Araminta Station (17 page)

Glawen could no longer tolerate inactivity. He climbed up into the cargo space, and began his own search in an area Scharde so far had neglected: the crack, or seam, where the elastic sponge met the side panel. Before long he made a discovery of his own and gave a sad exclamation.

Scharde looked around. “What did you find?”

Glawen held up a black and orange fragment. “A bit of butterfly wing.”

Scharde took the bright wisp and placed it into an envelope.

“There’s no longer much doubt about the time and place.”

“Just the who.”

The two searched half an hour or so longer and Scharde found another tuft of matted fiber but nothing else of obvious significance. Descending to the ground, they examined their findings: the wing fragment and the tufts of coarse brown hair. “Not much,” said Scharde. “But still better than nothing. Perhaps we’d better have another word with Nion.”

Glawen looked dubiously toward the winery. “He doesn’t seem too interested in helping us.”

“We’ll still give him a try. The trail must lead somewhere.”

The two returned to the winery. Nion, standing in the doorway, observed their approach without display of emotion. He asked as they drew near: “What have you found, if anything?”

Scharde displayed the articles taken from the truck bed. “Do these mean anything to you?”

“The colored bit would seem to be part of the girl’s costume. The other stuff: I don’t recognize it, offhand.”

“You don’t use a rug, or sacking, or any such material?”

“I do not.”

“Very well. We’ll just take another look into the winery.”

Nion shrugged and stood aside. “What do you hope to find? You’ve been through the place like a bad smell, into vats and all.”

“True. But somewhere, somehow, we’re missing something.”

“How so?”

“This is the end of the trail. She was murdered in the truck. When you came for the truck, it had been moved and the body was gone. Time is limited; the body apparently was not buried; we would have markings in the soil, and the road shows the truck went no farther than the winery. What happened to the body?”

“I can’t help you. Search as you like.”

Scharde and Glawen stepped through the doorway and into the winery, with Nion coming behind. Ten vats loomed above them, five to either side, each vat painted a different color, and a console at each vat to control operations and supply information. During Scharde’s previous visit, Nion had pumped dry each vat in turn, revealing no trace of Sessily.

Nion noticed Scharde’s obvious interest in the vats. He asked gruffly: “What now? Must I pump my vats again? I waste a gallon of good wine every time I pump over a vat.”

“Are your gauges so accurate?”

“Certainly. The meters read to the tenth part of a gallon, which is important for careful blending, when even a half gallon of Diffin’s No. 4 Bitter Malvas too much or too little can affect a blend.”

“So what is your procedure?”

In simplest terms, I pump from the vats to the blending tank in proper proportions, to the amount of six hundred and sixty gallons, which is twelve casks, or three cases. This is a convenient batch size. I inspect the interior of each cask, the pump loads exactly fifty-five gallons of wine; I set the lid in place and the machine seals and clamps the lid to the cask. I slide away the full cask, and fill another to the number of twelve. These are held in stock over against the wall until I receive an order, when I load a shipping case appropriately and deliver it to the cargo bat at the spaceport.

Scharde looked along the wall. “Your stock on hand is very low.”

“There is no stock to speak of. Everything was sold during Parilia.”

“And delivered to the spaceport?”

“True.”

“And shipped?”

“I would suppose so.”

“And one of those casks might well have contained a body?”

Nion started to speak, then stopped short. He looked toward the blending tank and seemed to stammer under his breath. When he looked back at Scharde, his ruddy color had gone ashen. “I can assert almost definitely that this is what happened.”

“Hm. How so?”

“On Ort morning I filled casks from what remained in the vat, and when I was finished I discovered an overage of almost thirteen gallons.”

Glawen turned and departed the winery. Nion and Scharde looked after him. Nion heaved a deep sigh and turned back to the blending tank. “At the time, I wondered at the error; how could it be, when my meters are accurate to a small fraction of this amount? How much did the girl weigh?”

“Glawen could tell us, but he is not present. I would guess about a hundred pounds, or a hundred and five.”

“She would thereby displace something less than thirteen gallons of wine, and I would find the overage, and puzzle as to its source. Now all is clear.”

