An Unglok Murder: Assignment Darklanding Read online

  An Unglok Murder

  DARKLANDING

  Episode 5

  By Scott Moon and Craig Martelle

  This book is copyright © 2018 by Scott Moon and Craig Martelle

  Darklanding Series is copyrighted ©2017 and ©2018 by Craig Martelle

  All rights reserved.

  ASIN:

  Cover art by Kevin McLaughlin – kevinmclaughlin.com

  Editing services provided by Mia Darien – miadarien.com

  Formatting by James Baldwin – jamesosiris.com

  Based on a concept by Diane Velasquez, Dorene Johnson, and Kat Lind who also provide developmental editing for the series

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: Crime Scene

  CHAPTER TWO: Peaches

  CHAPTER THREE: Boss Man

  CHAPTER FOUR: Cold Storage

  CHAPTER FIVE: Rolled

  CHAPTER SIX: Suspicion

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Scars and Tattoos

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Stitches

  CHAPTER NINE: Sweeping the Saloon

  CHAPTER TEN: Primary Suspects

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: ShadEcon

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Evade and Elude

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The First Confession

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Real Mother Lode

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: A Woman’s Wrath

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Sheriff and his Deputy

  CHAPTER ONE: Crime Scene

  Thaddeus leaned on the tractor tire to catch his breath before the next round of improvised calisthenics. He didn't want to think about Shaunte, so of course that was all he could do. He exercised a little harder each day hoping for peace of mind, or at the very least, a temporary distraction. What he was getting instead were blisters and delayed-onset muscle soreness.

  The Company Man's attitude had changed since the Vandersun incident. She worked late, sometimes through the night, and moved through the daylight hours like a zombie obsessed with spreadsheets and financial reports. If she had ever been flirtatious, that was a thing of the past. Thaddeus was surprised at how much he missed something he hadn't really given much thought to before.

  I think she's mad at you, Fry-man. Don't ask me why, he thought.

  Even Dixie was too busy for him. Apparently, her girls had gotten a bit out of control due to her spending so much time trying to monitor Ruby Miranda. Now she was busy managing every detail of their lives to ensure compliance with her entertainment philosophy—which centered on smiles, sex, and prompt payment. None of the girls were allowed to have favorite clients or form attachments, which they all did. A few had even run away.

  Pierre had come down with some type of flu and put one of his apprentice barkeeps in charge of the Mother Lode. Business was slow. All tables were clean and there hadn't been a fight for days.

  A river of transport ships orbited Darklanding and lined up to take their places on the landing field dominating the eastern half of the mesa. There had been virtually no crime or disorder for the last several weeks and the Mother Lode was a ghost town. Everyone, human and Unglok alike, were working double shifts. P. C. Dickles was back at the mines digging for exotic materials at an unheard-of pace.

  "Sheriff Fry!" Deputy Mast Jotham yelled as he ran along the street on his gangly Unglok legs. "Sheriff Fry!"

  Thaddeus pulled on his shirt, then pulled up the top half of his jumpsuit and zippered it shut. In two movements, he was wearing his gun-belt and was ready to go to work. His deputy was one of the most interesting Ungloks he'd met on Darklanding, hard to get excited and not one to panic.

  "What is it, Mast?" Thaddeus met his deputy at the edge of the vacant lot.

  "Murder," Mast said. He breathed heavily and seemed under considerable stress. "There's been a murder."

  ***

  Thad jumped onto the side-rail of a tram heading for the outskirts of town. Mast struggled to imitate the maneuver. Wide-eyed, surprised at his own audacity, his feet pounded the cheap pavement to keep up as his hands clawed at the handrails. Maximus, the increasingly overweight pig-dog, jogged after them looking unconvinced.

  "Do we need to ride with the poor Gloks! And can we wait for a lessly-moving tram!"

  Thad grabbed his forearm and hauled him up. He patted his friend on the shoulder once he was up, then stared into his large eyes. "You called them Gloks."

  "I was out of breath. I would never call my people Gloks."

  "It happens. Surprised me is all." Thad tipped his hat to several of the poor Ungloks also riding on the outside of the tram. “What do we do about Maximus?”

  "This is muchly undignified," Mast said as he caught his breath. “Leave him. He’s muchly flatulent. More muchly than usual.”

  Gasping and snorting for air, the animal veered away from the tram and disappeared into an alley. The creature was somehow able to run and pout at the same time.

  Thad faced the front of the tram. As slow as it moved, it still generated enough wind to flare his coat and threaten his hat with flight. Reaching up, pulling it down tight, he ignored everything else about Darklanding. The short buildings and industrial grid layout of the streets meant nothing. All he could think about was the murder that had occurred on his watch.

  He supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later.

  "Do you know much about murder?" Mast asked.

  "That's a loaded question, Mast. But I think I know what you mean." Thad didn't understand the first thing about investigating a murder. He'd enrolled in a long-distance course, hoping to complete the criminal justice degree about the time his term was up. "I'm taking some online classes. Haven't got to investigating a murder yet."

