Brother Death Read Online Free PDF Page B

that alternated orange and red pulses to warn off the curious and threaten punishment for trespassers. Taz led the way and the uniformed cools patted in front of her without asking for ID.
    The building was low, almost a squat rectangle of cast plastcrete designed by somebody with taste and a lot of money to spend on it. The entire front was decorated with a bas-relief sculpture that cleverly included the door and windows as part of the design, and the mural told a story of natives dealing with gods and magic and a lot of bad weather, from what Bork could tell.
    "Nice artwork," he said.
    "It was done by Fabrini Senh Buel."
    "I think I've heard the name."
    She laughed. "He's the highest-paid artist in the entire galaxy, Saval, he got more for this mural than you and almost everybody you know put together will make in the next ten years. He has a waiting list he won't live long enough to do half of, and his staff won't even return your calls unless you have half a billion stads in your personal accounts."
    "Yeah, that's the guy."
    "That's what I like about you, brother; you're so easy to impress."
    Armed men and women in different uniforms than the tan and sandy tropical wear of Taz's department paced in front of the building.
    Taz said, "Bevin's private guards. He's got-he had fifty of them. Lot of ex-military and ex-cools among them."
    "Bevin being the dead guy?"
    "Yep. Tibois Bevin, named for his grandfather. The family owns half of the Kimanjano Rainforest, made their money in wood products, timber, exotic papers, livestock feeds. His grandfather built most of the town of Bully Bay, which the locals later renamed 'Tibois' in his honor."
    They reached the door. The private guards nodded at them. Bork watched the men move, decided they were not too bad. But somebody had gotten past them.
    Inside, more local cools, more bodyguards.
    Taz and Bork took a lift up three levels.
    A man nearly as tall as Bork but maybe a third as heavy stood outside a door, blinking as if somebody was shining a bright light into his eyes. He wore a stretch-white coverall that hung loosely on him.
    Didn't see that very often.
    "Missel," Taz said.
    The gangly man blinked at her. "Where have you been, Taz? WC says that Supe says I can't run the drill until you get here. Jesu Buddha, woman, evidence is evaporating and breaking down in there!"
    "Damp your drive, Missel. This killer doesn't leave tags."
    "Not before. This time, maybe. Go, go!"
    He reached down and touched a control on a chunk of metal with heat sinks along one side. Bork felt a blast of warm air splash against his face. An airwall, to seal the room once the door was opened.
    The entrance slid wide as Taz palmed the admit. She looked inside for a moment, then stepped across the threshold. "Behind me, Saval."
    As Bork moved, the tech said, "You aren't going to take this human tank in with you? Jesu, Taz-!"
    "This is Saval Bork," she said. "My brother. He's a matador, Missel, he knows about this kind of stuff."
    "He's got feet like cargo carriers!"
    "I'll try not to step on anything important," Bork said. He knew tech-types. He would bet money that Missel's next words would be something about everything being important at a crime scene.
    "Everything is important at a crime scene!" Missel said.
    Bork smiled.
    "Do you want us to stand out here in the hall all day discussing this while your evidence decays or do you want us to get in and out so you can run the drill?"
    "Go, go, go!"
    Inside, Taz said, "He's really not a bad guy."
    "I used to get along with Sleel before he met Kildee," Bork said. "No problem."
    They were in an outer office, and to look at, nothing was amiss. As they moved, Taz handed Bork a com button from her belt. He pressed the speaker into his left ear.
    "Assistant Chief Bork making inspection of the Tibois Bevin homicide site. Who's first on the scene?"
    A female came on the com. "Officer Trager."
    "Okay, you're in the barrel. Tell me a story, Trager. Give me an outline,