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Chapter 9

"The prime advantage Evil has in its battle with Good is that its opponents always assume it must ultimately be irrational."

—Conrad Bland

 

John Sable turned on his bedlamp, reached out to activate his vidphone, and mumbled a groggy "What's up?"

"Officer Belasco, sir," said the earnest young man whose picture appeared on the screen. "You said you wanted us to call you if anything unusual happened."

"Yes," said Sable, trying to focus his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Three o'clock. There have been two murders, sir," said Belasco. "One of them was Ibo Ubusuku."

"Who's that?"

"An offworlder."

"And the other?" asked Sable, shaking the cobwebs from his brain.

"Gaston Leroux, sir. A friend of Ubusuku's. We spoke to him yesterday afternoon."

"How were they killed?"

"Ubusuku was stabbed to death. One thrust, from his abdomen to his breastbone. Leroux seems to have had his neck broken. We found them lying about fifty feet apart."

"How long have they been dead?"

"Less than an hour, according to the medic."

"I'm on my way to the office," said Sable. "Have Davies there, and take the bodies to the forensic lab. I want to see them before you ship them to the morgue."

He broke the connection, decided that he didn't have time to shower or shave, and dressed himself in less than a minute. He stooped over the bed, kissed his sleeping wife, left a message on the home computer that he didn't know whether he'd be home for dinner, and arrived at headquarters ten minutes later.

Davies was waiting for him, and they went down to the forensic laboratory, where the two bodies were stretched out on metal tables.

"Good professional job," Sable muttered as he examined Ubusuku's wound. He walked over and looked at Leroux, then turned the body onto its stomach and examined the back of its neck. "One blow. Very neat."

"Looks like our man," said Davies.

"Was there ever any doubt?" said Sable, leaving the lab and walking down the long corridor to his office. He stopped in the outer receiving room just long enough to ask a secretary to bring him some coffee, then went inside, where he found Belasco waiting for him, absently studying the numerous citations and commendations hanging on the wall.

"I don't suppose anyone's turned up any clues yet?" he asked, plopping down onto his vinyl chair.

"No, sir," said Belasco. "We've still got a team out there searching the area, but nothing's turned up so far."

"Where did you find them?" asked Sable.

"The 4700 block of the Street of Avarice."

"What the hell were they doing there?"

"Two eyewitnesses said that Leroux had two guests for a service at a nearby Church of Satan," said Belasco. "One of them fits Ubusuku's description."

"And the other?" asked Sable, clasping his hands behind his head and staring at his little statue of Cali.

"Hard to say, sir," said Belasco. "One of them thinks he was a blond man in his late twenties, perhaps six feet tall. The other remembers him as a man with light brown hair, maybe forty years old, about five feet nine."

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Sable with a sigh. "He's not going to use that identity again." He turned to Davies. "Well, that's it, Langston. There's no reason for him to stay in Amaymon now. He's killed the only contact he's got, and the only man who could place him with that contact."

"We've got other offworlders here," said Davies. "Can we be sure this was his only contact?"

"I think so," replied Sable. "If he had more, he wouldn't frighten them off by killing Ubusuku so quickly."

"So what do we do now?" asked Davies.

"Lock up the city," said Sable. "Nothing comes in, nothing goes out. We watch for Satanists, but he's bright enough not to appear as one yet. We close the airports and the train terminals and the river, and we blockade all the roads, and then we'll also call ahead to warn Conrad Bland, because personally I think we're just going through the motions. Closing down the city probably isn't going to keep this man in it one minute longer than he wants to be kept. Still, I don't know what else we can do. Let's set everything in motion, because if we wait until morning there's an excellent chance he'll be gone."

"Right," said Davies, walking to the door.

"And Langston," Sable called after him.

"Yes?"

"Just because I don't think it's going to work is no reason to do a half-assed job. Everyone works overtime until we've caught him or we know he's flown the coop. Give me an hour to make some calls and you can start borrowing men from other departments as well."

Davies nodded and left the room.

"Well, Officer Belasco," said Sable, lighting a cigar as soon as Davies was out of sight, "how do you reconstruct the killings?"

"I wouldn't exactly say the man is taunting us, sir," began Belasco, "but he sure as hell isn't worried about us. He could have set it up to look like they'd killed each other, but he didn't; after all, a man with a broken neck isn't going to stab his attacker, and a man with the kind of knife wound I saw wasn't going to break another man's neck and then walk fifty feet away to die. And if he wanted to hide the fact that they were killed by the same man, all he had to do was move one of the corpses a couple of blocks away. After all, he killed them by different methods; it might have taken us a couple of days to link the murders."

