“Can you prove that?”
“When Betange records the details of my weapon, yes: the clip was full, and two rounds will be missing from the clip. And you can see that Marek has entrance wounds in chest and head.”
Gossin glanced back at Marek’s body. From her expression, she might never have seen a violent death before. “I… see.” She swallowed. “And Commander Bentik?”
“I don’t know. She was hiding behind that table. I haven’t looked yet, but she could also have been hit, either by a ricochet or one of the stray rounds after Marek dropped his weapon.”
“Sir, I want to get Inyatta down to the medbox in the clinic—I’ll need helpers.” Lundin sounded as calm as ever.
“Of course, Lundin,” Ky said. “Just make sure they don’t touch Marek’s body or anything else in the room. We want to give Staff Sergeant Gossin and Betange time to record everything in here.”
“Yes, sir.” Lundin went to the door, carefully not stepping in any of the blood, and sent someone to bring a litter from the clinic.
“I could walk,” Inyatta said from the floor. “Just a little help.”
“No,” Lundin said. “Just wait.”
“Admiral,” Betange said. He nodded toward the far table. “It’s the commander. I think she’s hurt. There’s blood under her head.”
“I’ll check,” Lundin said, moving that way. “And you should come, too, as witnesses.” Gossin and Ky followed her.
Jen was clearly dead; at least one round had taken her in the head as she hid, and Ky felt a stab of guilt at this death she had not intended but for which she was surely responsible. She had brought Jen to this planet; she had not recognized in time what Marek had done, and she had brought Jen to this room. Why hadn’t she told Jen to hide in the interior firing range instead of this room?
“When you’ve got Inyatta settled,” she said to Lundin, “send someone to Stores, see if they can find something to wrap Marek and the commander in.” She looked at Gossin. “Can we agree they both died of gunshot wounds?”
“Yes,” Gossin and Lundin said together.
“Then we need to move the bodies, and get this space cleaned when you, Staff, are through with your examination.”
“Yes, sir,” Lundin said, and stood up just as the two she’d sent for a litter returned with one.
Gossin gave Ky a look mixing doubt and curiosity. “Admiral, you—I know you have killed before, in the war. But that was blowing up ships. This is different, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Ky said. She closed her eyes a moment, then looked directly at Gossin. “I have been in close fights before, Staff. Remember, my whole family was attacked wherever they were; I was on a Vatta ship.” The incidents raced through her mind, like a fast slideshow on a travel site, one image for each fight. “Shot at, poisoned, shot at again…”
“And that’s why you’re so calm?”
“I suppose.” Ky stood up. “Betange, have you recorded the commander’s body? Then it’s time to record the weapons, close-ups as well as locations.”
“How did you know I didn’t have a firearm, too?” Gossin asked. “You—when you came to the door unarmed—that surprised me.”
“I didn’t know. But I didn’t want to scare you more.”
“It was risky.”
“Yes.” She nodded at the change in Gossin’s expression. “And it was necessary. Would you have trusted me enough to come in here and examine the scene with me if I’d had a pistol in my hand? Or even in a holster?”
“No, Admiral,” Gossin said. “I’d have—I don’t know what I’d have done exactly, but I wouldn’t have trusted you.” After a moment she said, “You trusted me not to shoot you even if Marek had armed me.”
“It was a risk I had to take. You’ve been solid before now; I thought you would be. Still—this would shock anyone. Everyone. Scare some of you, and with reason. I’ll tell everyone what I know, once we’ve finished with this room. It’s time to look at the weapons.”
Marek’s, now that she looked at it closely, was not the same model Gordon 421 9mm she had used in target practice as a cadet at the Academy, but the 421-R model with doubled magazine and full automatic, usually an officer’s weapon. It lacked the familiar Spaceforce logo stamped into the metal. Marek could not have concealed that on the shuttle or in the raft. Where had he found it here? The butt had the usual palm-lock plate, but the blood and brain tissue it had skittered through, still firing after Marek dropped it, obscured it. Ky cleaned the blood off and put her hand there. Nothing. So it was palm-locked to him. Owned by him, or assigned to him… could have been either. He had to have been here, at this base, before.
Betange approached. “Ready for another recording?”
“Yes. You’ll notice that this weapon has no Spaceforce markings, but it’s a model Spaceforce uses.”
“Palm-locked?”
“Yes. Would’ve been ideal to get a palm print off it, but he had it on double-auto, and it had… organics all over it.” In a serious lab, it might’ve been recoverable, but not here and now. “If you scan this, right here, you can see the rate-of-fire setting.”
Betange scanned the weapon, the workbench, the rags she’d used to clean it. “Done, Admiral.”
“You’ll need to scan my weapon as well.” Ky nodded toward her pistol. “Personal, purchased at a weapons shop on Lastway years ago.” She released the clip, then removed the last round from the chamber. “As you can see, the clip was full, and I fired two rounds, both of which struck Master Sergeant Marek.”
“I’m not a firearms expert, Admiral—”
“I think my recorded testimony that this is my weapon and I did shoot the master sergeant should suffice, but if not the court can have the weapon tested once we’re back in Port Major. Meanwhile, I’m going to clean it. You should watch, so you can record that I’m not boring out the barrel or doing anything else that will alter the evidence. Be sure to collect the two cartridges.” In a few minutes she had the pistol clean, and turned to Gossin. “Do you want to keep this as evidence, Staff, or shall I keep it?”
Gossin hesitated, then nodded. “It’s yours; you keep it. I trust you’re not planning to kill anyone else.”
“I’m not. Now I need to check on Riyahn and see how involved he’s been in all this. When you’ve got the bodies wrapped up, we’ll take them up to the surface where it’s cold. I’d like to take Marek’s weapon with me; it may help Riyahn keep his facts straight. But it’s your call; you’re in charge of this investigation.”
Doubt returned to Gossin’s expression. “It’s a mess, and it’s—”
“Ugly, dirty, smelly… and, most important, unloaded. Psychological effect only.”
“Go ahead, then.”
“Let me know when the bodies are ready for transport. See if there are enough spare boards or litters in the clinic; it’ll be easier to carry them that way.”
“Just leave them outside?”
“No, in one of the huts where they’ll be safe from animals and just as cold. Then all this mess needs to be cleaned up; Lundin will probably want it disinfected as well. She’ll tell you how.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Cosper had Riyahn tied to a chair in the little office at the end of the barracks passage. “He’s not talking, Admiral Vatta.”
She hadn’t told him to interrogate Riyahn. She hadn’t told him to pick the least suitable place—a room they would still need to use, a room full of things a dangerous person might use dangerously. Yes, the restraints were stored here, but he was supposed to have put Riyahn across the passage, in NCO quarters.
Riyahn did not look dangerous now, but he had tried to grab Marek’s weapon. She laid the pistol, gory as it was, on the desk; Riyahn stared at it and said nothing.