(Note: This is too long for the September challenge, but I decided to post it as a short story. Enjoy!)
Dragnet 2377
The story you are about to read is true. Only the facts have been changed to protect the innocent.
This is the city – Rigellia, Rigel IV. Over 12 million sentient beings call this metropolis home. Most are honest, law-abiding citizens seeking to live a peaceful life on the most populous planet in the Federation. Some prefer to ignore the rules, taking advantage of their fellow beings. On occasion someone loses their life. That’s where I come in. My name is Friday. I carry a badge.
It was Hynaday morning. The weather was unseasonably warm and rain was scheduled for midday. I was working the day watch out of homicide with my partner, Detective Bill Gannon. Our boss, Chief Inspector Syuun entered the squad room and dropped a PADD on my desk. I didn’t need a mind-meld to know the skipper wasn’t happy.
“Sergeant Friday, Detective Gannon, we have another dead Klingon – the fourth this month. A patrol unit received a call at 0637 about the deceased discovered at the Riikul Apartments on Lytoo Street.”
“Classy place,” chimed in Gannon. “if you’re a Denebian cockroach.”
Syuun didn’t comment on Bill’s remark, though I could tell he was annoyed. Then again, Syuun always seemed annoyed.
“Like the others?” I asked.
The skipper nodded. “Yes. Same scenario as before – signs of a struggle, yet no evidence of any attacker. And like the others, this one was asphyxiated.”
I stood and grabbed my PADD, holstered my phaser and put on my jacket. “Better head on down there,” I said. “Any witnesses?”
Syuun shook his head. “None. The apartment manager, a Mrs. Trjix called it in. See what you can get from her.”
* * *
Traffic was still heavy as Bill drove our unmarked skimmer through the crowded streets. It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach the scene of the crime. The Riikul Apartments were situated in the industrial district.
“Joe, when are you going to have dinner with us again? The missus has a lady friend she’d like you to meet.”
“Last time I came over, you tried to fix me up with a ‘lady’ with three eyes.”
“You have to admit, she had a great personality.”
“She also had three legs.”
Bill sighed. “Partner, you have some pretty high standards.”
“I don’t think expecting an even number of eyes and limbs is asking too much.”
“You’ll never get hitched with that kind of attitude.”
“Here’s the place,” I said, glad to change the subject. “Pull in over there.”
The apartment building was gray and somber, like the weather, bracketed by a pair of imposing warehouses. Two patrol skimmers with warning lights still strobing were parked ahead of us. A uniformed Andorian patrolman stood by the entrance and nodded at us as we approached.
“Detectives,” he said in greeting. “Body’s in apartment 21, second floor. The landlady is in the office over there. She’s pretty shook up.”
“Thanks Vishuul.” We headed up a dark stairwell to the second floor. The air smelled of mildew and fried foods. Nearby a baby was crying. A second patrolman stood in front of apartment 21, a look of disgust on his face.
“You might want to put on a filter mask, Joe,” warned the officer. “It’s ripe in there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve smelled this before.”
We entered the apartment – a small efficiency unit that probably ran 200 credits a month. It showed its age with worn carpet and dingy wall coverings. The scattered and broken third-hand furniture looked like it had been rescued from a recycling facility. I set those impressions aside as I saw a large Klingon lying in the middle of the sitting room. From the smell, he had been dead for at least a day. Corporal Yizan Kel was holding a tricorder in one hand and a handkerchief over his nose. The Trill spots along his neck were very pronounced, indicating his discomfort.
“Kel, what do we have?”
The officer lowered his makeshift mask. “Klingon male – late sixties. No visible marks on the corpse except old scars – probably from combat decades ago. C.O.D. appears to be asphyxia – at least that’s what I get from this glitchy tricorder.”
I nodded. “We’ll let the coroner make that call.” I knelt down and pointed at a familiar object. “Looks like he tried to put up a fight.”
Kel nodded. “He is Klingon. It’s their way. No sign of blood or DNA on the blade, though.”