"Very perceptive reasoning, Officer Belasco," said Sable. "Go on."

"Well, as I see it, he probably killed the man with the broken neck first"

"Why?"

"Because why kill a man with your bare hands when you've already shown him that you've got a knife?"

"Makes sense," agreed Sable. "I don't suppose we've found the knife yet?"

Belasco shook his head. "From the size of the wounds, it looks like he used a ceremonial dagger of some sort. Not like the little steak knife he used on the last one, if indeed it's the same killer."

"It's the same killer, all right," said Sable. "You've done a commendable job, officer. I've got a few calls to make now. Why don't you see if you can help Davies, and keep me informed if the squad turns up anything at all at the scene of the crime."

Belasco left the room just as the coffee arrived. Sable took a long swallow, sighed, and started calling other department heads, soliciting aid. Within an hour he was able to present Davies with a gift of six hundred more men to help cordon off the city.

He waited until six o'clock, then punched an intercom button.

"Yes?" said a secretary.

"Get me Tifereth on the vidphone. I want to speak to Conrad Bland. If he's sleeping, have someone wake him up."

A moment later the secretary reported that Bland accepted no personal calls, and that the Tifereth exchange wouldn't give out his number.

"Well, get me somebody up there!" snapped Sable.

"Who?"

"I don't know! Try Bland's chief of security."

"I'll do what I can."

About ten minutes later he was connected to a middle-aged man wearing a plain gray military uniform. The man stared into the camera at his end of the line without speaking.

"This is John Sable, Chief of Detectives in Amaymon. Who am I speaking to?"

"Jacob Bromberg."

"You have access to Conrad Bland?" inquired Sable.

"When necessary," said Bromberg.

"Good! I have reason to believe that a Republic assassin has been hired to liquidate Bland. He's in Amaymon now, but I suspect we're not going to be able to contain him much longer."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so? I'm telling you that someone is out to assassinate your leader!"

"He'll have to get in line," said Bromberg with a smile.

"I assure you this isn't a joke!" said Sable hotly. "This man is a highly skilled professional, and he's been here long enough to start assimilating some of our customs. We'll help you in any way we can, but I cannot overstate the seriousness of the situation."

"We appreciate your warning," said Bromberg, "but I assure you that it is unnecessary. No one is going to murder My Lord Bland."

"Will you at least tell him?" demanded Sable, glaring at the screen.

"If I get around to it," said Bromberg, breaking the connection.

Sable cursed under his breath, then rummaged through his desk, pulled out his personal vidphone directory, and placed a call to Casper Wallenbach, his counterpart in Tifereth.

"Yes?" said Wallenbach, who was obviously an early riser, for he was seated at what appeared to be a breakfast table.

"Detective Wallenbach? This is John Sable, from Amaymon."

"Mr. Sable," said Wallenbach with a smile. "How good to see you again. What can I do for you?"

"I've got a little problem that I hope you can help me with," said Sable.

"Just name it," said Wallenbach. "My department owes you a couple of favors."

"There's a Republic assassin currently at large in the city of Amaymon. We've cordoned off the city, but I don't know how long we can keep him here."

"I'd be happy to loan you reinforcements," said Wallenbach, "but my staff is almost depleted at present."

"That's not it," said Sable. "If we can contain him we won't need any help, but if not, he's going to be headed up your way. I think he's after Conrad Bland. I called Bland's chief of security, a fellow named Bromberg, but I don't think he took me seriously, so I thought I'd better let you know what's up."

"An assassin, you say?"

Sable nodded.

"Good at his trade?"

"He's had us running in circles for three days. He kills very efficiently, and he can change identities quicker than I can change clothes."

"Very interesting," said Wallenbach, gazing thoughtfully into space.

"I'll let you know as soon as I think he's gotten out," said Sable. "I really don't give us much chance of detaining him for long."

"Yes, Mr. Sable," said Wallenbach distractedly. "You do that."

"Will you need any help?"

"Oh, I doubt it," said Wallenbach, the trace of a smile playing about his thick lips. "I think we'll know exactly how to handle the situation."

What the hell is going on here? thought Sable. Bland's security chief thinks it' s a joke, and the Chief of Detectives acts like he couldn't care less.

"Fine," he said aloud. "I'll keep in touch."

"I'll be here," said Wallenbach. He reached out and broke the connection, leaving Sable to wonder why the possible assassination of the Dark Messiah of Walpurgis didn't seem to upset anyone in Tifereth.

 

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Framed