Asteroid Outpost (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 1) Read online

  Uh. Uh.

  “We know our rights, Marshal,” Henry Farrington said. His color had returned, his fury somewhat abated. Now he merely looked cynical again. “We’re not doing anything illegal and we resent the implication that we are.”

  “Nothing illegal?” Nick asked innocently. “Nothing at all?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “So…you’re not going to let me inspect your lockup?”

  “Not without a warrant.”

  “Which you won’t be able to get,” Harvey added, “because you don’t have any probable cause to apply for one.”

  “His niggo judge would probably give him one,” Henry suggested.

  Nick didn’t rise to the bait.

  “In any case,” he said, “the time it would take me to get a warrant would give you time to hide anything that might be incriminating. I’ll just have to find another avenue.”

  Harvey grinned at him. “Have fun with that.”

  Uh. Uh.

  Nick nodded and got to his feet.

  “Thanks for your time. I found it…interesting.”

  Both Farringtons watched him without comment, Harvey grinning, Henry glaring. Nick stood there a moment longer, then turned for the door. Just as he reached it, a thought occurred to him and he looked back.

  “You want to know what I think, Harvey?”

  Harvey Farrington clasped his hands above his desk and shook his head.

  “Marshal, I couldn’t care less what you think! About anything.”

  As Nick walked out the door, he heard Harvey Farrington braying behind him.

  Chapter 18

  Government Annex - Ceres

  Driving back to Government Annex, Nick was feeling depressed. He’d handled the situation badly, no question about it. The Farringtons had buttfucked him, and done it without breaking a sweat.

  First of all, there’d been two of them, which gave them numerical advantage. Secondly, they did know their rights—their lockup was private property, and without proper paperwork he couldn’t inspect it. But what galled him the most was that Harvey Farrington had laughed at him to his face. Nick was still young but had been around some, had learned quite a bit about people. He’d listened to people talk and observed their actions—had seen some pretty terrible things, in fact—and come to the conclusion that, of all the defects in human nature, arrogance was the absolute worst. It was bad enough when a man could make fun of you to your face and you had to take it, but when that same man was a criminal, flaunting his criminality, it was very near intolerable.

  Nick vowed silently that, if it was the last thing he ever did, he would see both Farringtons in prison…or die trying.

  The problem was how to do it. He had tipped his hand by going there. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, was it? They had also tipped theirs; by their own admission they had followed his movements from the moment he arrived on Ceres. How, exactly, had they done that?

  Well, that was pretty obvious, too—within an hour of his arrival he’d tangled with Turd Murdoch, who was a prize employee at Farrington Industries, as evidenced by the fact that they spent whatever necessary to keep him out of jail. Turd had probably reported the upstart U.F. Marshal that first night.

  Then, of course, they would have been advised that Nick had killed Guthrie and Willoughby at Caribou Lake (funny they hadn’t mentioned that), so that was three strikes against him. Clocking Turd with his .44 would have been the fourth strike, and sleeping with Monica Maynard was apparently also a strike. Damn! How did they know about that?

  He shook his head slowly as the tunnel ended and he emerged into Government Annex. He’d tried to keep control with the Farringtons, so they wouldn’t own him. But they’d apparently owned him long before he ever showed up in their office, so…maybe he was using the wrong strategy. Maybe the better strategy was to let them keep the upper hand—or at least think so—until he was ready to strike.

  He nodded with satisfaction. He would let them pursue him…until he caught them.

  Nick was gratified to find David Tarpington in his office instead of the courtroom. It was always a pain having to sit in court waiting for someone to be available, but he had timed it right. Tarpington seemed glad to see him and offered him coffee again, which he declined.

  “You’ve been a busy marshal!” Tarpington grinned as he leaned back in his chair. “I heard about Caribou Lake.”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Don’t complain, lucky is good.”

  Nick grinned. “Got a question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The other day you gave me the impression that you can tell when a man is gay.”

  “Sometimes.” Tarpington nodded. “Usually.”

  “I assume you’ve met Harvey Farrington?”

  “I have.”

  “Is he gay?”

  Tarpington laughed. “Definitely not. He is a little odd, but I think I can safely say he isn’t gay. If anything, I’d say he was asexual.”

  Nick looked startled. “Really!”

  “Yeah. In fact, I’m not even sure he has a dick.”

  This time it was Nick’s turn to laugh. Tarpington had a definite talent with words.

  “Why do you ask? Have you met him?”

  “I just left his office. I’ve never met anyone quite like him.”

  “That’s probably because there is no one quite like him. I’ve never met anyone with his level of arrogance, and I’ve encountered a few, let me tell you.”

  “So have I, and I have to agree with you. What about his brother?”

  “Henry? Also not gay. Quite the opposite. He has enough dick for both of them. In fact, since they’re twins, Henry may have gotten Harvey’s endowment along with his own.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Henry likes women. A little too much.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed as he tried to follow the meaning.

  “Sex offender?”

