Robert Sawyer - Illegal Alien

“Apparently so. And if Smathers had learned that it was Calhoun who made PBS aware of them, costing him the host’s job—”

“All right,” said Ajax. “Let’s bring Smathers in for questioning.”

Parker Center was a large beige building two blocks from the Criminal Courts Building. Out front there was a black granite fountain dedicated to all the officers who had died in the line of duty. Part of the building was held up by a series of columns; behind these columns the main entrance was constantly guarded by armed cops.

The interrogation room was windowless, small, and dimly lit. Perez stood with one foot up on a chair. He took a sip of coffee. “I understand you had reason to dislike Cletus Calhoun,” he said.

Packwood Smathers’s white eyebrows went up. He considered for several seconds before responding. Finally, no longer looking at Perez, he said, “I object to all this, you know. I’m a Canadian citizen. If you’ll just call the consulate—”

Perez moved into Smathers’s field of view. “Professor, this won’t take long if you cooperate. Simply tell me what you had against Calhoun.”

“Nothing at all.”

“There was some thinking that perhaps he had done an end run around you to get the PBS hosting job.”

Smathers was quiet, sliding his lower teeth across his upper lip. Finally, he did meet Perez’s gaze. “I think I’d like legal counsel.”

“Why? You haven’t been charged with anything.”

Smathers rose to his feet. “Well, either do charge me and get me a lawyer, or I’m walking out that door.”

Perez spread his arms. “Why the hostility, Professor?”

Smathers’s tone was harsh. “You’re implying I killed Cletus Calhoun. I suspect even the implication of that is actionable. Look—you’re right. I didn’t like that snot-nosed hick. He may be more personable than me, and he’s got all that hillbilly charm, but he’s not half the astronomer I am. He’s just a personality , nothing but a popularizer. He dared to suggest that my work wasn’t wholly original? Christ, he hadn’t done dick on his own for years. But if you think I killed him, you’re crazy. And if you want to question me about such an offensive suggestion, you’ll do so with my lawyer present.”

Jesus Perez returned to Monty Ajax’s office. “I don’t think Smathers did it.”

Ajax looked up. “Does he have an alibi?”

“Not really. The ME says the murder took place around nine P.M., apparently. Most of the entourage and six of the Tosoks were attending an evening lecture at USC—Stephen Jay Gould was in L.A., promoting his newest essay collection. After Gould’s talk, there was a big reception. They weren’t home until after two. But Hask had begged off—to molt, he says now. And Calhoun and Smathers both stayed behind, too; Smathers didn’t like Gould, apparently—he seems to have a thorn in his side about successful science popularizers. And Calhoun said he needed the time to work on his script for his next episode of Great Balls of Fire! But the criminalists have found no evidence at all that Smathers or any other human as involved. And a team at UCLA has confirmed that the substance on the rib is not of—what was the phrase? —‘not of terrestrial origin.’ ”

“So it is likely Tosok blood—or, God help us, Tosok semen or something like that,” said Ajax. “Could it have been planted?”

“As far as we’ve been able to determine, the Tosoks have given up no tissue samples of any kind to human scientists. This apparently is a taboo with them: they consider the inner workings of the body extremely private. Apparently they were offered books on human anatomy early on, but reacted as it they had been offered copies of Hustler . Given their approach to such things, it seems highly unlikely that Smathers had access to Tosok blood.”

Ajax exhaled noisily. “So a Tosok did it?”

“Apparently.”

“And you suspect Hask?”

“Yes. The shed skin makes it damned convenient, obviously. And we’ve had the bloody footprint blown up. It almost certainly wasn’t made by Kelkad, and we’ve eliminated one of the other Tosoks—a female named Dodnaskak—because she has feet that are much too large.”

“That still leaves five other possibilities, including Hask.”

“But Hask had a bluish-gray hide.”

“ Had is right.”

“And the criminalists found this inside Calhoun’s room,” said Perez, putting a tiny Ziploc pouch on Ajax’s desk. Inside were three diamond-shaped flakes of blue-gray material. Perez was quiet for a moment while Ajax held the sample up to the light. “If Hask was about to molt,” said Perez, “he could have been dropping scales all day.”

Ajax put the pouch down and rubbed his temples.

Lieutenant Perez entered the sixth-floor lounge at Valcour Hall, accompanied by four uniformed police officers, each at least a head taller than him. The Tosoks Kelkad and Ged, as well as Frank Nobilio, were there, talking. Frank rose. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

“Come with me, Doctor,” said Perez. “Which one is Hask’s room?”

“It’s on the second floor.”

“Take us there.”

“What’s this all about?”

“Just take us there, please,” said Perez. “You’re Kelkad, aren’t you?” he said, looking now at the dark-blue Tosok. “You may want to come along, too.”

Perez pressed the call button, and the elevator immediately reopened. He stepped in and held the door, waiting for Frank and Kelkad to join him and the four uniforms. Frank sighed, and they got in. The elevator dropped four floors, and Frank indicated with a hand gesture that they should head down the east wing. They passed through several open glass doorways, and finally came to Hask’s room, at the end of the corridor.

Perez knocked on the door. “Hask, open up. This is the police.”

There were sounds of movement inside the room, and a moment later the door opened. “Are you the Tosok known as Hask?” asked Perez.

“You know that,” said Hask.

“Hask, I hereby arrest you for the murder of Cletus Calhoun.”

Frank’s eyes went wide. “Now, wait a minute—”

Perez reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his well-worn Miranda card. He knew the rights by heart, but had to read them from the card, lest some lawyer later argue that part of them had been skipped. “You have the right to remain silent. If you give up—”

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” said Frank, eyebrows climbing.

“—the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used igainst you in a court of law. You have the right—”

“You can’t arrest an alien!” said Frank.

“—to have an attorney present during questioning. If you desire an attorney—”

“For Christ’s sake, Lieutenant!”

“—but cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you without charge. Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?”

Hask staggered backward. Even with eyes in the rear of his head, he still apparently didn’t see where he was going. He bumped into his desk, and an object—a disk about thirty centimeters in diameter—fell from the desk. It hit the bottom shelf of a built-in bookcase on the way down, and cracked in two.

“Do you understand these rights as I’ve read them to you?” repeated Lieutenant, surely you can’t think that Hask committed the murder,” said Frank.

“Dr. Nobilio, we think there’s sufficient evidence to bring charges, yes. Now, Hask, do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”

Hask’s legs bowed out, allowing him to bring his two arms down to touch the floor. He picked up the two pieces and looked at them, one with his front set of eyes, the other with his rear set. The eyes Frank could see were blinking rapidly.