Yes, thought Ingray, of course they have. Because no matter what you may have done, for the moment it’s politically useful to pretend you haven’t done any of it. Sitting here, beside someone she was sure was an actual murderer, she remembered wondering if Garal—who she’d told herself at the time wasn’t Pahlad—had maybe murdered someone, to get emself sent to Compassionate Removal. It had seemed so abstract at the time. And, it turned out, e’d been sent to Compassionate Removal not for anything e had actually done, but because eir father had wanted to conceal what Pahlad had found.
She was horrified at what Hevom had done, and, yes, frightened to find herself sitting beside a murderer. And, she realized, she was angry. “I know this is a very difficult time for you,” she said, her voice smooth and concerned. “It can’t be easy to have actually killed someone, even if you hated them.” No reaction from Hevom, but her heart sped up, hearing herself make the accusation. Long practice at pretending to be calm and cheerful for the news services kept her voice steady, and her tone sympathetic. “There are a few things I don’t understand, though. Why did you do it to begin with? I know you hated her, but that’s not enough of a reason.” Hevom turned his face away again, stared ahead. Ingray continued. “And why did you use the knife? You could have killed her just with those spikes. So why stab her with the knife, and then hide it in the mech and put the mech in the river?” Still no answer. A breeze set the willow branches waving, and speckles of sunlight and shadow danced across the stones. “And why is the Federacy so insistent on getting you back to Omkem so quickly?”
“Is this what passes for a murder investigation here?” Hevom asked, still staring away. “No wonder the consul is so insistent on getting me away. I knew Hwaeans were credulous and uncultured, and of course what you call law enforcement here is a joke anywhere civilized, but I hadn’t realized you were quite that bad.”
Ingray couldn’t find an answer to that, not right away. Though she could smile and look as though nothing troubled her for hours on end, she had never been good at the instant, witty reply. “And why are you trying to pin the murder on Pahlad? E never did anything to you. E’s in enough trouble as it is, why are you trying to get em killed for what you did?” Hevom didn’t answer. “There’s so much about this that doesn’t make sense. I’d just like to know what’s going on.”
“No doubt you would,” he observed drily. As though he actually found it amusing. “I don’t much care what happens to Pahlad Budrakim. And neither does anyone else here.”
Ah. And that was why pin it on Pahlad. All the individual steps made sense—the plan to murder; the murder itself, except for the knife, and maybe that made sense when you added Pahlad in. Maybe seeing Pahlad—had Hevom recognized em? Or just seen someone who was apparently without wealth or family who Planetary Safety might happily assume was guilty? Or had the knife been meant to throw suspicion on anyone at all in Netano’s house, but when Pahlad’s identity was revealed, e became the obvious target? It all hung together. The only part that was missing was that very first step: why do it at all?
“You must really have hated Excellency Zat,” observed Ingray. “It can’t have been the only reason you killed her, as I said, but you’d never have done it unless you hated her. Why? I know you had political differences, but that’s not enough to want her dead, is it? I know she was, what, an affine?” The word didn’t quite translate into Bantia, or Yiir for that matter, where it would have meant the relatives of parents your siblings didn’t share with you. “Surely you can talk about her now she’s dead.”
On the bench beside her, Hevom stiffened. Turned to look at her, indignant anger on his face. “You have absolutely no understanding of common decency, do you.”
It hadn’t been the accusation of murder that caused that reaction. It was something else—could he be offended at the idea of talking directly about Excellency Zat, even now when she was dead, and moreover he had certainly killed her?
“Well, I am credulous and uncultured, after all,” Ingray said, not quite believing the words had left her mouth.
Hevom made a disgusted noise and turned away again.
A thudding crack startled Ingray, set her heart racing. She turned. A large, quivering, many-eyed black spider mech came lurching through the suddenly open door out onto the mossy stones. “Ingray Aughskold!” it whistled. “I see you, Ingray Aughskold! You have tried to hide from me the person called Garal Ket, but you have failed. I know where this person is. You will take me to Garal Ket!”
“Am … Ambassador?” She had been so absorbed in her distress at talking to Hevom that she had forgotten that she and Tic had planned exactly this. Her startlement was real, and for a moment she wasn’t certain this wasn’t the ambassador herself.
“Garal Ket!” the mech insisted, and knocked one claw on the stone in front of it.
It had to be Tic. And really, if it was actually the ambassador, how bad could that be? “Of course, Ambassador.” Ingray stood, and turned to Hevom, who was staring at the spider mech. “If you’ll excuse me, Excellency Hevom, I find I have urgent business elsewhere.” Hevom looked at her, and back at the spider mech, but still said nothing. “Follow me, Ambassador.”
“Where is the brother, Danach?” asked the spider mech. “I will not be deceived again, with the jacket.”
Ingray frowned. Sent a quick, silent message to the household staff. “I don’t know where Danach is.” The reply to Ingray’s question appeared in her vision—Danach had gone out, and would be gone several days. He had not said where he was going. Did Ingray need help? Should the staff call Planetary Safety?
Whatever Danach might be doing wasn’t her concern. She blinked a reassurance to the staff and requested the groundcar again. “As far as I can tell, Ambassador, Danach is quite far away. Let’s go out front and wait for the groundcar, and I’ll take you right to Garal Ket.”
Deputy Chief Veret took one look at the Geck ambassador—or at the mech that apparently was the Geck ambassador—and called Nuncle Lak.
Less than ten minutes later, Ingray, the mech, and the deputy chief were in a meeting room nearly identical to the one in Netano’s local office, except the walls were light blue, and the chairs and table an easily cleaned and less luxurious flat black. The deputy chief sat in one chair, Ingray in another, the spider mech on the floor between them, its eyestalks pointing some at Ingray, some at the deputy chief, and some at Nuncle Lak on the display wall, eir own chairs and table now the same black, the wall behind em blue.
“I’ve left a message for the Extra-Hwae Relations Office,” Deputy Chief Veret said to em, “but they haven’t replied.”
“They will,” said Nuncle Lak. E looked at the spider mech. “Ambassador, I’m sorry but the deputy chief can’t just release a prisoner to you. There are procedures for this sort of thing. And besides, Garal Ket is human, and a citizen of Hwae. This is a human matter, and a matter of Hwaean law, and with the greatest respect, Ambassador, you have no grounds to demand that e be turned over to you.”