  “In spades. Can’t catch him at it, though. I’ve got victims, but they won’t testify.”

  “Too afraid?”

  “Terrified.”

  “How many?”

  “Six, that I know of. I’m sure that’s just the tip of the asteroid.”

  “Got any names for me?”

  Tarpington shook his head. “Won’t do you any good, Marshal. Most of them have criminal records, so even if they did testify it would be tough to get a conviction. In any case, they’ve made it clear that they prefer to remain silent, and I’ve agreed not to pursue it.”

  Nick’s eyes narrowed further.

  “The women have criminal records?”

  Tarpington nodded.

  “Did these rapes take place in Farrington lockup?”

  “Some of them. Some took place after the women were released. Henry seems to have an instinct for which women are the most vulnerable.”

  “The other day you and I were talking about prisoner abuse. You didn’t mention this then.”

  “I thought we were talking about male prisoners.”

  “I guess we were, but this is worse.”

  Tarpington shrugged. “I didn’t see any point in opening this particular vial of germs. It isn’t going to go anywhere.”

  “It will if I can find a victim who will testify.”

  “You won’t.”

  Nick didn’t like that answer, but couldn’t fault Tarpington for being honest. He changed the subject.

  “When someone is convicted in court, they serve their time at Farrington?”

  “If they’re not major felonies. The other mining companies also have lockups but they’re much smaller. The prisoners in those facilities are usually just awaiting trial. Once the trial is over, if they’re to be incarcerated, they go to Farrington.”

  “And the Federation pays for their incarceration?”

  “Correct.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty-five terros a day. Per prisoner.”

  Nick’s eyes widened as he
tried to do the math, but his multiplication skills couldn’t go that high.

  “Someone told me that the Farrington facility can hold about three thousand men,” he said.

  “Maximum. The average population is around twenty-five hundred, plus a few hundred women.”

  “So how much does Farrington bill the Federation?”

  Tarpington turned to his computer.

  “Twenty-five hundred prisoners…times twenty-five terros equals…” He whistled. “Sixty-two thousand, five hundred terros per day!”

  “Jesus Christ! And how much does that calculate to per year?”

  Tarpington worked the numbers and shook his head slowly.

  “Almost twenty-three million.”

  Nick sat stunned. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Even without the mining operation, Farrington Industries could make a fortune off the lockup facility alone.

  “Next question—I’ve been told there are only about five thousand women on Ceres. Yet something like fifteen percent of them are in prison. What kind of crimes are they convicted of?”

  “Everything from assault to theft to murder.”

  Nick looked skeptical. “Murder, or self defense?”

  “They usually claim self defense, and to be honest with you I’m often inclined to believe them, but the preponderance of evidence usually overrides that.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “Eyewitness testimony. It’s unreliable as hell, and prone to perjury, but it’s still considered valid evidence, and juries buy it.”

  Nick sat in thought for a moment.

  “So, if I had a grudge against a woman, I could accuse her of stealing something, bribe a few drunks to swear they saw her do it, and she would go away?”

  Tarpington looked uncomfortable. “Theoretically.”

  “And if I were Henry Farrington and wanted to rape a woman without complications, I could do the same thing; once she was in prison she’d be all mine for as long as she was locked up.”

  “Tied up in a pretty pink ribbon.”

  Nick felt his face heating with anger. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since before I came here.”

  “And you can’t do anything about it?”

  “I wish I could, but you’re familiar with the legal system. Rules have to be obeyed, procedure has to be followed.”

  “What about a Federation investigation? Has no one called for one?”

  Tarpington, looking increasingly unhappy, shook his head.

  “Nick, this is Ceres, the asshole of the Solar System. No one inside the orbit of Mars gives a shit what happens to the people out here because most of them are losers anyway, or fugitives of some kind. The only thing the Federation does give a shit about is the flow of potable water from this asteroid to Mars and the Outer Worlds. As long as that flow is uninterrupted, nothing is going to change. And god help anyone who interrupts it.”

  “That’s a pretty grim statement.”

  “That’s a pretty true statement.”

  “So if I wanted to put the Farringtons out of business—”

  “You’d better have someone standing by to replace them.”

  Nick walked across the hall to the defense attorney’s office and found Misery Allen at her desk. She smiled as he entered and ushered him to a chair. She closed her door before taking a seat.

  “I pulled the transcripts you were asking about,” she told him in a confidential tone. “You aren’t going to believe what I found.”

  “I think I will. I already know that she worked for Farrington…”

  “Yes. She was a file clerk, and claimed that her boss tried to rape her.”

  “And her boss was…?” Nick was pretty sure he already knew.

  Misery’s eyes were wide as saucers.

  “Henry Farrington!”

  Chapter 19

  Silence hung in the room for thirty seconds. Misery was so excited she was almost dancing in her chair, her eyes bright, a big grin on her face.

  Nick let his breath out slowly. “Interesting,” he said in the understatement of the day.

  “What does this mean, Nick?”

