TWO
Lachlen sent instructions. Abigail remained stationed in the control room of their freighter while Cazran and his T-7 astromech left and made down crowded, smoky, neon sidewalks -- he clasped the hilt of a knife on his belt, while the droid had its stunners and flamethrower showing -- to a garage beside a pawn shop. A skycar, in a line of trashed skycars, blinked its lights in the darkness to signal them over. A grunt chauffeured them through a private tunnel ending at a garage in Clovis Gronwe's estate. Caz took a lift to the sixty-fifth floor, the manor section of the skyscraper, and found the Toydarian hovering outside the lift door.
"Risky plan," Caz said as they entered a warm, low-ceiling hallway of soft carpeted floors and faux-wood walls. "You chance becoming a suspect yourself by trying to beat the Cartel to his killer."
The alien chuckled, snorting mucus up his stubby snout. "I'm where I am by gambling. In casinos, in life at large." They passed a widescreen holo-pic displaying natural landscapes and entered the dining hall.
A slideshow partitioned this room from the next, each snapshot of the victim and his wife vacationing: they smiled at the cam on beaches, tree-house patios, while rock climbing or skiing. Tape blocked the gap into the crime scene. Caz neared the wall and saw blaster holes. One hole was in a tree trunk in one pic, then the center of the woman's head the next.
"Try to hurry," Lachlen said from beside a tall chair at the dinner table. "I have to call real security soon. The longer I hold off doing so, the more suspicious it'll be, you know."
"Who else did you send in there?"
"A hover droid." That baggy, stubble-covered throat undulated when he moved. What an ugly frakker, Caz thought. "It swept the place, found DNA of three people. But there's three dead inside. Means the killer cleaned."
That was a funny statement, Caz mused, when he stepped over the tape and saw the state of the room. Congealed blood smeared lacerations on the guards' corpses. All the furniture was in pieces and the window was cracked. Crap, urine, colagne, and air freshener made a stomach-turning stench. He lifted the tape for T-7 and stepped carefully toward Clovis. The dead man was on his back, closely-grouped burn holes scarring his chest.
Cazran and Clovis had been a bounty hunter pair for years on Nar Shaddaa, Lachlen their sponsor. When Clovis had saved enough money, he quit that career to purchase an estate and hire his own bounty hunters. Caz worked as Clovis' right hand for a while, going after low-lives who owed his boss money, or smugglers who embezzled packages on drug shipments. The crime lord favored him too much, giving him the largest fraction of jobs, and Caz became a target for some of the same hunters he worked with.
"T-7, begin DNA detection."
"BLEEP-BWAK." The astromech fanned out a small laser field onto the floor, moving it up and down while slowly rolling toward a corpse.
"Wasn't he married?" Caz raised his voice. The couple had sent him a wedding invitation months ago, but he had ignored it.
"Her name's Irene," the alien answered from the dining room. "We've tried to contact her, but zilch. I even personally left a voice message telling her to contact me, that I have bad news about her husband."
There was their prime suspect right there. Caz took a comm from his pants pocket and crouched down beside his dead friend. "Abi. You there?"
"I'm here and ready to go poking in places I know we probably shouldn't."
"Tell me what you can about Irene Gronwe's recent activities. Hack Net-Acc if need be."
"Sure. I'll give you a call when I find something."
"Wreep-roo." T-7, next to the guard with the throat wound, deactivated the field and turned its head to point its lens-eye at him. It issued a metallic arm and dabbed a tiny sponge on the man's forehead. Caz replaced the comm in his pocket and took out a second hand-held device that gave him a literal translation of the droid's language. The screen read, "Fourth specimen found. Beginning full analysis."
They spent the next half an hour searching the rest of the manor. The man put on gloves and had the droid spray the air to wipe out his skin particles. The Cartel investigators best believe they were the first people in here since the murder, or the Toydarian might dock credits from his final pay. In a closet off the bedroom upstairs, he pushed back hangers to see Clovis' business or dinner suits, bathrobes and swimwear. On the other side was the lady's outfits. He snatched a few lingerie dresses for Abi and stuffed them in the droid's storage compartment. Irene and Abi looked to be about the same size. He felt around the walls and shelves of the closet, then exited to the bedroom and examined every article of furniture and object there. He found a bottle of perfume in a nightstand drawer, a quarter of the way empty. He put that in the droid's compartment as well.
"Grezakk hrooo," or, "Are you a private detective or a kleptomaniac?"
He made for the stairs leading down. "Those things could be significant later."
They were crossing the tape again when T-7 informed him that the DNA belonged to a human male in his late thirties. Its match was unknown.
"What did you find?" Lachlen rubbed his small hands together and grinned.
Caz shook his head. "I need a list of both his and Irene's contacts, be they business and or personal."
"I'll send it to your ship." The winged little man led them back down the hall and partook in a one-sided conversation about their pasts as hunters.
- - -
Soon after in the cockpit of their light freighter, Cazran stood beside Abigail who sat in the co-pilot's seat and they studied stats on a console screen. T-7 was at a different computer in the cramped space, surfing the HoloNet to broaden its search for a DNA match.
"The latest record was two days ago." Abi pointed at security cam footage of Irene stepping onto a descending escalator in a busy mall. "She dropped off the map after that."
"Good find," Caz said. "We'll call every contact you found on her network." He put a hard kiss to his wife's cheek, sat in the captain's chair and started dialing the first number on the list, Irene's psychiatrist.
"Who is this?" A female asked. Abi glanced to Caz, who nodded.
"Good day. This is Glamira Dazzle," the red-head answered. "I'm Irene Gronwe's beautician." Caz thought Abi looked a bit like a kinrath pup when she mischievously smiled.
"OK. What about it?"
"She gave us your name and number in case we couldn't reach her. Irene was scheduled for a facial appointment this morning, but she never arrived. "
The other woman hummed and made noises with her tongue. "I shouldn't tell you this, but she skipped out on her last appointment with me, as well. Have you tried calling her home?"
Abi gave an 'eek' expression. "Many times, but all I got was dead silence. Thank you, miss."
The couple took turns role-playing while calling everyone on the list. They each once played a massage therapist, to Abi's amusement. Caz told the manager of Irene's favorite restaurant that the missing woman had terrible neck cramps and he was worried for her safety. "Who knows," he said. "Her head could've fallen right off." But it had been days or even weeks since any of them had last met Irene. Abi was right in that she seemed to have disappeared during her escalator ride two days ago.
Caz rotated about in his chair. "See if you can't hack into the psychiatrist's files." He stood and went for the lounge.
"What'll you be doing?" Abi got up and jumped onto his back, wrapping her limbs around him.
He carried her to their so-called medicine cabinet next to the circular lounge table where they ate dinner or played cards. "Visiting one of Clovis' partners."
"I hope it isn't a Hutt. It might sit on you and crush you."
He popped the lid on a flask, threw his head back and gulped down strong liquor. He needed a buzz for this trip. Abi took the flask from him and sipped.
"It's a Hutt."
She gagged and spat the liquid out. "You could strip durasteel with this stuff."