But as she sat in the audience trying to make notes, another figure intruded: her Gloucester, the ultimate clown in the ultimate black comedy. Twisted, perverted, sporting with the world that belittled him—Kwame could play him well, and Sally would make a splendid Lady Anne since she wasn’t expected to stand up to him well.
“Was ever woman in this humour wooed?” Rabinowitz sighed. “Was ever woman in this humour won? Oh Will, you had such a dismal opinion of us sometimes… but your men weren’t that much better, come to think of it.”
She shook her head and looked back at the stage, where Banquo’s ghost was currently spoiling Mac’s party. “One royal murderer at a time, shall we? Let yourself be transported, woman.”
She got through the rest of the play with only vile shadows of Gloucester intruding here and there, then called the cast around her and gave them her opinions. Even she didn’t think the comments were up to her usually inspired insights. She chalked it up to a lack of sleep.
When the rehearsal was finally over and she disengaged the veering set, she found four messages waiting for her. Two were routine business calls, the third was from Bian Dinh asking to meet as soon as she finished rehearsal, and the fourth was from Detective Hoy. “I thought you’d find it amusing that the authorities on K’tolu’tan want to try your friend, Ms. Dinh. Not only for murder, but for ‘perversion of common morality,’ which seems to be almost as serious there.”
“The problem,” Hoy said when she called him back, “is that K’tolu’tan has always kept to itself. It has no ‘mutual justice’ treaty with us. We can’t arrest her or force her to stand trial here. And even if she faces the charges on K’tolu’tan and their court finds her guilty, we’re not legally obligated to enforce the sentence. The most they could officially do is bar her from teeping there ever again.”
“Then she has nothing to worry about.”
“I wouldn’t say that. They could teep one of their own people over here to execute her and, by the same laws, we couldn’t prosecute him. I’m sure you can see the diplomatic results.”
“The reverberations could go on for years, maybe decades.”
“That’s just what my chief thinks. Interpol can’t take this any further. Maybe you could.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Something brilliant.”
“Thanks, but my prescription for brilliant pills lapsed last month.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got a background in interstellar diplomacy, you’re used to negotiating on other people’s behalf, you’ve even cracked a murder case. I’m sure you’ll do almost as good a job as I could.”
“You floor me with your confidence.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Hoy smiled. “On the floor can be fun. By the way, do you know what sort of company you’re keeping? Your Ms. Dinh has a rap sheet longer than a five dollar hooker’s.”
“All in college, lots of arrests, only a few convictions, all misdemeanors, mostly DTP and resisting, right?”
“You know her pretty well, I see.”
“She was one of the firebrand radicals in college, both on Earth and at Polycultural Institute on Pna’Fath. Always agitating for some just cause, the more lost it was, the better.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“I took the liberty of checking your college records, too. Everything except your class transcripts has been sealed shut. Officially, you’re absolutely pure.”
“That’s me. I put driven snow to shame.”
“Odd, don’t you think, that such an innocent young girl was best friends with a hooligan like Bian Dinh.”
“Not so odd, if you think about it. I talk to you, don’t I?”
“If you want my help, Bian,” Rabinowitz said, “I’ll need facts.”
“I have not lied to you,” Dinh said, but she refused to meet Rabinowitz’s gaze over the phone line.
“Partial truths are more misleading than lies. Or did you forget I grew up hosting diplomatic functions? Tell me everything about your relationship with this guy on K’tolu’tan.”
“He was a publisher. He had read some of my works on the politics of food, and they spoke to the rebellious nature within his own soul. He wanted me to write a book specifically about the politics of food on K’tolu’tan.”
“Did he reach you through your agent?”
“I’m… between agents at the moment. He contacted me directly. He said he would use the proposed book as a call to arms.”
“The little bit of research I’ve had time for says food and eating are taboo subjects on K’tolu’tan.”
Dinh nodded. “Totally. That was what was so wonderful. P’tar’houn-Hoc wanted to challenge the established order. Like us, he was a progressive thinker who believed in freedom of speech and ideas.”
“Like us,” Rabinowitz echoed with a trace of cynicism. “Were you involved with him personally in any way?”
Dinh looked at her, her face a mask of innocence. “What are you implying?”
“You’re not the only one who remembers good old college days.”
Having attended Polycultural Institute with Dinh for three years, Rabinowitz would have believed nothing could embarrass the other woman. Apparently she was wrong, for Dinh looked flustered as she said, “Do you know what K’tolu’tanou look like?”
“No, but I know what Reticuleans look like, and I remember that one weekend—”
“K’tolu’tanou look like soft-shelled crabs walking erect. If P’tar’houn-Hoc tempted me in any physical way, it was to throw him in a pot of boiling water and melt some butter when he was done. He stimulated me intellectually, yes, but that is all. We had many exciting conversations about the repressive nature of K’tolu’tan society—”
“I’ll bet you did. Is that what led to this charge of perversion they’ve got against you?”
“We never did anything,” Dinh protested. “If my book had been written and published, it would certainly have perverted the common morality—but it never was.”
“All you ever did was talk?”
“I prepared a few meals for him. He found that stimulating.”
“Oh, I’ll bet he did. You indulged his unique and culturally twisted fantasies—”
“They weren’t unique. There is a worldwide underground society devoted to public eating. P’tar’houn-Hoc was one of its leading members. So was his assistant, F’tim-Saa.”
“The plot thickens. You were involved with the local Hellfire Club.”
“You make it sound so childish. There was a time you would have thought it was noble.”
“Probably, in some distant epoch.”
“Even if all you’re thinking is true, I would have no reason to kill him. We held the same values, and he was commissioning a book from me. Surely you don’t think I’d kill anyone.”
“Not the Bian I knew in college,” Rabinowitz admitted. “You might harangue someone to death, but that would be suicide if they stayed to listen. No, I don’t think you could take a knife and stab someone. But somebody did kill him, and you’re conveniently far enough away to make a wonderful scapegoat. People love to blame aliens when things go wrong.”
“That reminds me of our march to protest the treatment of the Kaliwwan. Do you remember—?”
“Yes I do, and I’m proud I was part of it, but it has nothing to do with the case at hand. You said the door was locked when you got there. Do you know who else had passcodes?”