Bill slipped on a pair of gloves and picked up the d’k tahg. The three blades were spread, ready for use.
“Looks like he never got a chance to use it,” remarked Gannon as he slipped the weapon into an evidence bag.
“Pretty hard to sneak up on a Klingon,” I mused. “And by the looks of things, there was quite a struggle.”
“I don’t know many people who could disarm a Klingon,” said Bill.
“Unless it was another Klingon,” suggested Kel.
“No. If it was another Klingon, there would definitely be blood. Any signs of trauma on the victim’s neck?”
“No – and that’s the weird thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He wasn’t choked. He was smothered.”
“Joe? Take a look at this.” Gannon was holding a strand of hair with a pair of tweezers. Kel came over and ran the tricorder over it.
“Huh. That can’t be right.” He shook the tricorder irritably.
“Easy there, son,” chided Gannon. “What does it say?”
“According to this, that hair came from a Tribble.”
* * *
The coroner and CSI team arrived and relieved Corporal Kel, who seemed happy to be relieved of his post. Bill and I decided to interview the landlady, Mrs. Trjix. We found her in her office, her head crest rising and falling with agitation. She blinked at us with eyes the size of dinner plates and licked her face with a long black tongue.
“Sergeant Joe Friday, ma’am. This is my partner, Detective Bill Gannon. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Oh, this is awful, just awful! That poor Mr. Krelak. Such a nice man . . . for a Klingon, anyway.”
“Yes ma’am. The patrol officers said you found Mr. Krelak this morning.”
“That’s right. He’s always very prompt – comes down to use the replimat each morning at 5:00. Always gets some sort of squirmy stuff to eat, not that I pay close attention. I don’t like to pry.”
“No ma’am. So he didn’t come down this morning?”
“No, he didn’t. I thought it was odd, ‘cause I heard him come in late last night. He was singing very loud – something in Klingon, though – I didn’t understand a word. I think he was putting away the bloodwine, if you catch my drift.”
Mrs. Trjix had lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret with us. I tried to get the conversation back on track.
“Back to this morning. When he didn’t show up at his normal time, what did you do?”
“Well . . . nothing at first. I’m not one of those nosey landlords like some people I know. Figured it wasn’t any of my business, right? But around six I got to thinking – I’d hate for him to lose his job – he works down at the tritanium ore processing plant – so I decided to knock on his door.”
I made notes in my PADD. “Go on.”
“Like I said, I went on upstairs to knock on his door – only . . .”
“Only what, ma’am?” asked Bill.
“His door was already partly open. I thought that was very odd, because Mr. Krelak is a stickler for privacy. That’s one reason I hesitated even to go up there.”
“Why not call him over his comm.?” I asked.
“Doesn’t have one. He’s a bit hard of hearing and he’s vain about it. I’ve noticed a lot of men get sensitive about hearing loss. Vanity, I suppose. What do you think?”
“Just the facts, ma’am,” I replied, giving Gannon a warning look. He was enjoying the conversation too much. “What did you do then?”
“What anyone would do, I suppose. I called his name. No answer of course, but I figured he just couldn’t hear me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to do. Like I said, he was a stickler for his privacy – I hated to just barge in. What if he were . . .” she leaned forward, her eyes now the size of large pizzas, “. . . naked!”
Gannon had a sudden coughing fit. I cleared my throat and continued. “Did you, or did you not, go into the apartment, Mrs. Trjix?”
The landlady frowned and her tongue darted out, snatching a flying insect that blundered into range. “Hold your ktanurrs, young man – I’m getting to that. Like I said, I wasn’t sure what to do when Mr. Mukara came out of his apartment to walk his little dog, Prissy. It’s a Yerkie or Yorkie, something like that. I can’t tell one Terran dog from another. At least Mr. Mukara is good about cleaning up the dog poop off the sidewalk. Some people don’t, you know!”
“Yes ma’am, I know. Did Mr. Mukara go in the apartment with you?”
