KILLER PLANET
Chapter 11. The ruined tribute

Severus and Martha crossed the main door of the sports center. They entered into a crowded basketball court adapted for a Jazz concert. Humongous speakers and mics stood over a wooden podium set at the center of the court. Imponent walls were decorated with banners from international football clubs and pictures of glamorous athletes. Next to the podium Hernan was cutting a gigantic cake: a miniature of a football stadium. Flashing lights from newspaper reporters blinded them for a second or two. Thousands of invited guests applauded Sousa.

Martha felt that someone was observing her. All of a sudden, she turned around and faced Guillermina and Anaximandra. Their faces were contracted in an ugly gesture of hate. They both flushed, caught in their most evil feeling, and turned their faces towards the stage, where 5 jazz musicians improvised jazz tunes. Martha stared at them for several seconds, enjoying their uneasiness. A waiter offered her a cup of wine.

“Let’s toast” Severus said, “to Mister Sousa’s return from the dead.”

“Cheers,” Martha smiled.

She saw Mister Cancerbero holding a glass of whisky. His eyes were fixed on her. He walked two steps towards her but was cut short by Fabio and Keiichi’s sudden entrance. Mister Cancerbero recoiled and quietly left the hall. She then recognized a small group near the emergency exit: Whitney, Frank, and Fred.

Hernan crossed before her accompanied by Mister Bogle, a tall blonde Martian man and a Saturnian woman. They were followed by Nefertiti, Lord Gloucester, Herr Bergman--a well-known Saturnian Politician, and a young red-hair waitress.

The saxophone player flawlessly played a solo just at the first tune end. The first performance was over and the audience applauded with brio. The musicians stepped down from the stage. Sir Weyden took the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as the president of the Cheshire Club, I’m delighted to welcome back our most valuable football player, Hernan Sousa!”

Sir Weyden applauded and most of the people imitated him. Hernan found his way up to the podium among the ovations and screams of the invited guests.

Fabio stopped in front of the hall entrance. Keiichi frowned in complicity.

“We can proceed,” he sighed.

“Wouldn’t it be inconvenient for you.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Fabio,” Keiichi said. “I don’t forget how you helped me during our university years.”

They made their way to the podium. Hernan spotted them just as he addressed his first words to the audience.

“I want,” he said, “first of all, to thank Sir and Lady Weyden for their trust. I just hope that my abilities, skills and talents on the soccer field will correspond to their kindness and generosity.”

The guests applauded angrily. Fabio and Keiichi climbed the stairs to the podium. Sir Weyden looked at them from head to toe without hiding his surprise.

“Tragedy has also shaken our lives,” Hernan continued, “but it’s our responsibility to regain our confidence in the present and the future. It’s...”

Hernan stuttered before Fabio, who approached with a condescending face. He whispered a few words in his ear and Hernan backed down two steps. After smiling at the audience, Fabio took the microphone from his hands.

“An applause for Hernan Sousa!” Fabio exclaimed jovially.

People screamed and clapped enthusiastically. Hernan leaned in appreciation and stepped off the podium, glaring with uneasiness at Sir Weyden.

“What the hell is going on?” Sir Weyden murmured to Keiichi.

Keiichi showed his identification before his eyes.

“It will be a brief statement from the Mars Investigation Bureau.”

“I know who you are,” said Sir Weyden. “Do you take me for a fool? You are making a serious mistake, Inspector.”

Fabio raised the palm of his hand to the audience. People calmed down and stood silent.

Severus faced Martha.

“Good evening,” he said.

Martha blinked and walked to the podium. Severus followed her.

“We’d like to speak briefly about the mystery of Miss Cleopatra Gloucester’s death,” said Fabio.

“I won’t allow it!” exclaimed a shrill voice in the middle of the audience.

The crowd drifted around Mrs. Grave like water before a drop of oil.

“Isn’t this a tribute from the Martian community?” she went on opening her eyes wide. “Don’t you know all the presenters must be Martians! We don’t want people from other planets telling us what to do!”

“I live on Mars, Madame!”

“That’s a lie!”

“We are your neighbors in Puerto Nickel, Madame,” Martha said. “Are you all right?”

“I require this foreigner to immediately deliver that microphone to Sir Weyden or Lord Gloucester!” she shouted. “I won’t accept a Neptico or a Venusian that comes here to assume the most outstanding roles in our society!”

