Eros at Zenith: Book 2 of Tales of the Velvet Comet Read online

  “In retrospect,” remarked the Dragon Lady, “I wish we'd never gotten rid of the elevator.”

  “There used to be an elevator here instead of an escalator?”

  “Yes, but some of the prostitutes occasionally wore such elaborate costumes and headdresses that they couldn't fit into the confines of the elevator, and waiting for it also caused some traffic problems during our peak periods. So we ripped it out about ten years ago and replaced it with the escalator.” She sighed. “If we hadn't, the killer would have had to beat our security system in full view of everyone.”

  “Speaking of your security system,” he said as they walked over to the escalator, “I thought you told me you had tightened it—but there was no one around when I took the tramway to the hospital.”

  She looked amused. “Well, it could hardly be considered tight if an outsider could spot it.”

  “The man in the suede suit who was sitting in the middle of the foyer?” he asked as they descended to the tramway.

  “One of the cocktail waiters,” she replied. “If he hadn't known who you were this morning, you wouldn't have been permitted to get to the tram level.”

  “If he knew who I was, why didn't the man at the other end of the computer?”

  “Enoch Lyman? He knew.”

  “Then why all the fuss about my retinagram?”

  “He was just trying to impress you with his efficiency. After all, sooner or later you're going to report everything that happens to Vainmill.”

  They reached the tramway level.

  “How long before someone else follows us?” he asked.

  “Who knows?” she replied. “I can seal off the area if you'd like.”

  “Tell your guard not to let anyone down here for about ten minutes.” He waited for her to transmit the order via a small communicator. “You have no record of Infante trying to gain access to the tramway, right?”

  “That's correct.”

  “Neither here nor at the other two entrance points?”

  She nodded.

  “All right,” he said when they had reached the gate. “Call whoever monitors these things, have him wipe my credentials off the computer for five minutes, and tell him not to panic if we trip any alarms.”

  While she was speaking to Security headquarters in low tones, Crane withdrew a plastic skeleton card and inserted it in the locking mechanism. The gate remained shut.

  Next he took a small leather kit out of his pocket, withdrew a thin metal pin, and went to work on the lock with an expertise that surprised even her. After about ten seconds an alarm sounded, and she ordered Security to shut it off.

  “All right,” he announced. “I think I know how they got into the tunnel. You've got more than just a scanning lens here, don't you? Where's the security camera—up in that corner?” He pointed to a darkened area where two walls joined the ceiling.

  “That's right.”

  “Activated by body heat?”

  “Yes.”

  “And once it's activated, what then? Does it home in, or sweep the area?”

  “It sweeps every fifteen seconds,” she explained. “There's no sense programming it to home in on the first body it locates, since we frequently have groups of five or six, or even a dozen, down here at one time.”

  “Okay. Let me time it for a minute.” He stared at the barely-perceptible camera lens as it made four sweeps of the area, then nodded briskly to himself.

  “Now,” he said to her, “when I tell you to, walk up to the gate, let it identify you, and then walk through to the platform.”

  She did so, and a moment later both of them were standing next to the tramcar, which slid back its doors to accept them.”

  “How did you manage that?” she asked. “Bend over so the identity scanner couldn't see you, and walk on through when the gate swung open?”

  He nodded. “I probably had a good five seconds to spare before the camera finished its sweep.” He snorted contemptuously. “Some security system.”

  “That's not fair, Mr. Crane,” she said mildly.

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “Security isn't as tight here as elsewhere because everything of value—jewelry, money, whatever—is likely to be in the Resort. There is absolutely no reason for a patron to surreptitiously gain entrance to the tramway to go to the Home—and if he comes up near the airlock, he'll be spotted and detained.”

  “What if he simply wants to sneak into some prostitute's room and then come back here?”

  “If he can afford to be on the Comet in the first place, he has no need to sneak anywhere. He can pay for whatever he wants.”

  “All of which constitutes an excellent justification for a badly-flawed security system,” he replied.

  “Well, at least we know how Infante got in here,” she said, declining to argue the point further.

  “We know more than that: We know that he was a willing partner in this little enterprise, and didn't feel he was in any danger.”

  “I know he was willing, but why are you sure he didn't think he was in danger?” said the Dragon Lady.

  “Oh, of course—the killer had to turn his back to Infante. If he thought he was in danger, that would have been the perfect time to run or attack.” She paused. “Well, would you care to see where we found the body?”

  “How many other tramcars are there?” he asked.

  “Just the one. We used to have a number of them, all much smaller, but they caused too much traffic congestion.”

  “How soon before it leaves?”

  “As soon as a passenger tells it to, or a gate opens at the airlock or the Home.”

  “Let's wait for it to go, then. I don't feel like being flattened by it.”

  “It's equipped with a sensor at each end,” she replied. “It stops for any obstructions.”

  The question became moot when the doors suddenly slid shut and the car raced away down the tunnel.

