Elizabeth Bonesteel - The Cold Between

He flashed her a smile that Elena had long ago noted many women—even as young as this one—found charming. Elena saw the pale cheeks color a little, and her dark eyes warmed. “Of course,” she replied easily, giving Elena a perfunctory glance. “I’ll let him know you’re here.” She walked off toward the private offices that lined the room’s interior walls.

One of the office doors opened, and the weary-eyed Chief Stoya emerged. In person he seemed smaller, although he was easily Elena’s height. She thought the illusion came from the way he moved, compact and efficient, threading himself between the desks with ease. He scanned the room with wary intelligence, and despite his cold expression she wondered if he would prove more flexible than she had assumed.

She did not have to wonder long. He shot her a look of open dislike, then let his gaze settle on Bob. “You are Doctor Hastings,” he said. His rigid mouth thinned. “Doctor Velikovsky is waiting for you downstairs in the morgue,” he said. “Officer Keller will escort you.”

That accent again, different from that of the locals she had heard in the city, and still vaguely familiar. He sounded like some of the traders she knew, and she wondered if he had spent time in the Fourth Sector. Cygnus, maybe, or Osaka Prime. Someplace with money.

Bob favored Keller, the young woman at the desk, with a pleased smile. “That’s very kind of you, Chief,” he said, and Elena thought his warmth was sincere.

As Keller made her way around the desk, Stoya locked his eyes on Elena. They were cold, those weary eyes; ice-blue and clear, but barren of any emotion at all.

“Captain Foster says you are a material witness,” he said. “You will make a statement, on the record?”

She nodded, and caught a flicker of emotion in his face, too quick to identify.

“Very well. Luvidovich!” he shouted.

Another office door opened, and Luvidovich emerged. She saw him hesitate, his confident expression wavering, and then his face darkened as he realized she was about to ruin his day. She had wondered if he would remember her.

It was still not payback enough.

He kept his eyes on her as he approached. “Yes, sir,” he said to Stoya when he was close enough.

“This woman,” Stoya said, “claims she can provide Zajec with an alibi. Set up the polygraph and take her statement.”

Luvidovich flushed, and she saw his teeth clench. “That is not possible.”

Stoya gave an impatient sigh. “If it is not possible, she will fail the polygraph. And then, if you wish, you may charge her with obstruction of justice. But until that happens, do as you are told.” He added a phrase in the local dialect; Elena, despite her passing familiarity with the language, missed it entirely.

Luvidovich, however, did not miss it at all. He colored more deeply, but straightened up, composing himself. He glanced back at Elena, then looked away as quickly as he could. “Follow me,” he told her.

Elena turned and met Bob’s eyes; he nodded at her, and she followed Luvidovich out of the room.

Luvidovich took her statement in a small, dank, and poorly lit basement room, with the help of an ancient polygraph. At times he seemed to believe he was interrogating her, challenging the sequence of events and accusing her of saying things she had not said; but after a quarter of an hour it struck her that however hostile his delivery, Luvidovich was doing his job, and fairly well. She thought she might have misjudged him, at least a little. No professional police officer would release a suspect lightly.

But it was not until they had left the polygraph behind and were heading up the stairs to the lobby that he asked her anything about Danny himself.

“Did you know the dead man well?”

She could not see his face, but his tone was overcasual, and she tensed. “There are just over two hundred and fifty people on board right now,” she told him. “We all know each other well.” It was only a slight exaggeration.

“Did you speak to him about Volhynia before you came?”

The question threw her, and she felt a glimmer of relief; she had been expecting something more personal. “He was talking to people about the planet’s history—its stability, agriculture, how the population dealt with the pulsar. Not much else, though.” He had sounded like a tourist the first time away from home; they had all teased him. Something rolled over in her stomach, and she bit her tongue to quiet it.

“It was the pulsar that interested him?” Luvidovich’s tone had sharpened.

“He mentioned it,” she repeated. “But he spoke of a lot of things.” He has found something. Despite his earlier hostility, she could not keep from pressing him. “What is it?”

He was silent as he climbed the last few steps, and when he turned as the door opened, she thought he was going to answer her. But she became abruptly aware of the audience that stood beyond the doorway: a dozen members of the press, gathered in a polite crowd in the station’s foyer. Before them, his hands behind his back like a field admiral, stood Chief Stoya. Luvidovich’s expression went flat.

“I must ask you to wait, Commander Shaw.” The police chief’s voice was even as he stepped forward to face her down. Elena watched him warily; next to her, Luvidovich did not move. Stoya had not acknowledged his subordinate at all. “Are you aware of our laws governing obstruction of justice? I should like to know why Central is choosing to champion a known criminal.”

He had listened in as she made her statement, of course—she had expected nothing less—but his response to it was puzzling. Hadn’t she just advanced his case by eliminating a suspect? Why would he try to discredit her? Especially in front of the press? Beside her Luvidovich shifted, his eyes quickly scanning the reporters before resting unhappily on the open entryway beyond. She did not really expect him to challenge his superior in public, but he seemed reluctant to engage Stoya at all. She was missing something.

Whatever Stoya’s reasoning, if he thought the presence of reporters would make her back off and leave, he was going to be disappointed. “It has nothing to do with championing anyone,” she said. “We wish the criminal to be brought to justice, and Captain Zajec is not responsible for this murder. You’re not going to find the one who killed my crewmate by pursuing some personal vendetta against one of your own.”

That caught Luvidovich’s attention. He turned on her, face reddening, his stiff discomfort erupting suddenly into rage. “He is not one of our own!” That same quick temper from the night before; she wondered if his problem was with Captain Zajec, or if he disliked all foreigners. She found her curiosity becoming an annoyance; when had this stopped being about Danny?

Deliberately, she took a step toward Luvidovich. “And what is your standard for that? Because he grew up somewhere else? So did your own police chief, and that doesn’t seem to bother you at all.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stoya’s face flicker with surprise, and she felt a moment’s satisfaction. He had not expected her to know.

“You make me wonder if this is typical on Volhynia,” Elena continued. The anger that had been building since she had learned of Danny’s death began to rise in the back of her throat. Luvidovich knew something, dammit, and she couldn’t understand why he was stonewalling her. “That you would fabricate evidence against someone simply because you dislike him, and then try to discredit someone who points out your error. Perhaps your department hasn’t the skills to do the job properly. Is that the problem? Or is it just that the case has been botched by your off-worlder police chief?”