Release (28 page)

“Yes, I had my maid dig it out for me, and help me put it on, but the damned thing is impossibly tight.”

“That’s the idea.”

“What’s the idea? Tell me what we’re planning, would you?”

“Okay,” said Ariana. “Now listen closely, because we won’t have time to go over it more than twice.”

* * *

“Listen, my lord,” Sergeant Praxider was saying, “whatever you might have thought I implied with that comment in the news article, I assure you I did not.” He was standing just outside the door to his office, looking annoyed.

Tramet was feeling a bit annoyed himself. “I’m not here to try to get you in any trouble, Praxider,” he said, worried that the sergeant was backpedaling because he thought that Tramet was here as a representative of the nobility in general or the Star Chamber specifically. “I’d just like to know, honestly, what you think of the girl’s story.”

“The girl’s story?” said Praxider. “We didn’t get a chance to question the girl. She was sent back to her family. So I’m afraid she officially doesn’t have a story.”

Tramet sighed. “Surely, you’ve seen the nets. You know what people are saying. About the Duke of Risciter. Do you have any opinion about that, or are you convinced of Keirth Transman’s guilt?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Praxider, “because Transman’s already been tried and sentenced.”

“It matters to me,” said Tramet. “Please, can you spare a few moments to sit down with me?”

Praxider narrowed his eyes. “Why is this so important to you?”

“If an innocent man is about to be killed, it’s pretty damned important, don’t you think?”

Praxider considered. “All right.” He opened the door to his office, then paused. “You swear you’re not out to get me? Are you a reporter in disguise, trying to get dirt? They’ll sack me, you know.”

“I’m the Duke of Tramet. I’m here because I’m trying to decide whether or not to interfere and beg the prince not to execute Keirth Transman. But first I need to be sure he’s not guilty.”

Praxider ushered Tramet inside the office and gestured for him to sit down. “You want to save Transman?”

Tramet sat in a chair facing Praxider’s desk. “I may want to save Transman. If he’s guilty, then I won’t. He’ll deserve to die.”

Praxider settled in his desk chair and leaned forward. “Well, I’ll tell you this, Tramet. That boy had a joke of a trial. And there very well may be evidence against Risciter, considering the Star Chamber is known to protect its own. They let the nobility get away with atrocities.”

Tramet had to admit this was occasionally true. But Praxider had mentioned evidence against Risciter. “So you
have
seen the stories on the net? Seen that Miss Gilit claims that Risciter did the killing and that Transman saved her?”

“I’ve been doing my best not to pay attention to be honest,” said Praxider. “I’d rather not know that I helped the sector kill an innocent man.”

“Do you think he’s innocent?”

Praxider sighed. “Well, look. The knife wounds on the prostitutes are precise. Whoever killed them knew what he was doing. We also found traces of a drug in many of their systems. Something that would put them to sleep and make them pliable. It definitely wasn’t the act of someone who snapped and suddenly killed a bunch of women. It was the work of someone who’s done this kind of thing before, a methodical killer.” He leaned back in his desk chair. “Of course, there are a few things that don’t fit with that theory. Most of the bodies were killed with a single slash to the throat. It’s precise and even, yes. But the bodies of the madam and Risciter both have multiple stab wounds. We believe the wounds on the madam were issued postmortem, as if the killer was so angry with her that he stabbed her over and over after she was dead. The stab wounds on Risciter, however, were what killed him. The men, too, are the only ones whose throats weren’t slashed.”

Tramet did his best to sort through this information. “So, the alternate method of killing Risciter could point to the fact that a different killer killed him.”

Praxider nodded. “Perhaps. But the stab wounds mean that if there was another killer, perhaps he killed the madam as well.”

“You said the madam’s stab wounds were postmortem.”

“Yes,” said Praxider, “but if we theorize that the stab wounds came from the same killer, then I suppose we’d have to assume that...” He paused, thinking it over. “Risciter killed all the women, and then Transman came in and stabbed the already dead madam before stabbing Risciter to death.”

Tramet wasn’t sure he liked that theory. He didn’t want to think of Keirth taking a knife to an already dead woman.