“But if you spoke to me only yesterday, Madame,” replied Fabio, “and our conversation was kind and civil. At no time did you behave sullen as today.”

“We are sick of you, Sir!” Mrs. Grave scoffed.

Guillermina took her by the arm and Nefertiti by her shoulder.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as she was led out of the room.

“Have you taken your medicines, Agatha?” Guillermina asked quietly.

“I’m not going to belong to any society that favors murder, Guillermina!” she said. “Leave me alone!”

There was a whisper, followed by a tense silence. Lord Gloucester rose to the podium and picked up an auxiliary wireless microphone.

“We are sorry that Mrs. Grave had one of your unfortunate memory loss attacks,” he said. “Her unfortunate ravings--and here I am speaking on behalf of our entire community, have nothing to do with the climate of tolerance and brotherhood that our Martian society offers.”

Nefertiti applauded and was emulated by the crowd.

“You can certainly tell us what you and Inspector Keiichi want to tell us about my daughter Cleopatra’s unfortunate suicide,” he continued. “I just want to ask you to be brief, because it’s not mourning that brings us together today, but the joy of reintegrating one of our best players into our municipal soccer club.”

A laugh broke out in the crowd. Fabio took a notebook from his jacket pocket. He looked severely at Lord Gloucester and replied:

“I will be as brief as the audience allows me, my Lord.”

A new laugh broke out among the attendees. Lord Gloucester hardened his face and descended from the podium.

“This community has been devastated by the recent capture of Doctor Caicedo,” Fabio went on, “who, according to the latest reports, has killed 89 men and women over the past 25 years. Whether he was guilty or not, it’s evident that he was not working alone.”

A rumor spread among the audience.

“I spoke to Lord Gloucester a few days ago,” Fabio continued, “and I learned that he, too, was one of Doctor Caicedo’s patients. But Lord Gloucester never had a problem with him. A very strange fact, considering that according to the media, Doctor Caicedo always chose to murder his wealthiest patients.”

A growing mumbling was heard from the crowd.

“What are you trying to demonstrate, young man?” Lord Gloucester said in a less severe tone.

“Magnates are circumspect,” replied Fabio. “They often distrust their doctors and dentists. They know that their fortune is a constant threat to their heads and, more than anyone, they know how vulnerable they can be in doctors’ hands.”

Lord Gloucester frowned defiantly.

“May I ask you, sir, who recommended you to Doctor Caicedo?” Fabio asked.

“I’ll not answer any of your questions, Mister Saint-André.”

“I had anticipated it”.

Fabio looked at Anaximandra, who stood with his arms crossed, just behind Lord Gloucester.

“And isn’t it because you protect someone? A relative, for example? Perhaps your most pampered daughter, Lady Weyden, who had an affair with Doctor Caicedo for nearly five years, as a student at Titanium City University?

Another wave of whispers spread amongst the crowd. Fabio descended from the podium with his wireless microphone and approached Anaximandra.

“Or are you going to deny it?”

“Who told you such a gossip?” Anaximandra asked.

“That Doctor Caicedo was a seducer was a secret no one could keep. In this city too many people saw him going out with his younger students, particularly the wealthiest ones.”

“It’s true,” said Anaximandra. “We were lovers for several years. Is it a crime?”

Whispers and exclamations shook the auditorium.

“Are you accusing Lady Weyden of murder, sir?” Lord Gloucester asked, raising his voice above the crowd.

“First we must establish Doctor Caicedo’ innocence.”

Whispers and exclamations were heard again.

“Blessed heavens!” Nefertiti exclaimed. “Are you defending a serial killer?”

“That’s what he came for!” Guillermina exclaimed with bloodshot eyes.

“Doctor Caicedo is a murderer!” Ellacarda intervened dressed in red.

“A scum!” Guillermina supported her.

“She killed my mother-in-law!” Shouted a chubby man in his 50s, who was wearing a white linen suit.

“This is awful!” exclaimed a teenage girl with a castle tattoo on her bald head.

“What the hell are you up to?” Sir Weyden shouted.

Several diners gave exclamations of support.