  "Have you started the course at all? I have been waiting for you to discuss what you learned for many weeks," Mast said.

  “Of course I have. I mean, why wouldn’t I have? The advertisement said it was okay to progress at your own pace.”

  Mast waited for more and was disappointed.

  Thad focused on the street ahead as though he was driving the tram rather than hitching a ride on the side-rail. It was time to clear his mind of the action on Centauri Prime, mine collapses, train heists, and murderous outlaws breaking out of his jail. His tenure at Darklanding hadn't been a cake walk. If he'd hoped to retire on duty, he'd miscalculated.

  Why is Shaunte giving me the cold shoulder? Why is Maximus so fat?

  "Thaddeus, the tram is about to stop. These fine Ungloks will be muchly moving about and heading for their domiciles," Mast said.

  Thad stared at his partner for a moment, barely recognizing him. He shook off his grim thoughts and his frustration with the Company Man. Holding onto his hat, he jumped to the pavement. His knees and ankles cushioned the impact. He felt it, of course, but his conditioning was having a positive effect. Years of running and marching in Ground Forces had done damage, but he had learned that inactivity was not the solution to his accumulated aches and pains.

  Almost unconsciously, he swiped his other hand past his blaster and found it secure in the holster. Mast imitated his movement. They walked away from the tram station toward the temporary Unglok neighborhood that sprawled to a terminus point beyond view.

  SagCon had provided high-quality trailers for any family willing to relocate and help with mining or shipping of exotic materials. The dwellings were as neat and clean as they could be, but the constant dust blown across the top of the mesa stained them. They h
ad been white. Now each had a patina of red and brown worked into the pores of the durable plastic siding.

  "I can't figure out what's wrong with these trailers. It's like they have been stepped on or something," Thaddeus said.

  Mass nodded sagely. "Ungloks remove the company foundations so they can place them directly on the ground. Then they dig—what do you call them—basements. Muchly basements. They connect like Yulu warrens."

  Thaddeus stopped to stare at his partner. "Is that safe? What if they collapse?"

  Mast shook his head. "They will not collapse. My people know the structure of rock and soil."

  Unglok children ran between the homes, chasing each other with brightly-decorated sticks. A rainbow of feathers and strips of cloth slashed through the air in the hands of the little Ungloks.

  "They look human when they are this young," Thad said.

  "Do not mention this to their parents. It is not a nice comparison these days," Mast said.

  The sheriff shook his head. He knew only too well of the friction between human and Unglok, something that started long before he arrived. At least he was trying to do something about it.

  Ships flew overhead, engines flaring as they slowed to land at the spaceport. "I didn't realize this neighborhood was in the flight path. Most plans don't allow settlements under the final approach."

  "Is this because of the danger?" Mast asked.

  Thaddeus shrugged. "Sure. And no one likes the noise."

  He checked his tablet for the address and continued walking. The trams didn't run this far and there were no vehicles. Children continued to play, but adult Ungloks stared at him without offering a greeting or coming close enough to speak. They stood in doorways or at the corners of buildings and watched them as though he and Mast were invaders passing through their lands. Only a few of them wore SagCon jumpsuits. He thought their native clothing appeared functional and expressive. He said as much to Mast.

  "How do you mean?" Mast asked.

  Thaddeus took several strides as he composed his answer, not sure he should have brought up the matter. "I get a sense of each individual's personality from the way they wear their clothing. The fabric weaves are different, and they don't fit like SagCon jumpsuits."

  Mast nodded, apparently satisfied. "Their attire is as simple as it must be."

  "Right. That's what I meant," Thaddeus said.

  Mast seemed saddened by something he saw. "It makes good sense they do not wish to greet you as tradition demands. Some of these people have never seen a human this close. They should have an Eru Di Mlus greeting for me. I am one of them."

  "They’re being cautious. It's not against the law. I didn't expect them to throw me a parade."

  The crime scene was no different than any other part of the neighborhood, except that a crowd of Ungloks sat cross-legged in the dirt in front of the trailer. Some stood with their hands clasped in front of their waists and their heads bowed. Children waited impatiently at the fringe of the gathering.

  "Are all these people family members?" Thaddeus asked Mast.

  "No. Yes. I cannot explain it."

  Thaddeus didn't like that. It seemed like a simple question. He studied the trailer and the lot it was positioned on as an older Unglok walked toward him.

  "Mast, this is a double trailer. Does that mean our murder victim was rich, comparatively speaking?" Thad asked.

  "Our murder victim?" Mast shook his head. "I still have much to learn of your language. Why would he be ours?"

  "Was the murder victim rich?" Thad asked.

  Mast waved his hand toward several other double trailers. "Yes. Somewhat rich. Not the richest." His words drifted off as he bent over in a coughing fit. "Excuses for me. I am muchly better now."

  "I'll let you do the talking."

  "Yes," Mast said, coughing into his hand. He led the way through the crowd of Ungloks, stepping over those who did not choose to move from their sitting positions.

  Thad weaved around them instead of attempting to straddle them with his shorter legs. None of the Ungloks spoke to him. They watched him without blinking.