“I’m coming to that. Don’t rush me, young man, my hearts are beating twenty times a minute already and if my blood temperature drops any lower I’ll be hibernating for a month!”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“Well, Mr. Mukara says, ‘good morning,’ and I do the same when his little dog starts whining and pulling hard at his leash. Mr. Mukara is getting frail – he’s 125 if he’s a day, though he says he’s only 115. The little dog snatched the leash right out of his hand and ran into the apartment! Poor Mr. Mukara was so upset – he didn’t like Mr. Krelak much, I think he was kinda prejudiced against Klingons, if you ask me, and before I could say another word, he ran into the apartment after the dog.”
I glanced at Bill who looked back at me and shrugged. Some people just can’t tell the short version.
“And what happened next, Mrs. Trjix?”
“Well, what do you think happened? We found poor Mr. Krelak just like you saw him, poor thing.”
“Did Mr. Krelak have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might wish to do him harm?”
She shook her head as her tongue ran across her eyes. “No, no one. Like I said, he was pretty quiet – stayed to himself mostly. Nice enough for a Klingon.”
I switched off my PADD and stowed it inside my jacket. Bill and I stood.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Trjix. We appreciate your cooperation.”
She stood unsteadily on four legs and rubbed a foreclaw against her chin. “One other thing – though it’s probably nothing.”
“Every detail helps, ma’am.”
“Shortly before Mr. Krelak got in last night, I noticed a cargo van parked in front of the building. I’ve seen it around once or twice recently. Kind of odd, though.”
“How’s that?”
“It was from a pet store. There aren’t any pet stores anywhere near here.”
“Maybe they were delivering for one of your tenants,” suggested Gannon. “Maybe for Mr. Mukara’s dog?”
“No – I asked him about that. He replicates dog food for his pooch. No one else in the building owns a pet. Believe me, I would know!”
Gannon and I exchanged a look. “Can you remember the name of the pet store?”
She tapped the hard carapace of her head. “Got what you call eidetic memory. Remember everything I see. It was the Great Bird of the Galaxy Pet Store on L’Dier Street.”
* * *
Bill and I thanked Mrs. Trjix for her cooperation and left our comm. codes should she remember anything else. We left the scene and headed toward L’Dier Street to interview the proprietor of the pet store.
“Cases like this give me a headache, Joe.”
I nodded. “I hear you. Too little evidence to go on.”
“No, I don’t mean that. It’s going into these old apartment buildings. Mold spores – they go right up your nose. Gives me one humdinger of a headache everytime.”
I smiled. “There’s some pain-killers in the first aid kit.”
Bill shook his head and gave me a side-long glance. “Just covers the symptoms, Joe. The real trick is to inhale steaming hot water with lemon juice. Knocks it out every time.”
“We’re fresh out of lemon juice, Bill.”
“Story of my life, Joe.”
We made good time through traffic and in fifteen minutes we pulled up in front of the Great Bird of the Galaxy Pet Store.
“Did you have a pet growing up, Joe?”
“Not that I remember. My folks weren’t too fond of animals.”
“Too bad. We always had pets of some kind around when I was a kid – dogs, cats, goldfish. My brother Ernie once had a Slime-worm that he kept under his bed. Mom came across it one day and about had a coronary – the thing was about two meters long with a mouthful of teeth. That was it for the Slime-worm.”
We turned onto L’Dier Street and pulled to the curb a block from the pet store. Parked in front of the store was the large cargo van that Mrs. Trjix had described. It was covered in colorful graphics showing smiling pets from a host of planets.
“Kinda creepy if you ask me,” remarked Bill.
“What’s that?”
“All those smiling animals on that van. Look, there’s a smiling Slime-worm.”
I gave the van another look. Something didn’t make sense.
“Hey Bill.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you suppose a pet store needs such a big van?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
We allowed the scheduled rain shower to pass before making our way to the store. Bill grabbed my arm as we came alongside the van.
“Joe, look at that.”
I followed Bill’s finger to the heavy-duty repulsor lift units on the van. The vehicle was equipped to carry a great deal of weight.
