m not really trained for this kind of thing, and neither are any of my people.”
“So, you want some help?”
Vukovich slowly looked up at Lois. “What kind of help?”
Lois began to smell an opportunity. “The professional crime-solving kind.”
The major turned to face her directly. “You know someone who might fill those shoes?”
Gotcha, Lois thought. “Well, they guy I sent those e-mails to, Clark Kent, is an investigative reporter for the Daily Planet, and we – “
“The Daily Planet!” Vukovich burst out. “You mean you have contacts there?”
“You could say that, yes.”
“Background, research, access to the real police?”
“Sure, I – “
“That’s great! Look, I’ve already suspended off-station e-mails except for the command crew and a few department heads, so you can – “
“What?” Lois wasn’t so happy now. “You mean I can’t communicate with Clark?”
Vukovich raised her hand. “Hold on, Lane! This is everybody, not just you! I may not be a veteran at this, but I do remember some of the procedures!”
“But – “
“No buts! I admit I could use the help, but this has to be done my way or not at all! You understand that?”
Even as whipsawed as she’d been for the last two hours, Lois knew when discretion was the better part of valor. “Yes,” she admitted grudgingly, “I understand.”
“Good.” Vukovich turned her intensity down a couple of notches. “I’ll send Kent an e-mail explaining that you’ve volunteered to help me on this case and that he’ll have to communicate with you through me for the duration.”
Lois nodded. “I assume you’ll call me when you have a response?”
“You could just wait here if you prefer.”
Lois looked around. The office was utilitarian to the extreme. It made her tiny cubbyhole on the habitat ring seem warm and homey by comparison. “That’s okay. It’s been a rough day already and I’m still adjusting to the different time zone. I was up late last night and I’d like to get some sleep.”
“Suit yourself. If you leave your quarters for any reason, call my office and let me know where you’re going. I’ll have my guys watch out for you.”
Lois snorted. “I still don’t need a babysitter.”
“You do now.” Vukovich put her hands on her hips and glared at Lois anew. “I’m almost convinced you didn’t kill that man, Lane, but just in case I’m wrong, I want to know where you are at all times. And if I’m right and you’re innocent, the real killer will find out soon enough that you’re involved in the investigation. I don’t want you to be Space Station Prometheus’s second murder victim.”
--- Monday, late afternoon
Lois walked through the station’s airlock and waved at the young girl at the check-in counter, who returned the wave with a huge smile as she and her desk drifted by. Three men wearing dark blue clothing were standing in the corner of the room, casting fishing lures into a shallow pool with two dead fish floating on the top. Lois turned to watch Major Vukovich bunny-hop past her in slow motion, and as she did she bumped into someone.
She turned back to apologize, and Claude slowly floated around to look at her. He smiled hugely and wrapped his arms around her, then leaned back and Lois tried to scream as she looked into his gaping mouth at his swollen tongue and the blood dripping down from his neck flicked onto her as she struggled to break away and his glassy eyes were loose in their sockets and his head flopped from one side to the other as she shook him while trying to get away from him and his teeth were grinding together and buzzing like –
And she jerked up in her bed, panting. She heard the buzz again. She looked around frantically and finally saw the blinking comm panel light. She sat up and forced herself to breathe normally, trying to convince her body that it wasn’t real, it was just a really disgusting and scary dream.
She took another shuddering deep breath, then let it out slowly and stood beside the bed. One long step brought her to the comm panel. “Lights on low,” she called out, then slapped the panel.
“This is Lois Lane.”
“Ms. Lane, this is Major Vukovich. I have a response from Mr. Kent. Please come to my office as quickly as you can.”
I’ve been promoted, thought Lois. Now I’m ‘Ms. Lane’ instead of just ‘Lane.’ I’m so thrilled.
She nodded, then remembered it was a voice-only comm. “I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed. Level twenty-two, section A, right?”
“Right. I’ll see you in ten minutes. Vukovich out.”
The light flipped off, and Lois stumbled to the closet to pull out a fresh coverall. Then she ran her hand over her shoulder and arm. It came away slick with moisture. She’d sweated while she’d dreamed and needed to change everything.
The clock in the corner of her room told her she’d slept for almost two hours. The tiny mirror next to the closet once again showed her how easy short hair was to comb, and she was on her way to the security office within three minutes. Clark and Perry were probably sitting on top of their computers, ready for her response.
And she desperately missed Clark. Not just his manliness, not just his presence, but his insight into cases and stories. The more they worked together, the better they seemed to work together. And she could use his mind right about now.
His comforting super-arms around her wouldn’t hurt her feelings, either.