“Let us reflect for a moment on what happened,” said Fabio, imposing his voice over the crowd. “We only have one piece of evidence: a syringe filled with poison found in Doctor Caicedo’s pocket. Should we blame Doctor Caicedo, then, for the death of 89 of his patients? Men and women who visited his office even, as it has been shown, only once in their lives? We all die sooner or later. Journalists have been speculating about his preference for elderly victims. In fact, the average age of Doctor Caicedo’s dead patients is 81 years. But most of the elderly were already sick. And there were a lot of patients under the age of seventy who never died. The syringe in his pocket had, in fact, been put there by someone else. Do you not agree with me, Mr Weyden?

Comments from attendees became more audible. Anaximandra took three steps forward and raised her hand to slap Fabio, but Martha caught her in midair. There was a tense silence in which the two women confronted their gazes. Anaximandra finally composed herself and turned to Sir Weyden.

“I actually researched Doctor Caicedo’s office visit log,” said Fabio. “Lady Weyden was there the day he was arrested. The camera captured her from behind, wearing a white coat.”

“It was my regular workplace,” said Anaximandra.

“No one denies it,” Fabio agreed. “Right here we have a recording of the last conversation intercepted on Doctor Caicedo’s mobile.”

Fabio raised his face and searched for Keiichi, who affirmatively nodded his head. Fabio then projected a holographic board from his ring. Several audios and videos became visible. With his index finger he pressed the first one.

“Doctor Caicedo? ” asked a woman’s terse voice.

“Talk to her assistant,” replied a feminine voice.

“I am really puzzled by Doctor Caicedo’s behavior. We went to his office about an hour ago. My husband received an injection, and on the way home he fell convulsing to the ground! I have him beside me unconscious!”

“Did you call the emergency services?” Anaximandra’s voice became clear and unmistakable through the speakers.

A growing rumor of bewilderment filled the room.

“Yes. They’re coming here,” replied the woman’s broken voice.

“At what time did your husband had his first convulsion?” Anaximandra asked.

“It will be about twenty minutes. I want to know what drug Doctor Caicedo gave to my husband. ”

The voice was cut off by a suppressed moan.

“Oh!” Anaximandra giggled. “I’m certain that Doctor Caicedo will prove his innocence to the police.”

Fabio pushed the screen with one of his fingers and the recording stopped. All eyes fell on Anaximandra.

“Two hours earlier,” Fabio went on, “a hand changed the syringe that Doctor Caicedo was preparing for that wretch.

Anaximandra’s face turned pale as Fabio pulled a syringe from his pocket.

“This was the kind of injection the victim got!” he said, lifting a syringe above the crowd. “It’s curious that my wife didn’t discover him in the organic garbage seized that week from the center of Doctor Caicedo, but in ... ¿where did you replace it, my love?

“In a drawer,” Martha replied, “in the Weyden mansion.”

Lord Gloucester clapped her palms once, then twice, and finally thrice.

The crowd remained tense, waiting for the next comment.

“Your imagination surprises us, Monsieur Saint-André,” he replied. “There are thousands of syringes like this on this planet. We are, in fact, the city that produces the most syringes in the solar system. We are not a banana planet like Venus, Monsieur.”

“I am afraid to contradict you, Sir Weyden,” said Keiichi. “This is a syringe made on Venus from the same company that supplies Doctor Caicedo’s organic syringes.”

A wave of whispers shook the room. The holographic screen stood unshakeable in the air, with the rig adapting its laser rays to Fabio’s hand’s movements.

“Doctor Caicedo had in fact kept an unpleasant secret,” Fabio continued, approaching Mister Sousa.

“A mystery related to the expression “Poor Cleopatra!” Fabio exclaimed. “Poor Cleopatra!” That was the expression used by several people in this room when referring to the dead. My studies in forensic linguistics have taught me that when several people pronounce an identical adjective on someone, it’s because those people have been talking or conspiring about that person.

“Lord Gloucester exclaimed,” Fabio went on pressing the first of a series of audio clips, «poor Cleopatra!» He claimed that he was the victim of a thief. And then Sir Weyden: «Do you suspect, Monsieur Fabio, that I murdered poor Cleopatra on my wedding night?» And Anaximandra too: «I can’t accept the fact that my sister is dead. Poor Cleopatra!» The same words from Madame Guillermina: «But if you allow me to tell you, I think the police report was quite correct. Poor Cleopatra committed suicide», and Mister Cancerbero: «Poor Cleopatra! What a grief she’s caused to her family!» Why poor? I wonder. Why just that adjective to describe Cleopatra? After all, there are hundreds, no, thousands of words to describe a friend or acquaintance. I inferred that Lord Gloucester, Mister Cancerbero, Anaximandra, Guillermina and Sir Weyden were members of a nearby community, a guild or society that shared the key to the mysterious death of Cleopatra Gloucester.``

Fabio returned to the podium, where Martha stood up.