“Unless cattle have become popular pets, doesn’t that seem like overkill to you?” Bill asked. I nodded.
“Let’s go inside.”
The pet store was much like any you would find on a Federation world, particularly that catered to humans. There were dogs and cats of various kinds kept safely behind low-level force fields and aisle after aisle of pet foods and accessories. Glass tanks held fish, reptiles and amphibians while more exotic creatures from around the quadrant lined another wall. A young Rigellian girl stood behind the counter. She placed the PADD she was reading on the counter and greeted us.
“May I help you?” she asked. Bill and I produced our credentials.
“I’m Sergeant Friday, this is my partner, Detective Gannon. Is the manager in?”
The girl looked surprised when she saw our credentials. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Just part of an investigation. We need to ask the manager a few questions?”
“What sort of investigation?” came a booming voice.
Bill and I turned to see a tall well-built human male who appeared to be in his late middle-age. His close-cropped hair was slate gray and he had a prominent scar across his nose and cheek. I don’t think he was glad to see us.
“A murder investigation,” I replied. The man was carrying a heavy bag of dog food over his shoulder, which he placed on a display pallet. He didn’t seem shocked by my pronouncement.
“Murder, huh? Someone shoot a dog? Vaporize a hamster?” He smiled at his joke but I saw no humor in his eyes. “Steven Dodd. I own this place.” He didn’t offer his hand in greeting.
After identifying Bill and myself, I produced my PADD from my jacket and displayed the image of the late Mr. Krelak. “Do you know him, Mr. Dodd?” I asked.
The image of the dead Klingon did not cause any apparent reaction in Dodd. “I’ve seen plenty of dead Klingons Detective. Served three hitches with the Marines and got into some nasty border skirmishes back in the day.”
“You didn’t answer the question, Dodd. Do you know this Klingon?”
He took the PADD and gave it a perfunctory once over before handing it back to me. “Nope. Should I?”
Bill cocked an eye at him. “Mr. Dodd, your van out there was spotted near Krelak’s apartment on more than one occasion, including last night when he was killed. Care to explain that?”
Dodd looked puzzled. “My van? You must be mistaken.”
“No mistake – we have an eye witness. Mind if we take a look inside the van?”
He shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Dodd unlocked the cargo bay of the van and we stepped inside. It smelled strongly of assorted animals and pet food, though there were no animals in it at the moment. Bill pulled out his pocket tricorder and began scanning the interior.
“What are you looking for?” Dodd asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled but I’ve met some pretty good actors among the criminal class.
“We’ll know when we find it,” I replied. Bill’s tricorder began to beep for attention and he followed it forward then knelt down to the deck. He glanced up at me.
“Tribble fur. From the readings, there were a bunch of them, too.”
Dodd shook his head in protest. “No way! Tribbles are illegal for trade. I’ve never carried them and never will!”
Bill shoved the tricorder toward Dodd. “Care to explain this, then?”
The man’s face reddened. “Marconi!” He spat out the name in obvious distaste.
“Who’s Marconi?” I asked.
“A guy that used to work for me, ‘til I fired him about a month ago. Found out he was trading exotics on the black market – restricted and illegal animals, some of them dangerous. He was also into gene manipulation – called it a hobby but I got the feeling he was up to no good.”
Bill took down the information on his PADD. “Where can we find this ‘Marconi?’”
“He was living in the industrial district. Not far from where you said the Klingon was killed.” He rubbed his jaw. “I changed the security code on the van. He must have gotten hold of the new one somehow.” His expression hardened. “Disala!”
“Who?”
“My clerk – you just met her. She and Marconi used to hang out – I’ll bet she gave him the code!”
We went back into the store. Bill called in Marconi’s address to dispatch a patrol unit while I talked to the girl. She quickly admitted that she had passed the code to Marconi – he claimed he needed the truck to move some items. She didn’t mean to do anything wrong.
By the look Dodd gave her, I was pretty sure she would be looking for new employment before the end of the day.
* * *
Dragnet 2377
The story you are about to read is true. Only the facts have been changed to protect the innocent.
