Chapter 14: CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Chandrha was drinking from Jhevharel when Montelier walked into the room. He stood just inside the door, waited for her to finish. He tried to busy himself by looking at the walls. Hm, several pictures here, paintings that could have been scenes from their homeworld.

“Why can’t you drink water?” he asked when she was done.

“We can,” she said, “if our parents are dead, and before a whistling dragon produces milk.”

“You suck a lot, don’t you?”

“You didn’t come here to talk about that, did you?”

“No, I came here to talk about Arak. A plane will be here shortly to take him to Moosonee. For now. He’ll be taken to Toronto for an autopsy.”

“An autopsy,” she echoed.

“Has to be done in a case like this.”

“Sure.” She flicked out her tongue. “They did that on Alharhan too.”

“When did you see him last?”

“I don’t know. Shortly before he... was killed, I guess.”

“Can you tell me anything that might help this investigation?”

“Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be out there, asking the humans?”

“I thought I’d start with you.”

“He had an argument with Sen Creighton.”

“What about?”

“All the humans here, shooting a movie. Arak didn’t like that; he wanted Sen Creighton to leave.”

“And what happened?”

“Sen Creighton insisted he was going to stay.”

“So I guess Arak didn’t succeed in getting rid of him.”

“He let him stay.”

Montelier opened the door. “I’m going to have a talk with Creighton.”

“Arak was murdered by one of the humans from California,” she said. “The only humans living here are... were Arak, and the lady who owns the diner, Alice Baumgartner.”

“I might question her too,” he said, and walked outside.

He wrinkled his nose. What was that he had smelled in there? Dead meat? Well, what did he expect, a vegetable platter? These aliens were carnivores, they hunted prey, brought it home, cut it with their claws, filling the already poisoned carcass with more poison. Of course it would smell like freshly-slaughtered meat in there.

One of the men from California approached him. “Where’s Creighton?” he asked.

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“Talking with Benita Corovelli,” the man said. “They’re in the diner.”

“What’s your name?”

“Fenwick... Clarence Fenwick.”

James Bond popped into his head. “And what do you do around here?”

“Right now, nothing. I’m in charge of special effects, but there’s not much I can do right now.”

“What do you know about Arak’s death?”

“Nothing. I have no idea who killed him.”

“Until I find out, every human is a suspect.”

He walked to the diner, opened the door. Half a dozen Tereskàdians sat at a table, accompanied by their whistling dragons, chewing on raw meat. His stomach roiled, but he held himself together as he sought out Creighton and that Italian woman.

They sat at a corner table, silent. She had been crying, and Creighton was trying his best to console her. His hand rested on her hand, and they looked at each other like a couple after a terrific, no-holds-barred argument which was now in the process of dying out.

“Listen, Benita,” he said, “I don’t want to send you back to Rome, I really don’t. But I will if you don’t do what I tell you. This film is going to make you a star. A star, you hear me?”

“I hear you, Mr. Creighton.”

“Don’t interrupt me. You’ve got to apply yourself more. You sound like a fucking robot, you know that? You won’t last much longer in this business if you don’t learn your lines. And lose that accent.”

“I’m trying, Mr. Creighton.” She was on the verge of tears again.

“Stop crying. Goddammit, woman, how old are you?”

“Twenty nine.”

Had Creighton meant that as a rhetorical question?

“You shouldn’t even have that part. I wanted to get Ellen Kastner, she’s twenty three, but she was busy playing in a piece of shit Dion Mesker is making.”

“You don’t like me,” she wailed.

“Of course I like you,” he said, leaning closer. “I fuck you, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“You do what I tell you, and you’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Creighton,” Montelier said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Creighton looked up. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough. Excuse us, Ms. Corovelli, I’d like to talk to Mr. Creighton privately.”

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