“Who would know how to fill and seal a cask?”

Nion made a harsh wild gesture. “It could be anyone: the oenology students, those who work the six House wineries, anyone who has ever watched me at work. I will go on to say this! With these two hands I would strangle the man who so despoiled the wine! It is a sickly perversion beyond all ordinary calculation!”

Scharde inclined his head in profound agreement. “It is a crime doubly vicious; that is true. I join you in your disgust.”

“Will we ever capture this person?”

“I can say only that we are making progress in our investigation. One other matter, in regard to the cask itself: can we trace it? What would be the label on the cask?”

“It would be the Graciosa, and I have shipped fifty or sixty such casks since Parilia to a large number of destinations. It would be virtually impossible to locate the spoiled cask.”

“The casks carry no serial number? No coding of any kind?”

“None. Such a task would swamp me in paperwork, and serves no purpose.”

“Not until now.”

“It shall not happen again, not while I am alive.” Nion struck his chest with his fist. “I have been mild and guileless! I have trusted persons with suppuration and gangrene for brains. They have looked at me and breathed this air; I have displayed my secrets and given my best; still they do this to me! Never again.”

“It is a bad situation,” said Scharde. “Still, we must not throw the good out with the bad. The innocent should not suffer for crimes of the guilty.”

“We shall see.”

“A final word, and here your advice will be most important. I personally see no reason to cause a great public outcry over this matter. I will recommend absolute discretion in our announcements; otherwise we will sell little of your good Graciosa for long years to come, if our winery is to become the subject of vulgar jokes.”

Nion’s ruddy face had gone gray. “Still - sooner or later someone will make a terrible discovery.”

“We can only hope that it will be later rather than sooner. When the time comes, we can adjust the matter in the field, and hope that no one takes any great notice. If they do, we will blame it on warehouse bandits.”

“Yes; that is correct,” said Nion. “Ah, me! What an affair!”

Chapter II, Part 7

By order of Supervisor Bodwyn Wook, the full Bureau B roster, including captains, sergeants, junior sergeants, collateral ordinaries, and cadets gathered in the Now Agency auditorium. Promptly upon the stipulated moment Bodwyn Wook marched into the room, seated himself on the rostrum and addressed his subordinates.

“Tonight I will report a late development in the Sessily Veder case, which puts to rest a certain amount of speculation. Because of the continuing inquiry I will take no questions; the information contained in my statement must and will suffice for the moment.

“As everyone knows, Sessily Veder’s disappearance has puzzled us all. Now new information from certain sources has clarified the mystery. In brief outline, Sessily, after changing costume, was lured by a false message to a rendezvous, where she met a Pierrot, who escorted her to the beach, using guiles and pretexts we cannot imagine.

“The two set off along the beach to the south. Two hours later the Pierrot returned alone. His manner, according to information, was bewildered and distrait.

“We must accept the conclusion that someone probably known to Sessily had taken her down the beach, murdered her, and set her body adrift in the longshore currents.

“This completes my statement. I now instruct everyone to avoid discussing the case with persons not employed by the Bureau, inasmuch as speculation, gossip and scandal will interfere with the continuing investigation. You may succinctly report what I have told you but no more. Am I clear? Persons found in violation of this order will be quite sorry.

“Tomorrow certain reassignments will be made. That is all.”

As Scharde and Glawen were leaving, Kirdy Wook came after them. “You’re wanted in the supervisor’s office; don’t ask me why; I just carry messages.”

Scharde and Glawen climbed the stairs to Bodwyn Wook’s office on the second floor. He greeted them with a wave of the hand. “Be seated, wherever you like. This is an informal meeting. Kirdy, make us a nice pot of tea, if you will; then you may go.”

With a single gelid glance toward Glawen, whom he outranked, Kirdy went to the sideboard and busied himself with pot and hot water, then turned and started to leave. Bodwyn Wook, noticing Kirdy’s stiff demeanor, called out: “On second thought, you might as well stay and add your wisdom, such as it is, to ours. We have some deep thinking to do, and we’ll need all the convolutions available.”

