Xenopath by Eric Brown Page A

that I'm wasting my time here, Ms Singh. It's
been pleasant chatting."
    She watched him
with an expression that indicated the sentiment was not mutual.
    He rose and left
the room, quickly, before security arrived and quizzed him about the
pass-card. He took the elevator to the ground floor and stepped out
into the punitive noon sunlight, happy with the morning's work. At
least he'd got a lot further than Kapinsky, and he'd come away with
one or two interesting pieces of information.
    As the air-taxi
powered down onto the landing shelf, Vaughan looked out at the sable
edifice of the Law Enforcement headquarters, rising from the deck of
the Station like an Aztec ziggurat. It brought back a slew of
unpleasant memories.
    Two years ago
he'd found himself involved in an investigation with a cop called
Jimmy Chandra. Their enquiries had taken them off-planet, to the
colony world of Verkerk, where Chandra had died.
    Chandra had been
an optimist, his Hindu cheer a foil to Vaughan's then cynicism.
    Vaughan had
changed since then, however; now he could share Chandra's upbeat
world-view. The world had not changed one bit—but Vaughan had.
    He showed his ID
at the entrance and dropped into the bowels of the building, making
his way through the dimly lit corridors to the surveillance room.
    It was a long,
low chamber, badly lighted, and the ventilation system seemed to have
given up trying to cool the place. It was like a sauna in there, made
worse by three cops smoking cheap cigarettes as they stared at their
screens.
    Vaughan found a
corner booth and powered up the com. It flared, showing a grid-map of
Level One, beside a rank of numerals should he require views of other
levels.
    He found the
amusement park, entered its reference number and the day and
approximate time of the scene he wished to view, and waited.
    As expected,
there were no surveillance cams in operation in the park itself. He
returned to the map, worked out where the killing took place, and
entered the reference of the nearest street which might be covered by
a cam.
    This time he was
in luck.
    There were three
cams covering the length of the deserted street, and one of them
showed a section of the area where Kormier had died.
    He magnified the
view, enhanced the image: he made out the concourse between the ghost
train and the empty McDonald's kiosk.
    He ran the tape
at three times the normal speed, and the only indication that time
was elapsing was the flicking digital display at the top right of the
screen: the scene itself remained static.
    He glanced at
the timer: 23.40. According to the SoC's report, the killing had
taken place at some time twelve minutes either side of midnight.
    He slowed the
image to real-tune and watched.
    Two minutes
later he saw movement.
    He leaned
forward, magnifying the image, and saw two small figures cross the
concourse, climb the steps of the ghost train and enter it through
the ghoul's open mouth. Children: a boy and a girl. From the way they
were dressed, in ragged shorts and T-shirts, he guessed they were
homeless street-kids taking refuge for the night in the park.
    They appeared
again, minutes later, emerging from the exit of the ghost
train—another open mouth. Then they stopped suddenly, and one
of them pointed across the concourse before ducking back inside the
open mouth.
    Vaughan made out
what the boy had pointed at.
    Another figure
had appeared on the concourse.
    Vaughan reached
out and stilled the image, his pulse racing. He stared at the figure.
It was a man, tall and dark, in his fifties: Robert Kormier.
    He restarted the
footage, playing it real-time now. He glanced at the digital display:
it was nine minutes to midnight.
    Kormier paced
back and forth, between the ghost train and the fast-food kiosk. From
time to time he glanced at his wristwatch. So he had clearly arrived
at the amusement park to meet someone.
    Seconds later,
the boy jumped from the exit of the ghost train.
    Vaughan stilled
the image and