--- Monday, early evening
She stuck her head in the security office. “Hi, Sergeant. The major here?”
He rose fluidly, without bouncing, showing that he’d been on-station for quite a while. “Yes, ma’am, in her office waiting for you.”
Before Lois could knock on the door, Vukovich opened it. “Come on in, Ms. Lane. You made good time for a – for a new arrival.”
Lois had the decided impression that Vukovich had very nearly called her a ‘fresh fish.’ “Thanks. How do we do this?”
Vukovich pulled out the chair behind her desk. “You type, I look over your shoulder, and when I say it’s okay you send the e-mail. Delivery shouldn’t take more than ten minutes or so if it’s just a few lines of text.”
“Okay.” Lois sat and grabbed the mouse. “Is this the message Clark sent?”
“Yes. Just click on that icon and – “
“I know how to reply to an e-mail, Major.”
Vukovich’s voice cooled slightly and she straightened. “Of course you do.”
Lois brought up Clark’s message. It was a response to the major’s message that Lois would have to talk to Clark using this account for the time being. Clark had written:
--- As you say, Major Vukovich. Please have Lois respond as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting beside my computer until then.
Lois nodded to herself and clicked the ‘reply’ button.
--- Clark, this is Lois. There’s been a murder aboard the Prometheus, the first one ever, according to Major Vukovich. The victim is Claude Guilliot, and yes, he’s THAT Claude. We’re almost completely certain it isn’t suicide, but we don’t have much more yet. Claude was posing as a computer tech, and we need you to find out why he was up here in the first place. There has to be money behind it. We’ll send more information as soon as we can verify it.
--- All e-mail access has been shut off except for a few accounts, so no one’s getting this story out unless it goes through the Major and her e-mail ID.
She paused and looked up at the security chief. “That okay?”
Vukovich leaned closer to the terminal and squinted. “Add that we’ll send full details of the murder when we have them as long as they promise not to print everything yet.”
Lois shook her head. “Clark knows what he can and can’t print. He’s dealt with enough criminal investigations to know where the line is.”
Vukovich frowned, then nodded. “Okay. Add what I said and send it. I know the Planet’s reputation, so I guess I’ll have to trust him not to be stupid.”
Lois typed and pressed the ‘send’ hot-key, then sat back. “You said ten minutes before they get this?”
“Depends on the amount of traffic going through the comm satellites, but it shouldn’t be much more than that. It’s the closest thing to real-time communications we’ve got up here. The price of a two-way radio call would bankrupt the average worker, so we have to make do with what we’ve got.”
“Okay. You have anything to drink while we’re waiting?”
Vukovich shook her head. “Uh-uh. We don’t allow alcohol on the station. There’s too many ways a drunk can kill himself and a lot of other people up here.”
Lois frowned. “I meant something like a root beer or a cream soda. I could use the caffeine.”
“Oh.” The major had the grace to look slightly abashed. “Sorry. I’ll have Sergeant Walker go get something. Should have thought of that myself.”
“Thanks.”
Vukovich leaned out the door and asked Walker to run the errand for her. Lois considered that. The major could surely order her subordinate, but she’d asked instead. And the way they’d treated each other after she’d returned from the murder scene spoke volumes about the relationship Vukovich had with her staff. She was respected, she was liked, and she was in charge. It was a tricky balance to maintain, but from all appearances so far, the major was an excellent acrobat.
“He’ll be back in a flash.”
Lois nodded absently. “You said something earlier about a Doctor Watson?”
“Yes. Dr. John Quincy Watson, M.D. Fancies himself to be a bit of a writer of detective fiction, too, although I’ve agreed not to hold that against him. He’s English and he’s very good at treating both minor injuries and major ones. We had a young boy visiting with his family last year who came down with appendicitis and Watson fixed him up in nothing flat. Even gave the boy his appendix in a plastic jar to take home with him.”
Lois smiled at that, then grew serious again. “What did he do with Claude’s body?”
Vukovich sat down on the couch across the room. “He said he’d do a full post-mortem exam and send me the results, then he was going to encase the body in plastic, suck all the air out, and store it in a vacuum chamber.” At Lois’s grimace, she added, “We don’t have a morgue. There’s no room on the station for one, and usually not much need. That’s our standard procedure in dealing with dead bodies.”
“Sorry. Just seems a little gruesome to me.”
The major sighed. “This whole freakin’ situation is gruesome. I can tell already, I’m going to have nightmares about this when it’s over.” She leaned back and rubbed her eyes with her hands, then leaned forward. “Look, we’re obviously going to be working together for a while. Why don’t we use first names? It’ll make things a little easier.”
