She jumped back a step and brought her hand up to her cheek, feeling the spot, and found nothing at all changed. “What in the pits was that for?”
He shrugged. “Just making sure. And rumors are wild about a doppel loose in the city, haven’t you heard them?”
“More than rumors, I’m afraid.”
“It is true then! Marvelous! I can’t believe I met one and never knew it. She was just like you Ripka, all pissy and… er, nevermind.”
Tapping the folder against her thigh, she crossed back to the desk and sat on the edge, facing him. He smirked a little, privately amused by some trivial nonsense, and she ignored it. What did the doppel hope to accomplish, putting this rat in her nest? Was it just out to prove it could do what it liked, or was it a personal threat? She frowned while she thought, wondering if she’d rustled the creature with her interviews the previous morning.
“Did she say anything at all to you?” Ripka asked.
“Not much, just the usual niceties of being arrested. Speaking of, can I get some breakfast?”
“Not now.”
He looked positively defeated by that, and she wondered at the depth of the stomachs of men.
“She’s the suspect in the warden’s murder, isn’t she?”
“It’s possible. It’s a she? Are you sure of that?”
Detan deliberated for an infuriating moment. “Yes. Well, she looked very womanly… It’s possible otherwise, but I would lean toward it being a woman. Why? Have you interviewed anyone?”
“Too many. The whole seventh level is filled with retired sel workers and none of them have seen anything at all. Not that they’d tell me about it if they did.” She caught herself before she could divulge more information. Detan may sport a charming demeanor, but he was a scoundrel of the highest order. For all she knew, he was working in league with the doppel and his presence in her cell was a plant to squeeze Ripka’s knowledge level from her. The thought rankled.
She stood, squaring her shoulders. The early hour and comfort of the station house had made her sloppy, it wouldn’t happen again. She flicked the folder to the desk and stalked forward, shutting down her expression, drawing her thin brows into a sharp angle. The knot of his throat bobbed as she approached.
“Tell me,” she said, pressing her palms against either side of the window that framed Detan’s face. She leaned forward, giving him no room in which to hide his expression, his tells. A small muscle at the corner of his lips twitched in surprise. She suppressed a smile. “When did my impersonator first make contact with you?”
She kept her voice stern, leaving no room for argument.
He glanced sideways and down, searching for the right answer. She slid a hand over to clutch one of the bars in his tiny window, let him see her knuckles go white from the strength of her grip. Let him believe she was just barely keeping a handle on her anger and liable to take her frustrations out on him at any moment.
“Er,” he stammered, flicking his gaze to her hold on the bar. “I was speaking to Thratia on the deck of the Larkspur when you – I mean she – so rudely interrupted. Had a coupla’ your blues with her, too. Were a bit rough with the old ties.”
This time she did smile. “Describe them.”
“They, uh, weren’t Banch? Pits below, Ripka, all you blue coats look the same to me – no offense. The one who had my lead was a bit shorter, slender, male. Younger lad was trailing him, pimples about the lips. We didn’t exactly exchange family histories, you take my meaning.”
“The imposter,” she pressed before he could gather his wits. “Tell me what she said. Leave nothing out.”
His face scrunched in genuine thought. “Went on about the weather–”
“No she didn’t,” she cut him off, recognizing the slight rambling lilt his tone adopted when he meant to distract. “Try again.”
A flush crested his cheeks. She allowed herself a moment to savor having flustered him. “I confess to being in a state where my memory was somewhat lacking. Thratia was not cheap with the booze. I might, have, ah, made a comment or two about your – that is to say her – legs. Though I hardly see how you can hold that against me.”
“That is what you said. What did the imposter say? Stall once more and I’ll lock you up until the next new moon.”
He blanched, then pursed his lips, as if tasting what he were about to say next. “She said some people needed a reminder of her reach. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I’m starting to see the reason now. That is all I can recall, captain, I swear it.”
That, at the very least, had the ring of truth about it. “Very well. If anything else comes to that selium-filled head of yours, report to me immediately.”
He looked thoughtful, and for one mad, desperate moment she considered asking him what he thought of the whole mess. Luckily for her pride, Banch interrupted and poked his head into the room.
“Someone to see you, sir.”
“Galtro can wait.”
“It’s not Galtro. I’ve got a man here who says you have his friend locked up somewhere, but I can’t find him in the files.”
She crossed back to the desk with an exasperated sigh. “That’s because I have them. Send him in.”
Banch stepped aside, and Tibal shuffled into the room, looking scruffier than ever now that he was out of his fete attire. “Begging your pardon, Captain, but I think you have my friend somewhere in your holdings.”
“Tibs!”
Detan stretched his arms out between the bars and waved them about. “Save me, Tibs, they’re starving me!”
“I rather think you should be familiar with that notion, sirra.”
Ripka plunked down in the clean chair and flipped the file open. She sought out the appropriate release paper and signed it with a flourish. “Take this and get him out of my sight.”
Tibal took the paper and bowed as Banch came over to unlock the cell.
“Honding,” she said.
He froze in the open cell door, eking his foot forward so that it couldn’t be closed again without trouble. “Yes, watch captain?”
“You see any sign of the doppel, you come to me. Immediately.”
He snapped an overly formal salute. “Yes sir, happy to serve, sir.”
“I mean it, Honding. No delays. Now get gone.”
He blinked, startled, then shook himself and disappeared out the door with Tibal. Banch hovered a moment, concern on his overly broad face, while she drummed her fingers against the desk with undue force. “Want me to get you more tea, Captain?”
“Too late for that, Galtro is waiting.”
She left the interrogation room behind with the distinct feeling she was missing something.
As Ripka stepped out of the interrogation room, Galtro stormed down the hall, his eyes bloodshot and his fists clenched. She drew a deep breath and took the opportunity to fortify herself. She squared her shoulders, clasped her hands behind her back, and tipped her chin up. At her side, Banch did the same, and she found the effect much more intimidating when hung on his expansive frame.
“Watch Captain Leshe, I must speak with you immediately.” His voice sounded like an over-tightened string, wound with anxiety, not anger.
“Of course, mine master. Please come this way.”
She led them through the catacomb twists of the station to the cool, quiet confines of her personal office. The captain before her had kept his office toward the front of the station on the second floor, overlooking the central hall so that he could keep a sharp eye on all the comings and goings of the place. Ripka had found the noise too distracting, the stern watchfulness damaging to her team’s morale. Complaints had gone down since she’d moved to the back of the first floor. Maybe she was just too far away for anyone to bother bringing them to her. Either way, it suited her just the same.