  Like most prefabricated frontier world dwellings, the front door was a mighty thing. It looked like part of the bulkhead in a starship—one designed for every possible environment. The dirt-blasted trailer seemed stronger than it probably was, especially due to the way it had been lowered closer to the ground. Thad peered through the open door, but did not enter. He waited for Mast to go inside, then followed, trying to appear respectful.

  Four or five adult Ungloks and several children moved around the three-room structure in different states of animation. A woman cried and was comforted by two younger Unglok women. Another woman seemed to be cooking in the kitchen or perhaps cleaning something in a pot of boiling water. The children were playing, pausing to look at the body lying in the middle of the second room.

  Thaddeus thought the second room was a sleeping area. There were bedrolls in all rooms of the dwelling, but a greater concentration of them existed in the room with the victim. In the very center of the dwelling was a hatch that led down into the darkness. He looked at it, then waved at Mast to steal him back from an animated conversation he was having with the widow.

  "Is that the basement?"

  Mast nodded. "We should not go there unless it is necessary to the investigation. That is where their food is stored and is a most private place."

  "Fine. We can wait on that for now," Thad said. He looked around at the chaotic crime scene. "We need to get these people out of here."

  Mast looked uncomfortable.

  "Explain to them that we must find who did this and must look for clues."

  His deputy nodded and began the laborious process of explaining the situation and calming the family and friends of the victim, an unpopular Unglok named Trankot. Space freighters passed overhead with the precision of a metronome, their engines shaking buildings and making conversation difficult. The room started to feel hot. Thaddeus loosened his collar. As far as he could tell, no one was interfering or tampering with the corpse, but even he knew that this crime scene had been horribly polluted by all the family activity that had happened since the death.

  He squatted down and tried to console the grieving woman. Holding his hat in one hand, he reached out with the other to express his condolences.

  All of the crying in the room stopped. The children quit what they were doing and stared at him. Water boiled in the kitchen and the women wordlessly faced the living room. Mast started coughing.

  Thad looked at his partner. "Did I do something wrong?"

  Mast shook his head. "These people speak a simple dialect muchly influenced by hand gestures and body position. You may have just told this woman that you killed her husband."

  Thad stopped breathing and considered standing up.

  The woman who had been crying started talking to the younger women around her. Mast backed away, but she pointed at him and waved her hands excitedly.

  "She is wondering why you would do that for her," Mast said.

  "What?" Thad asked. He stood up and spread his hands to indicate he had not killed anyone.

  "It is a mystery. I do not know why she would say that," Mast said. With a stern tone and many words, he convinced everyone to go outside where most of them squatted on the ground.

  Thad stared at the body as his deputy re-joined him on the crime scene. "They moved the body. I don't see any weapons.”

  He knelt on one knee for a closer look. Carefully, not sure if he was doing the right thing, he tried unsuccessfully to move the victim’s arm. "I wish I knew more about Unglok physiology. He has rigor, which in a human could give us an approximate time of death. Four or five hours in this environment, maybe.”

  Mast, wide-eyed and motionless, hesitated before speaking. "Ungloks become like statues for a time after death. Is this what rigor is in human corpses?”

  Thaddeus nodded.

  "It is forbidden to move a body while it is in this stat
e, what you call rigor," Mast said.

  Thaddeus listened, but most of his attention was on the scene. He tried to remember everything about what he saw, hoping that his mind would make connections that would become clues. The room was a simple place, full of sleeping rolls and narrow shelves attached to the walls with various personal items from many different Ungloks.

  "We need to take some pictures,” he said.

  "Should we take fingerprints? I read this in a forensic manual," Mast said.

  Thaddeus shook his head. "We don't have a database of Unglok fingerprints and even if we did, it would be hard to sort them out. It looks like this room gets a lot of use. There's probably fingerprints on top of fingerprints. We need to arrange for an autopsy.”

  "That will be exceedingly difficult. The family will not like it," Mast said.

  "And we don't have a coroner at Darklanding. The body will have to be kept in cold storage until we can get someone qualified to examine it," Thaddeus said.

  Mast swallowed hard. “The book I read said that your doctors cut up the bodies to determine the cause of death."

  Thaddeus stood. "Is that going to be a problem?”

  "The family will be unhappy but will not say anything.”

  Using his tablet, Thaddeus took numerous pictures of each room. About halfway through, he realized he should've established some type of sensible order, but it was too late. He would have to sort them later.

  “Arrange for transport of the body to cold storage. Someplace close to the Mother Lode. I can't wait until we have a proper station house. Once we have the body taken care of, we will need to start looking for witnesses in the neighborhood. We will go door to door if necessary," Thaddeus said.

  CHAPTER TWO: Peaches

  Dixie had an image to maintain, and her tight skirt and low-cut blouse was doing their job as usual. She liked silk and finer things. She preferred clothing that was about one size too small. The only variance to her wardrobe today were her shoes. Some days, she needed comfortable shoes to get around town. From a distance, they look like high-fashion flats, but were full of support and cushioned soles.