He sucked in a breath and dismissed the thoughts as trivial, refocussing on Telemach, who sat glaring at the vinepaper documents before her.
‘How could something like this happen in my precinct, under my governance?’ she demanded. Typical of the woman, Spear thought. Her first consideration was not How could this tragedy have happened? or A good man like Sabrat a killer? Impossible! No, for all the death and bloodshed and fear that had swept across her city, her first impulse was to worry about how it would make her look. Telemach glared at Laimner. ‘Well?’
‘He… We never suspected for a moment that the killer could be a peace officer.’
The High-Reeve was about to spit out something else, but Spear intervened. In Hyssos’s voice he said ‘In fairness, how could your men have known, milady? Sabrat was a decorated member of the Sentine with over a decade of service under his belt. He knew your procedures and protocols intimately. He knew all the loopholes and blind spots.’
Laimner nodded. ‘Aye, yes. I have teams from the documentary office going over everything in his caseload, back years and years. They’ve already found incidences of file tampering, evidence manipulation…’
All of which Spear had been planting, little by little over the last few weeks. Very soon they would discover more killings that he had laid at the late reeve’s feet, from the deaths of minor citizens to shopkeepers and even a junior jager from this very precinct; every one of them Spear had murdered and impersonated for brief periods of time, working his way up to this identity. Step by step.
‘It was only a matter of time before he was caught,’ Spear-as-Hyssos went on, and he tapped the evidence bag on the desk that contained the harvesting knife. ‘I’ve encountered these kinds of criminals several times. They all become careless after a while, convinced of their own superiority.’
Telemach grabbed one of the more gory picts of the murder scene at the airdocks, waving it at him, and Spear resisted the urge to lick his lips. ‘But what about… all this?’ She jabbed at the beautiful perfection of the eightfold sigils drawn in the blood of the dead. ‘What does it mean?’
He sensed the edge of fear in her words, and relished it. Yes, she understood the common, squalid manners of death, when humans ended one another over trivialities like money and power, anger and lust; but she could not conceive of the idea that one might take life in the name of something greater… to appease something. Spear wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her that her insect’s-eye view of the cosmos was pathetically naïve, blind to the realities that he had been made privy to at the Delphos on Davin and later, at his master’s hand.
He made Hyssos’s face grow grave and concerned. ‘Sabrat wasn’t alone in all this. His cohort, Segan… They were a partnership.’
‘That fits the facts,’ said Laimner. ‘But I’m not sure why Yosef killed him.’
‘A disagreement?’ offered Spear. ‘All I know is, the two of them conspired to get me alone with them at Whyteleaf. Then I was forced to watch as Sabrat ended Segan’s life, before he tried to do the same to me. I almost…’ At this point, he gave a staged shudder. ‘He almost killed me too,’ he whispered.
‘And the… symbols?’ Telemach asked.
‘These were ritualistic murders.’ He paused for the drama of it. ‘What do you know of this group called the Theoge?’
He had barely said the word before the High-Reeve’s face split in a sour sneer. ‘Those throwback religionists? This is their doing?’ She shot a look at Laimner. ‘I said they were part of this. Didn’t I say so? I knew it!’
Spear nodded. ‘They are some sort of fundamentalist cult, if I understand correctly. It seems that Daig Segan was the go-between for the Theoge, and in turn the murders committed by Sabrat with his help were likely motivated by some twisted set of beliefs.’
‘Human sacrifices?’ said Laimner. ‘On a civilised world like this? This is the thirty-first millennium, not primitive prehistory!’
Telemach answered immediately. ‘Religion is like a cancer. It can erupt without warning.’ For a moment, Spear wondered what great hurt in the woman’s past had occurred because of someone else’s belief; something scarring, no doubt, to make her hate any thought of such things with that undiluted venom.
‘I would advise you move against this group as soon as possible,’ he went on, getting to his feet. ‘Your media services have already learned of some elements of this case. I imagine those involved with the Theoge will quickly become targets for vigilantism.’
Laimner nodded. ‘Sabrat’s wife and child have already been attacked. I sent Skelta to the house… He said they were hounded and stoned.’
‘Find out if they were involved,’ Telemach insisted. ‘And by nightfall I want every single Theoge suspect on the books hauled in for questioning.’
Spear drew himself up, smoothing down the front of Hyssos’s tunic in a reflexive gesture copied from the operative’s own muscle-memory. ‘I see you have everything in hand. You have my report. I will take my leave of you now this matter is concluded.’
Laimner shook his head. ‘But, wait. There are proceedings… Testimony to be made, a tribunal. You will need to remain on Iesta to give statements.’
‘The Void Baron does not wish me to stay.’ All it took was a look from Hyssos’s eyes to the High-Reeve, and she buckled immediately.
‘Of course, operative,’ she said, the thought of defying Eurotas or one of his agents never occurring to her. ‘If any questions arise, a communiqué can be sent via the Consortium. We caught the killer. That’s all that is important.’
He nodded and made for the door. Behind him, he heard Laimner speak again. ‘The people will feel safer,’ he said. It seemed less like a statement of fact, and more like something the man was trying to convince himself of.
A brief smile crossed Spear’s changed face. The fear that he had unleashed on the streets of Iesta Veracrux would not be so easily dispelled.
Goeda Rufin was enjoying the difference in things.
Before, back when the Governor was still kowtowing to Terra and the nobles did nothing but grumble, Rufin had been destined to remain a low ranked non-commissioned officer in the Dagonet PDF. His life consisted largely of shirking his responsibilities – such as they were – and putting his workload on the junior ratings unlucky enough to be under his supervision at the vehicle pool. Since the day he had enrolled after a justicar gave him the choice between borstal or service, Rufin had never looked back to civilian life, but in all that time he hadn’t been able to shake the longing for a day when he could wear a coveted officer’s braid. It didn’t occur to him that his general level of ignorance outstripped any small measure of ability he had; Rufin was simply unable to grasp the idea that he had never risen in rank because he was a poor soldier. He was a makeweight in the city garrison, and everyone seemed to know it but him. To hear Rufin talk, it would seem like there was a huge conspiracy among the senior officers to keep him down, while other men were promoted up the ladder – men that he considered less deserving, despite copious evidence to the contrary. But Rufin wasn’t one to let facts get in the way of his opinions.
He was snide and demeaning to the back of every man who wore the braid. He amused himself by scribbling anonymous obscenities about them on the walls of the barracks washroom, dragging his heels over every order they gave him, this and a dozen other petty revenges.