This is the city – Rigellia, Rigel IV. Over 12 million sentient beings call this metropolis home. Most are honest, law-abiding citizens seeking to live a peaceful life on the most populous planet in the Federation. Some prefer to ignore the rules, taking advantage of their fellow beings. On occasion someone loses their life. That’s where I come in. My name is Friday. I carry a badge.
It was Hynaday morning. The weather was unseasonably warm and rain was scheduled for midday. I was working the day watch out of homicide with my partner, Detective Bill Gannon. Our boss, Chief Inspector Syuun entered the squad room and dropped a PADD on my desk. I didn’t need a mind-meld to know the skipper wasn’t happy.
“Sergeant Friday, Detective Gannon, we have another dead Klingon – the fourth this month. A patrol unit received a call at 0637 about the deceased discovered at the Riikul Apartments on Lytoo Street.”
“Classy place,” chimed in Gannon. “if you’re a Denebian cockroach.”
Syuun didn’t comment on Bill’s remark, though I could tell he was annoyed. Then again, Syuun always seemed annoyed.
“Like the others?” I asked.
The skipper nodded. “Yes. Same scenario as before – signs of a struggle, yet no evidence of any attacker. And like the others, this one was asphyxiated.”
I stood and grabbed my PADD, holstered my phaser and put on my jacket. “Better head on down there,” I said. “Any witnesses?”
Syuun shook his head. “None. The apartment manager, a Mrs. Trjix called it in. See what you can get from her.”
* * *
Traffic was still heavy as Bill drove our unmarked skimmer through the crowded streets. It took us nearly twenty minutes to reach the scene of the crime. The Riikul Apartments were situated in the industrial district.
“Joe, when are you going to have dinner with us again? The missus has a lady friend she’d like you to meet.”
“Last time I came over, you tried to fix me up with a ‘lady’ with three eyes.”
“You have to admit, she had a great personality.”
“She also had three legs.”
Bill sighed. “Partner, you have some pretty high standards.”
“I don’t think expecting an even number of eyes and limbs is asking too much.”
“You’ll never get hitched with that kind of attitude.”
“Here’s the place,” I said, glad to change the subject. “Pull in over there.”
The apartment building was gray and somber, like the weather, bracketed by a pair of imposing warehouses. Two patrol skimmers with warning lights still strobing were parked ahead of us. A uniformed Andorian patrolman stood by the entrance and nodded at us as we approached.
“Detectives,” he said in greeting. “Body’s in apartment 21, second floor. The landlady is in the office over there. She’s pretty shook up.”
“Thanks Vishuul.” We headed up a dark stairwell to the second floor. The air smelled of mildew and fried foods. Nearby a baby was crying. A second patrolman stood in front of apartment 21, a look of disgust on his face.
“You might want to put on a filter mask, Joe,” warned the officer. “It’s ripe in there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ve smelled this before.”
We entered the apartment – a small efficiency unit that probably ran 200 credits a month. It showed its age with worn carpet and dingy wall coverings. The scattered and broken third-hand furniture looked like it had been rescued from a recycling facility. I set those impressions aside as I saw a large Klingon lying in the middle of the sitting room. From the smell, he had been dead for at least a day. Corporal Yizan Kel was holding a tricorder in one hand and a handkerchief over his nose. The Trill spots along his neck were very pronounced, indicating his discomfort.
“Kel, what do we have?”
The officer lowered his makeshift mask. “Klingon male – late sixties. No visible marks on the corpse except old scars – probably from combat decades ago. C.O.D. appears to be asphyxia – at least that’s what I get from this glitchy tricorder.”
I nodded. “We’ll let the coroner make that call.” I knelt down and pointed at a familiar object. “Looks like he tried to put up a fight.”
Kel nodded. “He is Klingon. It’s their way. No sign of blood or DNA on the blade, though.”
Bill slipped on a pair of gloves and picked up the d’k tahg. The three blades were spread, ready for use.