  Crane turned to her. “All right—let's go.”

  He hopped off the platform onto the floor of the tunnel, then reached up and lifted her down.

  “What's the fastest it can return?”

  “Maybe three minutes, if it's just going to the airlock and back,” she replied. “Otherwise, figure five minutes minimum, and probably a little longer.”

  “Just in case we see it coming back before we've reached the spot, how far apart are the alcoves?”

  “Alcoves?”

  “Maintenance ports, whatever you call them—the indentations in the tunnel wall where a maintenance worker can stand so the tramcar doesn't stop every time there's work to be done down here.”

  “Oh, you mean the service ports,” she replied. “There's one every thirty yards. That's what those dim blue lights indicate.”

  “Yeah, I can see a couple of them now,” he said, peering up the tunnel. “It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust to this.”

  Since the tramcar was powered by an overhead monorail, they made rapid progress by walking down the center of the tunnel. The car appeared just before they reached their goal, and they quickly stepped into a service port.

  “Tight fit,” he muttered as she pressed against him.

  “They were only built for one person,” she replied.

  “Get your communicator out and tell your people to kill the power on the car for twenty minutes,” he said, stepping back out into the tunnel. “This could get to be a nuisance.”

  She did so, informed him when the order had been received and carried out, and then joined him.

  “Okay,” he said, after they had walked a little farther.

  “Where's the spot?”

  “The next port,” she answered.

  They reached the port, and Crane spent a moment examining it.

  “May I assume that it's harder to break into the Home than out of the Resort?” he asked at last.

  “Much harder.”

  “Then they couldn't have been going there,” he mused aloud. “And if they wanted to go to t
he section of the Mall by the airlock, they'd have just taken the slidewalk. So whatever Infante thought they were going to do, he had to feel that this was the logical place to do it.” He looked up at her.

  “There's no security system within the tunnel, right?”

  “That's right.”

  “We know the killer didn't want any witnesses—but whatever Infante planned to do here, he didn't want any witnesses either.” He paused. “Who found the body?”

  “A maintenance man. His name is Hector Quintaro.”

  “I assume he doesn't make daily rounds?”

  “No. He only comes down here when there's a problem.”

  “And what was the problem that brought him down here the day he found the body?”

  “The port light was out. Someone aboard the tramcar noticed it and reported it.”

  “This one here?” he asked, indicating the blue light within the port.

  “Yes,” she replied. “It makes sense. Otherwise the body would have been noticed almost immediately.”

  “Lucky for the killer, wasn't it?” he said, frowning.

  “You think that's meaningful?”

  “Why wasn't it reported for two full days?” he replied. “You can't tell me nobody noticed it, not with hundreds of people passing by each day.”

  “I have no idea. It's entirely possible that nobody noticed. It's more likely that nobody cared.”

  “You didn't make inquiries?”

  “May I remind you that I was ordered to do nothing until you arrived?” she pointed out.

  “It was a stupid order,” he said.

  “I quite agree,” she answered. “You do think the light is important. Why?”

  “Because the only big thing we've got is a body, and we can't learn anything more from it,” he said impatiently. “The light may be a little thing, but it's a wrong little thing.” He paused. “Can you find out the average lifetime of one of these lights and have someone check the maintenance records to see when was the last time this particular light was serviced?”

  She pulled out her communicator.

  “And ask Quintaro what was wrong with it,” he added.

  “You can ask him yourself if you like,” she replied, offering him the device.

  He shook his head. “I'm going to take a little walk.”

  “Where to?”

  “I'm not quite sure. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

  He headed up the tunnel in the direction they had been walking, and she lost sight of him. Then, about four minutes later, he called out to her.

  “What is it?” she answered.

  “I don't feel like yelling,” he shouted back. “Just get the hell over here—and have them hold the tramcar for another twenty minutes.”

  She walked a quarter mile down the tunnel before she came to him.

  “What did you find?” she asked.

  “In a minute. First, did you get the information?”

  “Some of it. The lights have an average lifetime of six years. We don't have any individual maintenance records, but the computer says they were all replaced two years ago. I haven't been able to get in touch with Hector yet.”

  “Well, when you do, tell him it was tampered with,” said Crane firmly.

  “You mean the light?”

  He nodded. “This is getting a little more complicated than I thought,” he said.

  “In what way?”

  “Because a service port is a damned stupid place to stash a body,” he replied. “If the light is on, someone on the tram is going to spot it within five minutes, and if the light is off, maintenance is going to be informed in an hour—two or three hours, tops. Now, if our killer went to all the trouble of convincing Infante to follow him down here, and figured out a way to beat your security system back at the gate, why the hell would he be so careless with the body?”

  “You have the answer, of course,” she said dryly.

  “Yes—but it doesn't make any sense.”

  He fell silent for a moment, frowning.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I asked myself: where would I stash a body if I had killed it down here?”