Lois had her doubts about that, but nodded anyway. “Okay. I’ll be Lois if you’ll be – Katrina, right?”
“My friends and people with whom I investigate murders call me Karen.”
“Karen.” She nodded. “Any middle names?”
“Nope. Just Karen.”
“Really?” Lois squinted at her. “I would have guessed you’d be called Katharine or Kate.”
“Uh-huh. Katharine makes me think of Catharine the Great of Russia, and Kate makes me think of Shakespeare’s ‘The Taming Of The Shrew.’ Neither of those women are role models for me. I’m just Karen.”
Lois ventured a small smile. “Okay, just Karen, when do you expect the post-mortem report?”
As Vukovich opened her mouth to answer, the computer dinged. “That’s either your guy Kent or the doctor’s report.”
Lois moved the mouse to erase the screen saver. It was a looping clip from a Laurel and Hardy comedy short, a revealing insight into the major’s personality. She promised herself she’d think about it later. “It’s from the doctor. You want me to open it?”
“Go ahead. I’ll read over your shoulder.”
Lois complied and skimmed the document. She didn’t open the attached autopsy photos. Her stomach control only went so far.
They finished reading the file at almost the same time. “Pretty comprehensive list,” muttered Lois. “Cause of death, slow strangulation and loss of blood flow to the brain.”
“I didn’t think twenty-six pounds of pressure would crush his larnyx.”
“Here’s something a little less gross. Says here he had sex not long before he died.” Lois chewed a fingernail. “Wonder who she was?”
Karen caught Lois’s eye. “How do you know it was a she?”
“Claude? He thought he was God’s gift to spacewomen, remember? Of all the positive or negative personality quirks he might have had, liking men instead of women wasn’t one of them.” She tapped the screen lightly. “Besides, the doctor says he found traces of vaginal fluid on Claude’s genitals. I’m pretty sure there aren’t any men on the station with that talent.”
Karen returned her gaze to the screen without answering. “Hey, here’s something. He had trace amounts of alcohol in his blood, none in his stomach, and no sign of drugs anywhere else.”
Lois frowned. “I thought you said alcohol was banned up here.”
“It is. Doesn’t mean people don’t smuggle it in or make it here. We do have some of the best chemists in the world on the station, after all.”
“Right.” They fell silent for a moment, reading. Something caught Lois’s attention. “Look at this. Watson says the body didn’t have any serious bruises on it except for around the neck, where the noose was, and on the arms and legs where he was taped. They were probably a result of struggling with the tape, but the bruising almost surely happened after he was hog-tied. Or hog-taped, if you prefer.”
“True. So?”
“So how did the killer hold Claude still while he or she duct-taped him like that and put a noose around his neck and hung him? He should’ve fought like a tiger, but there’s no evidence of it on his body. I would’ve expected to find some kind of head injury from a blow that knocked him out, but your doctor says Claude had no fresh head wounds at all.”
“Hmm.” Karen stood and paced slowly, thinking. “I don’t know. It’s definitely a clue, but I can’t tell you what it means. At least, not yet.”
Lois looked again. “Also says here that it took him anywhere from fifteen minutes to three hours to die. Watson can’t fix the time of death much closer than a four-hour span, and that means we’ll have to account for people’s movements within a seven-hour window.”
“What?”
“If we have a four-hour time window when Claude actually died, plus a maximum of three hours that he hung there before he stopped struggling, that’s seven hours. That makes for a lot of investigative notes.”
Karen shook her head. “That’s not acceptable. We need something more precise.”
Lois shrugged. “You’ll have to talk to the doctor about that.”
Karen nodded. “Okay, I will.” She strode to the wall and punched in a communications code.
A reedy female voice answered. “Medical bay, Dr. Fujima speaking.”
“Dr. Fujima, this is Major Vukovich. I need to speak with Dr. Watson right now.”
“Hang on a minute, I’ll have to find him.”
They waited for several moments, then the speaker came to life again with a jaunty English accent. “This is Dr. Watson. How may I assist you, Major?”
“You can tell me when the murder victim died.”
“It’s in my report, Major. That’s as precise as I can be with the equipment we have and the expertise available to me.”
Karen rolled her eyes but kept her reaction out of her voice. “Can you come to my office so we can discuss this face-to-face?”
“I’m sorry, no. I have to be in surgery in twenty minutes. We have a patient with an infected spleen and it must be removed posthaste.”
“Can’t Fujima handle it by herself?”
“Possibly she can, even probably, but I cannot, in good conscience, abandon her to such a task so early in her stay here.”
“This is important, John!”
“I agree, Major, but I cannot be more precise than I already have been.”
“Nuts! How come the guys on the TV cop shows get better results than I do with you?”