“Looks like he never got a chance to use it,” remarked Gannon as he slipped the weapon into an evidence bag.
“Pretty hard to sneak up on a Klingon,” I mused. “And by the looks of things, there was quite a struggle.”
“I don’t know many people who could disarm a Klingon,” said Bill.
“Unless it was another Klingon,” suggested Kel.
“No. If it was another Klingon, there would definitely be blood. Any signs of trauma on the victim’s neck?”
“No – and that’s the weird thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He wasn’t choked. He was smothered.”
“Joe? Take a look at this.” Gannon was holding a strand of hair with a pair of tweezers. Kel came over and ran the tricorder over it.
“Huh. That can’t be right.” He shook the tricorder irritably.
“Easy there, son,” chided Gannon. “What does it say?”
“According to this, that hair came from a Tribble.”
* * *
The coroner and CSI team arrived and relieved Corporal Kel, who seemed happy to be relieved of his post. Bill and I decided to interview the landlady, Mrs. Trjix. We found her in her office, her head crest rising and falling with agitation. She blinked at us with eyes the size of dinner plates and licked her face with a long black tongue.
“Sergeant Joe Friday, ma’am. This is my partner, Detective Bill Gannon. Can you tell us what happened?”
“Oh, this is awful, just awful! That poor Mr. Krelak. Such a nice man . . . for a Klingon, anyway.”
“Yes ma’am. The patrol officers said you found Mr. Krelak this morning.”
“That’s right. He’s always very prompt – comes down to use the replimat each morning at 5:00. Always gets some sort of squirmy stuff to eat, not that I pay close attention. I don’t like to pry.”
“No ma’am. So he didn’t come down this morning?”
“No, he didn’t. I thought it was odd, ‘cause I heard him come in late last night. He was singing very loud – something in Klingon, though – I didn’t understand a word. I think he was putting away the bloodwine, if you catch my drift.”
Mrs. Trjix had lowered her voice, as if sharing a secret with us. I tried to get the conversation back on track.
“Back to this morning. When he didn’t show up at his normal time, what did you do?”
“Well . . . nothing at first. I’m not one of those nosey landlords like some people I know. Figured it wasn’t any of my business, right? But around six I got to thinking – I’d hate for him to lose his job – he works down at the tritanium ore processing plant – so I decided to knock on his door.”
I made notes in my PADD. “Go on.”
“Like I said, I went on upstairs to knock on his door – only . . .”
“Only what, ma’am?” asked Bill.
“His door was already partly open. I thought that was very odd, because Mr. Krelak is a stickler for privacy. That’s one reason I hesitated even to go up there.”
“Why not call him over his comm.?” I asked.
“Doesn’t have one. He’s a bit hard of hearing and he’s vain about it. I’ve noticed a lot of men get sensitive about hearing loss. Vanity, I suppose. What do you think?”
“Just the facts, ma’am,” I replied, giving Gannon a warning look. He was enjoying the conversation too much. “What did you do then?”
“What anyone would do, I suppose. I called his name. No answer of course, but I figured he just couldn’t hear me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure what to do. Like I said, he was a stickler for his privacy – I hated to just barge in. What if he were . . .” she leaned forward, her eyes now the size of large pizzas, “. . . naked!”
Gannon had a sudden coughing fit. I cleared my throat and continued. “Did you, or did you not, go into the apartment, Mrs. Trjix?”
The landlady frowned and her tongue darted out, snatching a flying insect that blundered into range. “Hold your ktanurrs, young man – I’m getting to that. Like I said, I wasn’t sure what to do when Mr. Mukara came out of his apartment to walk his little dog, Prissy. It’s a Yerkie or Yorkie, something like that. I can’t tell one Terran dog from another. At least Mr. Mukara is good about cleaning up the dog poop off the sidewalk. Some people don’t, you know!”
“Yes ma’am, I know. Did Mr. Mukara go in the apartment with you?”
“I’m coming to that. Don’t rush me, young man, my hearts are beating twenty times a minute already and if my blood temperature drops any lower I’ll be hibernating for a month!”
