Beddle thought for a moment. No. There was no one who could be traced back to him. Unless one of the old plots from the old days had come alive again, unexpectedly. There were one or two old operatives who had simply disappeared. If it were one of them who had come to the surface again-
No. No. That could not be. The odds against it were too long.
But never mind the question of who. The question of what was far more important. And if he was right about what the police were reacting to with such energy, it was time to move, and move fast. This turn of events could be a tremendous opportunity, assuming one moved with a certain degree of care.
But suppose he was guessing wrong? Reacting to news that had not happened might put him in a rather awkward position, to put it mildly.
Simcor frowned, displeased by the conundrum. But then his face cleared and he smiled as he handed his teacup to his attendant robot. There was no need to worry. It was impossible to keep a secret. All would be known within a few hours, and that would be soon enough for the sort of actions Simcor had in mind. There was no hurry at all.
He smiled to himself and gestured for his attendant robot to lead him back to bed. He walked behind the robot, his rolling gait stately, dignified, calm. All was going well.
JUSTEN DEVRAY WATCHED as the death-black coroner’s Office robots carried Governor Chanto Grieg away. “Burning stars,” he said. “I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. ” He turned and looked toward the Governor’s bed-the deathbed-where the Crime Scene team was still at work, doing a painstaking scan for any evidence that might have been hidden by the body itself. Corpses didn’t tend to bleed much, but there was still enough blood, and the burn and scorch marks on the wall and the bedding were still horrifying enough, even if they weren’t particularly extensive. “When you called to tell me, I didn’t think of all this,” he said to Alvar Kresh. “I didn’t think about death, or about what all this is going to mean. I thought about turf wars, and that you were trying to win one.”
“Well, I was trying to win a turf war,” Kresh said. “But not because I wanted this for myself,” he said. “There were other reasons. ”
“Huthwitz,” Devray said. It was not a question.
“Huthwitz,” Kresh agreed. “It didn’t seem much like chance to me. That wasn’t someone blundering into him in the dark. It was too neat. Somebody knew exactly when and where a Ranger would be, exactly how to stalk him.”
“Except if they knew exactly where my Rangers would be, why go out of their way to kill one? Why not just slip between the Rangers?”
“That occurred to me as well,” Kresh said, his voice a bit too flat and even for it to be utterly natural. “Would there be any other reason to kill a Ranger? Maybe a reason to kill Huthwitz in particular?”
Justen felt a knot in his stomach. Kresh was not a man who missed much. “Yes,” he said. “There might be. I’m not prepared to say more just now, but there might.”
“You didn’t recognize Huthwitz’s name last night,” Kresh pointed out.
“But Melloy knew him,” Devray said. “She recognized him immediately. I still don’t know about that. I checked with our Internal Investigation unit as soon as I left the Huthwitz crime scene.”
“And they told you a thing or two you’re not quite ready to tell me,” Kresh said. “Even though we’re standing here watching them peel incinerated bits of the Governor off the wall.”
“Yes,” Justen said, rather defiantly. Justen could not bring himself to tell Kresh about the evidence linking Huthwitz to rustbacking. Not yet. Even in the face of the Governor’s death, he could not betray one of his own by confirming the report.
“You know, there are two reasons Melloy might have known who Huthwitz was. Either she was investigating him-”
“Or else she was in on whatever he was doing,” Justen said.
“Beg pardon, sirs, but there is a third possible reason,” Kresh’s robot said. “They are both law enforcement officers who were involved in gubernatorial security. She could simply have met him in the course of her normal duties.”
Justen took a good hard look at-what was his name-Donald? Justen normally wouldn’t pay much attention to a robot-especially one who was offering a rather charitable interpretation of events. Justen’s own personal robot, Genray, had gotten himself out of the way the moment they arrived at the crime scene. He had stepped into an empty wall niche and stayed there. But Justen had heard a story or two about Kresh’s robot, and Kresh clearly took him seriously. “Do you think that is a realistic possibility?” Justen asked.