Kirdy gave a curt nod. “Just as you say, sir.”

Bodwyn Wook turned to Scharde. “How did my statement go over?”

“Well enough, I would say. No one can contradict you.”

“That’s the way it shall be, then. Now, as to our investigation. I see it moving down two roads: first, the material you took from the truck. We’ll want to analyze that and trace it to its source.

Second, I received a most singular message today from Zamian the Yip. I will read it to you.” He waited while Kirdy served tea and then seated himself.

Bodwyn Wook cleared his throat and looked down at a sheet of paper. “This is the message:

“Respectable Supervisor of the Investigation Forces

“Dear Sir:

“I hope that your work goes well so that crimes are halted here and everywhere. Be confident of my help.

“I am writing to let you know how I am doing, which is well. As I told you, with true honesty, I am sorry that I did not investigate all suspicious things as they occurred, and did not ask for the true explanation. But remember, please! I told you that I would not stop my thinking and now I see that my efforts have been good ones and I have reached success, unless I am quite wrong, or if we cannot find some small funds to make a certain person feel that he does not take great risks for just ‘Thank you! You are a truly fine man!’ After all, remember this! Success costs money! But it is cheap, at any price. “One more thing. I should not say this, but I feel that I must state: there is cause for hurry, since this gentleman may ask for money from another place. Such an act is wrong sometimes, but money is right all times. This is a little joke, but how true! Anyway, it would be wise tomorrow morning to let me know, with perhaps some kind generosity for me, too. I am, as always

“Your good friend and helper,

“Zamian Lemew Gabriskies.”

Bodwyn Wook looked up from the message. “Zamian’s attitudes are refreshingly artless; it is a pleasure following the flow of his thoughts. He is at all times lucid; one is never in doubt as to his desires, but he is as gentle as a bottlesnake stealing milk. No doubt he finds us equally quaint.” Here Bodwyn Wook looked from face to face, then gave the letter a flick of the fingers. “Still, we are not poets nor are we sociologists, and we must not abandon ourselves to the delectations of either. Glawen, you have been brooding with obvious intensity. What are your opinions?”

“They are nothing so settled as opinions: speculations, rather.”

“That is appropriate, under the circumstances. Proceed”

“First of all, Zamian’s tone seems different, as if now he has something definite and new to sell. Probably this ‘certain person’ also worked in the kitchen or pantry near the loading dock – the source of information, so to speak. For some reason, Zamian and the ‘certain person’ seem to have been working at least half-independently, and the ‘person’ seems to have discovered information which at the time Zamian neglected or was unable to get.”

“That seems to hang together. Zamian now is the front man, and conducts negotiations from this end while the ‘person’ tries some blackmail. Presumably they have agreed to share proceeds. Kirdy, what is your analysis?”

“Sorry! I haven’t thought all that deeply about the case, what with the other duties to which I was assigned - rather foolishly, so I feel.”

Bodwyn Wook returned a bland grin to the remark. “You refer to that odious patrol of the compound? Who knows? You might have saved us the indignities of a screaming Yip riot or worse – if there is anything worse. They’d be nasty customers once they forgot the ‘yes-sirs’ and ‘no-sirs.’ Or they might remain polite, and it would be: ‘Excuse me, sir; please hold still while I cut your nose off.’ Ah well, Kirdy! Your gallant sacrifice brought us all peace of mind. It was by no means in vain!”

Glawen said: “Certainly I slept better, knowing that Kirdy and Arles were out there on guard.”

“It was a noble episode,” said Bodwyn Wook. “But back once more to Zamian and his intrigues. Scharde, what are your ideas?”

“Taking up where Glawen left off: we have Zamian and a ‘certain person’ in the kitchen, or pantry. What could the ‘person’ have seen that Zamian missed? He might have seen the murderer as he waited for Sessily. Or Zamian might have notified him something was going on in the truck. They noticed its departure and resolved to watch for its return. Apparently Zamian was otherwise occupied and so the ‘person’ took care to watch and see who alighted from the truck on its return.”