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“Well, Mr. Mukara says, ‘good morning,’ and I do the same when his little dog starts whining and pulling hard at his leash. Mr. Mukara is getting frail – he’s 125 if he’s a day, though he says he’s only 115. The little dog snatched the leash right out of his hand and ran into the apartment! Poor Mr. Mukara was so upset – he didn’t like Mr. Krelak much, I think he was kinda prejudiced against Klingons, if you ask me, and before I could say another word, he ran into the apartment after the dog.”
I glanced at Bill who looked back at me and shrugged. Some people just can’t tell the short version.
“And what happened next, Mrs. Trjix?”
“Well, what do you think happened? We found poor Mr. Krelak just like you saw him, poor thing.”
“Did Mr. Krelak have any enemies that you know of? Anyone who might wish to do him harm?”
She shook her head as her tongue ran across her eyes. “No, no one. Like I said, he was pretty quiet – stayed to himself mostly. Nice enough for a Klingon.”
I switched off my PADD and stowed it inside my jacket. Bill and I stood.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Trjix. We appreciate your cooperation.”
She stood unsteadily on four legs and rubbed a foreclaw against her chin. “One other thing – though it’s probably nothing.”
“Every detail helps, ma’am.”
“Shortly before Mr. Krelak got in last night, I noticed a cargo van parked in front of the building. I’ve seen it around once or twice recently. Kind of odd, though.”
“How’s that?”
“It was from a pet store. There aren’t any pet stores anywhere near here.”
“Maybe they were delivering for one of your tenants,” suggested Gannon. “Maybe for Mr. Mukara’s dog?”
“No – I asked him about that. He replicates dog food for his pooch. No one else in the building owns a pet. Believe me, I would know!”
Gannon and I exchanged a look. “Can you remember the name of the pet store?”
She tapped the hard carapace of her head. “Got what you call eidetic memory. Remember everything I see. It was the Great Bird of the Galaxy Pet Store on L’Dier Street.”
* * *
Bill and I thanked Mrs. Trjix for her cooperation and left our comm. codes should she remember anything else. We left the scene and headed toward L’Dier Street to interview the proprietor of the pet store.
“Cases like this give me a headache, Joe.”
I nodded. “I hear you. Too little evidence to go on.”
“No, I don’t mean that. It’s going into these old apartment buildings. Mold spores – they go right up your nose. Gives me one humdinger of a headache everytime.”
I smiled. “There’s some pain-killers in the first aid kit.”
Bill shook his head and gave me a side-long glance. “Just covers the symptoms, Joe. The real trick is to inhale steaming hot water with lemon juice. Knocks it out every time.”
“We’re fresh out of lemon juice, Bill.”
“Story of my life, Joe.”
We made good time through traffic and in fifteen minutes we pulled up in front of the Great Bird of the Galaxy Pet Store.
“Did you have a pet growing up, Joe?”
“Not that I remember. My folks weren’t too fond of animals.”
“Too bad. We always had pets of some kind around when I was a kid – dogs, cats, goldfish. My brother Ernie once had a Slime-worm that he kept under his bed. Mom came across it one day and about had a coronary – the thing was about two meters long with a mouthful of teeth. That was it for the Slime-worm.”
We turned onto L’Dier Street and pulled to the curb a block from the pet store. Parked in front of the store was the large cargo van that Mrs. Trjix had described. It was covered in colorful graphics showing smiling pets from a host of planets.
“Kinda creepy if you ask me,” remarked Bill.
“What’s that?”
“All those smiling animals on that van. Look, there’s a smiling Slime-worm.”
I gave the van another look. Something didn’t make sense.
“Hey Bill.”
“Yeah?”
“Why do you suppose a pet store needs such a big van?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
We allowed the scheduled rain shower to pass before making our way to the store. Bill grabbed my arm as we came alongside the van.
“Joe, look at that.”
I followed Bill’s finger to the heavy-duty repulsor lift units on the van. The vehicle was equipped to carry a great deal of weight.