  “I’m not sure at this point. I need to read the trial transcripts.”

  “I copied them to a chip for you.” She pulled it out of a drawer and handed it to him.

  “Thanks.”

  “Can I help?”

  “You already have. This could be very important.”

  “Why are you investigating this case?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t ask me that. If and when you need to know, I’ll share it with you. For the moment you don’t know anything about this. For your own safety.”

  She smiled, a little disappointed.

  “Okay, Nick, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “And I don’t.”

  He looked at the data chip she had given him, then met her eyes again.

  “Do you know someone named Stan Cramer?”

  “Of course. He’s an attorney for Farrington.”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “Sure. There are only about thirty lawyers on Ceres, so everyone knows everyone, or at least has met everyone.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Not well. He isn’t the warm and fuzzy type.”

  “What type is he?”

  “Very cold and distant. He rarely comes into the courtroom except to see the clerk, mostly to file corporate documents.”

  “He doesn’t try cases?”

  “I’ve never seen him litigate, but—” She pointed to the chip in Nick’s hand. “—he was Jessica Garner’s attorney in that second action you were asking about. The one when she got the extra time added to her sentence.”

  “Does that seem in any way odd to you?”

  Misery nodded decisively. “It seems very odd. He’s head of Farrington’s legal department and Mrs. Garner had been convicted of assaulting one of his bosses…yet he was her attorney of record?” She shook her pretty head. “Makes no sense.”

  Nick smiled at her earnestness. She noticed.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “Everything makes sense when you know all the facts.”

  Misery stared at him a moment, then laughed.

  “You sound like a philosopher. Did you come up with that yourself?”

  “Nope. It’s a quote from a video lecture I heard at the Academy. Wanna know who said it?”

  “Who?”

  “Marshal Milligan.”

  Nick spent the rest of the afternoon on his desk terminal reading Jessica Garner’s trial transcripts. The original assault trial had been a clear case of he said/she said—“he” being Henry Farrington and “she” being Jessica Garner. Farrington testified that Garner attacked him with a writing stylus when he rebuffed her attempt to seduce him. Garner testified that Farrington had tried to rape her in his office, even ripping her dress in the process, and the only defense she had was a stylus lying on the desk. She had plunged it into his chest, a painful but non-lethal wound. Farrington’s security guards had beaten her senseless, leaving her bruised and bloody, and charged her with assault with intent to commit grave bodily injury.

  Given the injuries sustained by Jessica Garner, the case might have been dismissed as unwinnable, except that two female office workers at Farrington testified they had witnessed the whole thing. Garner, they swore under oath, had been stalking their boss for weeks, one of them characterizing her as “practically in heat”.

  It had still been a tossup that might have gone either way. It was a bench trial; the case was heard by Monica Maynard, and she had rendered a guilty verdict of simple assault, a misdemeanor. She had also handed down the lightest sentence possible short of probation—three months in lockup—to be served at…Farrington lockup.

  As he read the judge’s sentencing comments, Nick’s eyes narrowed.

  Judge Maynard:

  Mrs. Garner, your actions in this matter are of grave concern to
the Court; assault is a serious crime, and I feel we are fortunate that your attempt to injure Mr. Farrington did not result in a more serious injury. Taking into account that this is your first offense, I am giving you the lightest sentence I can.

  It is my hope that you will take the time to reflect upon your crime and evaluate your motives. You are a married woman—I find it reprehensible that you would set your sights on an upstanding citizen like Mr. Farrington and continue to stalk him even after he clearly indicated a lack of interest in your advances. So dry your tears, desist with the objections, and take your medicine. I don’t ever want to see you in this courtroom again.

  Nick let his breath out slowly. It appalled him that the judge had taken a stance like that. It was bad enough she had handed down a guilty verdict, in view of the lack of solid evidence—at the very least there remained a reasonable doubt—but to admonish the defendant in that manner seemed a little over the top.

  Of course, Nick reminded himself, he already had a bias in the matter. His interview with Jessica Garner had prejudiced him in her favor, and at the time of sentencing most of the events she had related to him hadn’t happened yet. The judge had much less information then than Nick had now, but…

  Still.

  He turned his attention to the second trial, in which Jessica Garner had been charged with assaulting a guard. She had not been present in the courtroom, but was instead represented by Stan Cramer, a Farrington corporate attorney. (That, all by itself, seemed rather bizarre.)

  It had been a short trial, less than a half hour. Flat photos had been entered into evidence showing the injuries sustained by the guard, and he had testified as to the events in question. His name was Donald Hooley—Nick remembered him as the man with Benny Silva the first time he’d visited the courtroom. Hooley had deep, bloody bite marks on his throat from the assault, and testified that Jessica Garner had tried several times to rip his pants off and have sex with him in the three months he’d been guarding her. He had always refused, of course, and each time he refused she threatened him with snarling obscenities. On the night in question, she had skipped the usual attempt at sex and gone for his throat with her teeth.