Flatlander - Larry Niven [17]
“Naturally I considered murder. Believe me. Mr. Hamilton, it does not hold up.”
“I think I could make a pretty good case.”
“You may try, of course. Better, I will start you on your way. First, we must assume that Kenneth Graham the happiness peddler did not sell a droud and plug to Owen Jennison. Rather, Owen Jennison was forced to undergo the operation. Graham’s records, including the written permission to operate, were forged. All this we must assume; is it not so?”
“Right. And before you tell me Graham’s escutcheon is unblemished, let me tell you that it isn’t.”
“Oh?”
“He’s connected with an organlegging gang. That’s classified information. We’re watching him, and we don’t want him ripped.”
“That is news.” Ordaz rubbed his jaw. “Organlegging. Well. What would Owen Jennison have to do with organlegging?”
“Owen’s a Belter. The Belt’s always drastically short of transplant materials.”
“Yes, they import quantities of medical supplies from Earth. Not only organs in storage but also drugs and prosthetics. So?”
“Owen ran a good many cargoes past the goldskins in his day. He got caught a few times, but he’s still way ahead of the government. He’s on the records as a successful smuggler. If a big organlegger wanted to expand his market, he might very well send a feeler out to a Belter with a successful smuggling record.”
“You never mentioned that Mr. Jennison was a smuggler.”
“What for? All Belters are smugglers if they think they can get away with it. To a Belter, smuggling isn’t immoral. But an organlegger wouldn’t know that. He’d think Owen was already a criminal.”
“Do you think your friend—” Ordaz hesitated delicately.
“No, Owen wouldn’t turn organlegger. But he might, he just might try to turn one in. The rewards for information leading to the capture and conviction of, et cetera, are substantial. If someone contacted Owen, Owen might very well have tried to trace the contact by himself.
“Now, the gang we’re after covers half the west coast of this continent. That’s big. It’s the Loren gang, the one Graham may be working for. Suppose Owen had a chance to meet Loren himself?”
“You think he might take it, do you?”
“I think he did. I think he let his hair grow out so he’d look like an Earthman to convince Loren he wanted to look inconspicuous. I think he collected as much information as he could, then tried to get out with a whole skin. But he didn’t make it.
“Did you find his application for a nudist license?”
“No. I saw your point there,” said Ordaz. He leaned back, ignoring the food in front of him. “Mr. Jennison’s tan was uniform except for the characteristic darkening of the face. I presume he was a practicing nudist in the Belt.”
“Yah. We don’t need licenses there. He’d have been one here, too, unless he was hiding something. Remember that scar. He never missed a chance to show it off.”
“Could he really have thought to pass for a—” Ordaz hesitated. “—flatlander?”
“With that Belter tan? No! He was overdoing it a little with the haircut. Maybe he thought Loren would underestimate him. But he wasn’t advertising his presence, or he wouldn’t have left his most personal possessions home.”
“So he was dealing with organleggers, and they found him out before he could reach you. Yes, Mr. Hamilton, this is well thought out. But it won’t work.”
“Why not? I’m not trying to prove it’s murder. Not yet. I’m just trying to show you that murder is at least as likely as suicide.”
“But it’s not, Mr. Hamilton.”
I looked the question.
“Consider the details of the hypothetical murder. Owen Jennison is drugged, no doubt, and taken to the office of Kenneth Graham. There, an ecstasy plug is attached. A standard droud is fitted and is then amateurishly altered with soldering tools. Already we see, on the part of the killer, a minute attention to details. We see it again in Kenneth Graham’s forged papers of permission to operate. They were impeccable.
“Owen Jennison is then taken back to his apartment. It would be his own, would it not? There would be little point in moving