Flatlander - Larry Niven [93]
“Did you see much of the moon then?”
The shock was getting through to me. One suspect had been in position to fire through Chris Penzler’s window. I would have to testify that nobody was hiding out there in the shadows. I’d eliminated everyone but Naomi.
It was insane. What could Naomi have to do with Chris Penzler? But I remembered a vindictive glare directed toward our dinner table last night. For Penzler?
Her golden hair was still rumpled from the pressure suit helmet. The rest of the suit was still on her. The big gaudy blue butterfly still covered her eyelids. She sat on the forward edge of a web chair. “I only stayed a week that time,” she said. “I … was in the mood for a dead world, but I was wrapped up in myself, too. My husband and my little girl had just died. I guess I spent most of my time staring out the window of my room.”
“You left Hovestraydt City alone this evening,” the desk sergeant said. “You’ve been out four and a half hours. For a tourist that is reckless. Did you keep to known paths?”
“No, I played tourist. I wandered. I spent some time on the big road, but I ducked into the shadows and the craters every so often. Why not? I couldn’t get lost. I could see Earth.”
“Did you take a signal laser?”
“No. Nobody told me to. Have I broken some fool regulation, Sergeant?”
The lunie woman’s lips twitched. “In a manner of speaking. You are accused of having stationed yourself several hundred meters west of the city, of having located Fourth Speaker Chris Penzler’s window and kept watch until he stood up in his bathtub, at which time you fired a signal laser into his chest. Did you do that?”
Naomi was amazed, then horrified … or she was a fine actress. “No. Why would I?” She turned. “Gil? Are you in on this?”
“Only as an observer,” I half lied. Marion was looking at me with distrust. Clearly the suspect knew me.
The desk sergeant asked, “Ms. Mitchison? Do you know Chris Penzler?”
“I used to. He’s a Belter. My husband and I met him on Earth almost five years ago. He was negotiating with the UN about some kind of jurisdictional problem. Is he dead?”
“No. He is badly injured.”
“And you’re really accusing me of attempted murder? With a message laser?”
“We are, yes.”
“But … I don’t have any reason. I don’t have a message laser, either. Why me?” Her eyes flicked about the room: a butterfly fluttering against a window. “Gil?”
I flinched. “I’m not in this. It’s not my jurisdiction.”
“Gil, is attempted murder an organ bank crime? On the moon?”
Sergeant Drury answered for me. “Why would we give a clumsy killer a second chance?”
“You can refuse to answer questions,” I said.
Naomi shook her head. “That’s all right. But … is that a news camera?”
Jefferson crooked his finger at Tom and Desiree. The newstapers looked at each other and somehow agreed that resistance would be futile. They followed Jefferson out.
The desk sergeant’s eyes flicked to Marion. “Who might you be?”
“Marion Shaeffer, Captain, Belt Police. The man who was shot is a Belt citizen.”
Drury’s eyes questioned me, and I answered. “Gil Hamilton, operative, ARM, here for the conference. I know Ms. Mitchison. I’d like to stay.”
“Have you any suggestions?”
“Yes. Naomi, one problem is that we can’t find anyone else who could have been in the right place. You were. You’ve said you didn’t shoot Chris—”
“With what?”
“Who cares? If you’re not our clumsy killer, then you’re our only witness. Did you see anything unusual out there?”
She thought about it. “I’m handicapped, Gil. I don’t know the moon, and it was night. I didn’t see anyone else.”
“Did you drop anything, or brush against anything, or break anything? Is there some way we could tell just where you were?”
“You could examine my suit.” Hostility was creeping into her voice.
“Oh, we’ll do that. We’d also like to examine your route. You’d have to lead us. We can’t make you do that.”
“Gil, can I get some sleep first?”
I looked at Sergeant Drury, who said, “Of course. You may