“Because they have more equipment, more external evidence, and better-paid writers.”
“Not funny, Doc.”
He chuckled. “Major, the science of dating the time of death is as much an art as it is anything else. Forensic pathologists often rely on external clues like the condition of the surrounding shrubbery and plants, weathering of the site – “
“Which we don’t have here.”
“Precisely. Our sterile environment has removed many of the external indicators of time of death. Since our victim was known to have eaten dinner in the cafeteria last night at around eight PM, his stomach contents indicate that he probably didn’t die before eleven last night, more likely somewhat later, but I cannot be absolutely certain. My estimate was also affected by the fact that he was in a duct with cool air blowing over him, making his body temperature drop more quickly than if he had died peacefully in his bed. Rigor mortis appears approximately two hours after death, and you reported that the body was stiff when you first arrived on the scene. I also judged the hardness and odor emanating from the expelled contents of Claude’s bowels to be more than two hours old, but I cannot be more precise. All I can be certain of is that he died some time between eleven PM last night and eight AM this morning, most probably between midnight and six AM.”
Karen raised her voice. “I need better information than that, John! I need a better time of death estimate!”
“And if I could give you a more accurate estimate, Major, I would do so. I deeply regret that I cannot.”
Karen sighed. “Okay, Doc. Thanks anyway. Hope that spleen comes out okay.”
“So does our patient, I’m certain. I will report to you should I discover anything else that might be helpful. Good-bye.”
Karen shut off the communicator, then sighed and sat down heavily on the side of her desk. Lois sat back and shook her head. “That’s going to complicate things.”
Karen cocked her head to one side. “Really? What was your first clue?
Lois ignored the sarcasm. “It’ll make it that much harder for us to find who had the opportunity to kill Claude.”
“Right. I got it. We have to find opportunity, means, and motive, and then we have the killer.”
“No. Then we have one or more suspects. All three of those things together are powerful indicators of guilt, but they aren’t proof.”
Karen frowned in thought. “You seem to know an awful lot about this kind of thing.”
“I ought to. I’ve – “
The outer office door swung open and Walker entered, carrying three plastic soft drink bottles. “I hope I have at least one that everybody likes.” He hesitated, then offered Lois the first choice.
She grinned. “Thanks. I’ll take the cream soda, unless one of you can’t live without it.”
“Go ahead, Lois, I’ll take the root beer. That leaves the almost clear light green highly caffeinated and heavily sweetened carbonated liquid for you, Matt. You sure that’s not just improperly recycled?”
Lois coughed and almost spit out her first sip. Karen laughed as she whacked her on the back. “Hey, Lois, you okay?”
Lois raised her hand to stop the beating. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry. Some craters in the cafeteria told me where the station’s water comes from on my first day.”
Walker nodded. “You do realize that was just yesterday, don’t you, ma’am?”
Lois’s eyebrows lifted and her eyes opened wider. “Wow. I hadn’t realized it, but yeah, it was. Seems like I’ve been here a lot longer than that.” She took another sip and savored it. “That’s good and cold.”
Walker sipped his own beverage. “I heard you and the Major discussing the case when I walked in. What’s the status of the deceased’s belongings?”
Lois lifted her eyebrows again. “I thought you were a rookie at this, Karen.”
“I’m not fully trained but I’m also not stupid. As soon as we realized Claude was dead, we sealed his room and put a sergeant inside to fully examine the contents.” She took a big swig and swallowed. “One note in the station’s favor is that we didn’t have to wait for a search warrant.”
“And you found what?” Lois prompted.
“It looked like he’d had a party in there the night before. There was evidence of a female guest on the sheets and his clothes were all there. The only odd thing Sergeant McClaren found was that the coveralls and underwear he was apparently wearing that day were balled up and tossed into the far corner of the room.”
Lois frowned. “Why is that odd?”
Walker answered. “According to his most recent ex-girlfriend, Claude was a slob who’d drop his clothes wherever he was standing and let them lie in the middle of the room until he gathered them into a laundry bag. Tossing them in the corner suggests that the killer removed the victim’s clothing at or near the murder scene and took it back to the victim’s quarters.”
“I see.” Lois thought for a moment, then nodded. “Two things spring to my mind. If that set of assumptions about his clothing is true, and it’s certainly plausible at the moment, it means this murderer had Claude’s room access code, and that implies that they had a long-term relationship. It also means that this was almost certainly a planned, premeditated murder.” Lois put her drink down on the desk. “And if that’s true, Karen, you don’t have a crime of passion on your hands, you’ve got a deliberate killer loose on your station. And whoever it is probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill again.”