“The truth is,” said Praxider, “the stab wounds may not mean anything at all. They happened to the men. This killer, if it is Transman, may have a fetish for killing women that way. He may only have killed Risciter because he was in the way.”

When Praxider put it like that, Tramet could see how it made sense. He nodded slowly. “I suppose it makes sense for Transman to have done this.”

“A slaughter like this never makes sense,” said Praxider. “But Transman does have some evidence against him. One, he seems to have kidnapped Miss Gilit, and we have a distress call from her indicating this. Two, after the incident with the prostitutes, he ran. Three, Risciter’s distress call plainly names him as the killer.”

“It seems cut and dry.” Tramet knew he shouldn’t have allowed himself to hope. He knew it.

“But it’s not,” said Praxider. He shook his head and leaned forward conspiratorially. “The duke was wearing gloves when we found him. And he had a small bag on his person. It was full of little bundles of human hair. But both of those pieces of evidence seem to have been destroyed. I can’t find photos of the duke with the gloves on, can’t find the bag. Nothing.”

Now that seemed particularly damning. “What does that mean?”

Praxider looked frustrated. “Well, it means nothing, because it doesn’t exist anymore. Let’s go with what we do have. Risciter’s distress call said that Miss Gilit was dead and also that Transman was dead. He claimed that he’d fought off Transman, killed him, but been too late to save anyone else.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” said Praxider. “We could assume that Risciter saw Miss Gilit injured and was confused and thought she was dead. But that doesn’t seem to fit with the killer’s way of doing things. He drugs his victims or perhaps comes upon them in their sleep and slashes their throats. We could assume that Risciter was confused entirely, and that Miss Gilit was only asleep or something, that perhaps the killer was waiting to kill Miss Gilit. There are a lot of ways that it could have gone, but none of them seem entirely likely to me.” Praxider stroke his chin. “In fact, my lord, the more that I think about this, the more I feel like it hasn’t made one bit of sense from the get-go.”

“Why is that?” asked Tramet.

“Let’s assume Transman is the killer,” said Praxider, “and that he has a history of capturing women and killing them. Why did he wait so long to kill Miss Gilit?”

“It doesn’t fit,” said Tramet, his spirits lifting.

“No,” said Praxider. “It doesn’t fit at all. Why take her to some brothel and kill all the other women but leave her alive?”

“Unless, he hates all other women, but is in love with Miss Gilit?”

“That’s not the way the mind of a killer like this works,” said Praxider. “If you kill that many people that precisely, you’ve moved into a space where you no longer think of people as anything other than playthings. Killers like this don’t love women. They aren’t capable of it.”

“But we’re speculating, aren’t we?” asked Tramet. “We can’t know without more evidence.”

Praxider spread his hands. “Well, you’re right there, of course. And I have very little ability to search for more evidence now that the case is officially closed.”

This was a dead end. Tramet was no better off than when he started, was he? Could he go to the prince with little more than suspicions?

“Although there was something...” Praxider swiveled on his chair to face the screen on his desk and began typing on his console. “Before Transman was apprehended, I had a message from the police department on Hallon. They thought maybe they could connect a similar string of murders...” He hit a few more keys. “Ah, yes. Here it is. Dead prostitutes, nearly all killed on Rilla Alley, spanning nearly fifteen years.”

Tramet gulped. This was starting to make sense, suddenly. “There was a string?”

Praxider nodded, still studying his screen. “Yes. Throats slashed in a very similar manner to the way the women were killed on Scranth. A small subset of them with postmortem stab wounds as well. The police there strongly believe it was the work of the same man.”

“Do you see individual files there?” Tramet asked, his hands shaking. “Individual women’s names?”

“Um....” Praxider hit a few more keys. “Yes, they’ve sent me individual files as well.” He gave Tramet a curious look. “Why?”

Tramet’s breath was growing shallow. “Was one of the women killed in this manner a woman named Kara Transman?”

Praxider’s eyes widened at the last name. He hit a few more keys. “Yes, actually. Killed seven years ago, clearly fits the M.O. of the suspected serial killer on Hallon.”

Tramet covered his mouth with one hand. All this time, he’d assumed it was a random killing. After all, that was what happened to women who chose a profession like that. He’d never realized that it could be part of something larger, and if Risciter were the one responsible, he wished he’d been able to stab him to death himself.

