Infinity Beach - Jack McDevitt [58]
“Because of the disappearances.”
“Right. The police would have looked for any indication that something unusual had happened on the mission. The fact that there doesn’t seem to have been a follow-up, that no one searched Tripley’s place, seems to indicate they didn’t find anything.”
“They might have been bought off.”
“It’s possible.” A long silence drew out between them. “Kim,” he said, “Mart’s right. Why don’t you give this a rest?”
She’d have liked to. Kim had no appetite for challenging her boss, for taking on Tripley, for encouraging Solly to think she had become obsessed. But Emily was lost out there somewhere, and somehow it all seemed to be connected. “I can’t just walk away from it,” she said. “I want to know what happened. And I don’t care who gets offended, or who gets sued.”
Solly looked at her for a long minute, and nodded. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he said.
“There is. How can we get a look at those logs?”
He took a deep breath. “We’d have to bribe somebody,” he said.
Bribe? “Isn’t there a way to do it without breaking the law?”
“None that I know of. So I think where we are is this: You need to decide whether you’re as serious as you say. If so—” He shrugged.
Kim had never knowingly violated the law. “We can’t do that,” she said.
“I didn’t think so.” Solly looked out of the screen at her, trying to suggest everything would be all right. “Gotta go,” he said.
The screen blanked. She sat staring at it, pushed back in her chair, activated it again and brought up the Autumn. Emily with those wistful eyes looked back at her.
Where are you?
She thought about the terrible days after her disappearance while they waited for news. Her parents had tried to protect her, to reassure her that Emily was coming home, that she’d taken a trip somewhere and they’d be hearing from her at any time. But Kim had seen the hollowness in their eyes, detected the strained voices. She’d known.
They must have assumed from the beginning that she would not be found alive. Murders were extremely rare in Equatoria, seldom exceeding more than a half dozen annually, in a population of six million. Homicides were usually domestic, but there was still the occasional maniac. The St. Luke killer, so named because of his penchant for leaving biblical verses pinned to the bodies of victims, had rampaged through the northwest during a two-year spree in which he’d murdered seven people. He had been the worst of modern times.
What must have surprised her folks was that the mystery was never solved. No body was ever found.
Set against that, what was a little bribery?
She punched in Solly’s code and he appeared onscreen, not looking as surprised as she’d expected.
“Can we arrange it?” she asked.
He looked at her disapprovingly. “Is my lovely associate running amok?”
“Yes,” she said. “If that’s what it takes. Can we do it?”
“I know somebody,” he said.
“How much will it cost?”
“I don’t know. Probably a couple of hundred. Let me make some calls, and I’ll get back to you.”
Kim was scheduled to have lunch with a representative of the Theosophical Society, a Brother Kendrick. This time, her objective was not to solicit contributions, but to reassure the Society that there would be no long-term deleterious effects from Beacon, thereby persuading them, she hoped, to remove their outspoken opposition to the Institute.
They ate at Kashmir’s, which specialized in cuisine from the Sebastian Island chain. Brother Kendrick expressed the Society’s concern that the series of novas would make an area of approximately eight million cubic light-years permanently uninhabitable.
Kim pointed out there were no human habitations anywhere close to what the technicians called the target box.
“What about nonhuman habitations?” he asked.
The question stopped her cold.
Brother Kendrick, like almost everyone else on Greenway, was of indeterminate age. But he was inclined to lecture rather than talk. His attitude