  “Personally,” she said, “I'd look for a ventilation shaft.”

  “I agree,” he replied. “Not one leading to the Mall, where someone might spot the odor after a few days—but you told me before that there's a service and storage level below the tunnel.”

  “That's right,” said the Dragon Lady. “The top level—I guess it takes up three-quarters of the volume—is the Mall. Then, on this level, we have the tram tunnel, and behind these walls are all the Comet's life support and gyro systems.”

  “And behind them?”

  “Just enough room for mechanized lifts from each store to the service and storage area below us. Of course,” she added, “most of the shops don't need very much storage, but the Comet has appropriated the rest for food, furniture, recreation equipment, things like that.”

  “And since the Comet and the shops have got some pretty valuable stuff in storage, your security is pretty tight down there?”

  “There are three guards on constant duty, and a camera every thirty feet,” she answered.

  “That's about the way I envisioned it,” he said.

  “Anyway, do you see this grate on the floor of the tunnel?”

  “A ventilation shaft to the storage area,” she noted.

  Crane nodded. “For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why he didn't stash the body here instead of a service port. I mean, hell, he scouted out the whole ship and decided this was the best place to avoid detection. He probably swiped a maintenance uniform and walked up and down the length of the tunnel half a dozen times, timing himself, looking for the safest place to commit the murder and hide the body. He couldn't have missed this shaft—and there are probably 20 more just like it.” He paused. “And then he went and put the body where you couldn't miss it—except that you did miss it for more than two days.”

  “Obviously you've checked out the shaft—just as I would have done earlier had I not been ordered to wait for you. What did you find?”

  He reached into the pocket of his tunic and withdrew a piece of silvery metallic cloth. “What do you suppose the likelihood is of matching this up with what Infante was wearing?”

  “Very good,” she said, taking the fabric and examining it. “We can run a lab check, but he was wearing a silver outfit when we found him.” She paused, frowning. “Now I'm getting confused. What was that fabric doing here?”

  “Good question,” he said. “You're not going to like the answer, but it's the only one that makes sense.”

  “I have an awful feeling that I'm positively going to hate the answer,” she replied. “Why did the killer move the body? He did move it, didn't he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he hid it too well the first time.”

  The Dragon Lady uttered a most unladylike curse.

  “I knew you were going to say that!”

  “He killed Edward Infante in the only place on the whole ship where he could avoid detection, and then tucked him into the shaft. He probably figured that one of the guards down on the storage level would notice him before too long, only they didn't—so he came back here a couple of days later, moved the body to the port where you found it, and tampered with the light so nobody would spot it before he had time to get back to the Resort. The reason the light wasn't reported sooner is that it had probably only been out for a few minutes.” He paused. “This is starting to look like an interesting case. I knew he couldn't be as dumb as he seemed!”

  “But why would he want the body to be found?” persisted the Dragon Lady.

  “I don't know yet,” he replied. “But there's one fact we have to consider: he had ample time to get off the Comet when the body was in the shaft, and he didn't take advantage of it.”

  “We already know that he's still on the ship.”

  “True, but w
e know something else now. This is the part you're not going to like.”

  “What is it?” she asked grimly.

  “He's still got work to do.”

  Chapter 3

  Crane escorted the Dragon Lady to her office, dropped the fabric off at the Security laboratory, and took the tramway back to the Resort. Upon arriving he went straight to the reception desk.

  “My name's Crane,” he said. “You have a suite for me.”

  The woman behind the counter checked her computer, then smiled at him.

  “You're in Suite 16 on Level 3,” she replied. “The Black Pearl selected it especially for you.” She handed him a rather busy-looking plastic card with numerous colored squares and circles on it. “This is the key to your room, Mr. Crane,” she explained. “It is coded to your thumbprint, and will not work for anyone else. Each of the colored areas activates a different feature of your suite. The instructions are printed on the back of the card. And now, if you'll wait for just a moment, I'll send for someone to escort you.”

  “I'll find it myself,” he said, turning and walking to a bank of elevators. One arrived a few seconds later, and Crane entered it and commanded it to go to Level 3. Once there, he emerged into a thickly-carpeted corridor and began walking until he came to a door with the numeral “16” on it.

  He inserted his card into the lock, waited until the door slid into the wall, and entered his suite.

  There were two connecting rooms, both decorated in a minimalist high-tech style, with shining chrome furniture, angular sculptures, and non-representational paintings and holograms. The bedroom was dominated by a huge hexagonal waterbed made of some clear vinyl substance; a small school of alien fish swam inside it, darting in and out of the multi-colored underwater garden that flourished on the floor of the bed. Both the bedroom and the living room had small, functional wet bars, and shared a translucent quartz fireplace that was set into one of the walls.

  There was a door at the far end of the bedroom, and he ordered it to open. It did so, revealing a bathroom possessing a sauna and a whirlpool, both with solid gold fixtures.