“I suppose that woman is related to Transman,” said Praxider.

“His mother,” choked Tramet, thinking of her face suddenly.

“If Risciter...” Praxider trailed off. “Well, I think we might have a motive, mightn’t we?” He stood up. “I don’t know of a way to prove that Risciter had anything to do with those crimes, but I might have an idea of how we could rule him out.” He strode over to the door to his office and opened it. He turned to Tramet. “My secretary Nandi is head over heels about Risciter. You know the type. Reads all about him on the nets.” He turned back to the door. “Nandi,” he called. “And bring your tablet.”

Within a few moments, a woman with frizzy hair appeared at Praxider’s door, holding a net tablet. “Sir?”

Praxider opened the door wide for her to walk through. “Nandi, you keep a pretty detailed record of the Duke of Risciter’s movements in the sector, don’t you?”

“Sir?”

“Oh, come now,” said Praxider, “I’ve seen you working on it at your desk. You’ve got a timeline, going back years, of all the planets he’s been on and when.”

Nandi hung her head. “I’m sorry, sir, I know I should have been working, but—”

“You’re not in trouble,” said Praxider. “Just pull it up on your tablet, please.”

Nandi looked surprised, but did as she was told.

“Check these dates, will you?” said Praxider. “Can you tell me if the duke was on Hallon during each of these periods?”

Chapter Eighteen

Ariana leaned into the front of the speeder. “Now you know to where to pick us up, don’t you?” she asked the driver.

He nodded, looking excited. “Driving the getaway car, I am. Never thought I’d get a chance to be doing something like this, miss.”

“Just be there.” Ariana straightened, smoothing her dress and putting her fan in front of her face so that only her eyes were visible. She hid her blaster behind the fan as well. She joined Aunt Tildy who was picking at the bodice of her too-tight dress. “Leave it,” Ariana said.

“It’s quite uncomfortable,” Aunt Tildy said. “I swore after that party earlier this season, I’d never wear it again.”

“But you look stunning,” said Ariana.

Aunt Tildy looked down at her cleavage, which was struggling to get out of the dress. She grinned wickedly. “I do look that, don’t I?”

“Now you remember what the plan is?”

“Of course I remember. I’m not an idiot, am I?”

Ariana certainly hoped not. She’d already taken Aunt Tildy’s flask away from her since the woman couldn’t seem to do anything without drinking. Fluttering the fan over her face, she followed her aunt into the Risciter Planetary Prison. This wasn’t a large prison for long-term inmates, but a relatively small place kept for those just arrested or awaiting trial. In Keirth’s case, since he was to be executed so quickly, she supposed they hadn’t seen the necessity of moving him. It made things easier all around, though, since there wouldn’t be nearly as much security to get through. At least Ariana hoped there wouldn’t be.

Aunt Tildy marched ahead of Ariana, head held high, a look of distain on her face as she passed each person. Most people looked away immediately. Good. So far, everything was working out.

She followed Aunt Tildy through the front door. Just inside, there was a man in uniform sitting next to the blaster detector. He was reading his screen, but looked up as they entered.

Aunt Tildy walked through the blaster detector, and Ariana followed quick on her heels.

The detector began to beep.

The man in uniform stood up.

Keep walking
, Ariana thought at Aunt Tildy.
Just keep walking.

Aunt Tildy, seeming to remember the plan, did exactly that.

“Excuse me,” said the man in uniform, but he was behind them now as they swept inside in the main room.

Aunt Tildy kept walking. Ariana followed.

The man was running up to them now. “Excuse me,” he said, more loudly.

Aunt Tildy ignored him, making her way across the room towards the lifts that would carry them down to the bottom of the prison, where the prisoners were kept.

The man caught up to them and wedged himself in front of Aunt Tildy. “Excuse me,” he said pointedly.

Aunt Tildy took a step back, her hand fluttering over her exposed cleavage, and managed to look utterly disgusted by the man. Good. “Yes?”

“You’ve set off the detector,” said the man. “You’ll need to walk through it again.”

“I haven’t set off the detector.” Aunt Tildy’s voice contained the perfect amount of disbelief and scorn.