“Unless cattle have become popular pets, doesn’t that seem like overkill to you?” Bill asked. I nodded.
“Let’s go inside.”
The pet store was much like any you would find on a Federation world, particularly that catered to humans. There were dogs and cats of various kinds kept safely behind low-level force fields and aisle after aisle of pet foods and accessories. Glass tanks held fish, reptiles and amphibians while more exotic creatures from around the quadrant lined another wall. A young Rigellian girl stood behind the counter. She placed the PADD she was reading on the counter and greeted us.
“May I help you?” she asked. Bill and I produced our credentials.
“I’m Sergeant Friday, this is my partner, Detective Gannon. Is the manager in?”
The girl looked surprised when she saw our credentials. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“Just part of an investigation. We need to ask the manager a few questions?”
“What sort of investigation?” came a booming voice.
Bill and I turned to see a tall well-built human male who appeared to be in his late middle-age. His close-cropped hair was slate gray and he had a prominent scar across his nose and cheek. I don’t think he was glad to see us.
“A murder investigation,” I replied. The man was carrying a heavy bag of dog food over his shoulder, which he placed on a display pallet. He didn’t seem shocked by my pronouncement.
“Murder, huh? Someone shoot a dog? Vaporize a hamster?” He smiled at his joke but I saw no humor in his eyes. “Steven Dodd. I own this place.” He didn’t offer his hand in greeting.
After identifying Bill and myself, I produced my PADD from my jacket and displayed the image of the late Mr. Krelak. “Do you know him, Mr. Dodd?” I asked.
The image of the dead Klingon did not cause any apparent reaction in Dodd. “I’ve seen plenty of dead Klingons Detective. Served three hitches with the Marines and got into some nasty border skirmishes back in the day.”
“You didn’t answer the question, Dodd. Do you know this Klingon?”
He took the PADD and gave it a perfunctory once over before handing it back to me. “Nope. Should I?”
Bill cocked an eye at him. “Mr. Dodd, your van out there was spotted near Krelak’s apartment on more than one occasion, including last night when he was killed. Care to explain that?”
Dodd looked puzzled. “My van? You must be mistaken.”
“No mistake – we have an eye witness. Mind if we take a look inside the van?”
He shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Dodd unlocked the cargo bay of the van and we stepped inside. It smelled strongly of assorted animals and pet food, though there were no animals in it at the moment. Bill pulled out his pocket tricorder and began scanning the interior.
“What are you looking for?” Dodd asked. He seemed genuinely puzzled but I’ve met some pretty good actors among the criminal class.
“We’ll know when we find it,” I replied. Bill’s tricorder began to beep for attention and he followed it forward then knelt down to the deck. He glanced up at me.
“Tribble fur. From the readings, there were a bunch of them, too.”
Dodd shook his head in protest. “No way! Tribbles are illegal for trade. I’ve never carried them and never will!”
Bill shoved the tricorder toward Dodd. “Care to explain this, then?”
The man’s face reddened. “Marconi!” He spat out the name in obvious distaste.
“Who’s Marconi?” I asked.
“A guy that used to work for me, ‘til I fired him about a month ago. Found out he was trading exotics on the black market – restricted and illegal animals, some of them dangerous. He was also into gene manipulation – called it a hobby but I got the feeling he was up to no good.”
Bill took down the information on his PADD. “Where can we find this ‘Marconi?’”
“He was living in the industrial district. Not far from where you said the Klingon was killed.” He rubbed his jaw. “I changed the security code on the van. He must have gotten hold of the new one somehow.” His expression hardened. “Disala!”
“Who?”
“My clerk – you just met her. She and Marconi used to hang out – I’ll bet she gave him the code!”
We went back into the store. Bill called in Marconi’s address to dispatch a patrol unit while I talked to the girl. She quickly admitted that she had passed the code to Marconi – he claimed he needed the truck to move some items. She didn’t mean to do anything wrong.
By the look Dodd gave her, I was pretty sure she would be looking for new employment before the end of the day.
* * *