“A weak hypothesis, could be argued,” continued Fabio. “Expressions, after all, come and go by word of mouth. It was Martha who finally grounded my suspicion by discovering a community willing to support women willing to degenetize their embryos, stigmatizing them with such an condescending label: poor Cleopatra!”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about, Monsieur!” Guillermina said in a haughty tone.

“Of Eleutheria,” intervened. “The notorious pro-desgenetization society of which several of you are active members.”

Whispers and expressions of admiration were heard among the present. Martha made a sign for Fabio, who played a video clip recorded from Martha’s point of view.

“What’s her name?” Exclaimed Ellacarda’s voice. “Martha… Poor Martha!”

Fabio interrupted the recording and smiled at Martha, just as Lord Gloucester ascended the podium.

“It’s about time to stop such disproportionate speculation!” he exclaimed.

Martha calmly confronted Lord Gloucester’s dislocated eyes.

“What do you know of Eleutheria, Lord Gloucester?”

“What we all know here, mom. We are not a secret society, but a progressive and philanthropic force for this community.

Mister Cancerbero, wiping his forehead with a pink silk scarf, crept back into the room escorted by a guard.

“Would you agree with me,” Martha asked, “if I say that this is a group of men and women who are fighting for the freedom of women who you deem manipulated by interplanetary beings? Women with unwanted embryos, women like my good friend Cleopatra Gloucester?”

Whispers grew louder till becoming almost deafening.

“She couldn’t!” Hernan intervened in a trembling voice. “She would have told me!”

“But he didn’t,” Martha replied. “She wasn’t sure whether she should give life to a fetus or not. Your main priority in life, Hernan, has been, and still is, to become a triumphal football player. Cleopatra was not sure of her love, her life, her career. She loved you, of course. Otherwise, she’d not have asked so many people for advice: her father, her sister, Mrs. Guillermina Grave. In other words, Eleutheria. Ah! And Doctor Caicedo, who was, after all, her family’s doctor.”

Hernan faced her, his face wild with remorse. Sir Weyden rose slowly to the podium.

“You are jeopardizing my family’s reputation, miss,” said Sir Weyden haughtily, “and I hope that by calling you ‘miss’ you won’t conclude that I, Lord Gloucester and all of us are plotting against you as members of a sinister ‘secret’ society, just because we all have called you ‘miss’ on the grounds of your personal charms.”

The crowd burst out in a contagious laugh.

“I won’t allow these two foreigners to continue this charade,” said Lord Gloucester. “Mister Keiichi, this is not the usual way that the Martian Research Office handles Investigations on this planet. I am afraid to inform you that you will have to answer to your superiors in Diamond City before tomorrow.”

Several flatterers applauded Titanium City’s greatest businessman.

“Only the truth can redeem us, Ralph,” said Nefertiti.

Lord Gloucester laughed nervously. The crowd fixed its attention before the stone face of the matron. Lord Gloucester then faced the cold faces of the guests. Reluctantly, and unable to confront the woman he loved, he descended from the podium.

“All Eleutheria members supported Cleopatra’s degenitization,” Fabio continued. ”But Cleopatra was afraid of murdering a human being. Although science has dismissed the Orion precepts, which stipulate that life begins at the time of fertilization between two parent cells, our planets have allowed host bodies up to fifteen days to dispose of their embryo. Cleopatra’s doubts continued for five, six, seven days. Time passed, and then someone realized that it was too late.”

Martha took Nefertiti’s arm.

“Lord Gloucester wouldn’t accept an interplanetary child,” he continued, “so he contacted the degenetization expert after fifteen days, the infamous Doctor Philippe, and did so through Mister Cancerbero, the living source of my words.”

The eyes fell on Mister Cancerbero, who remained impassive with his pink silk scarf in his hand.

“It was Mister Cancerbero who received Doctor Philippe at the interplanetary station, according to Titanium City gravimotor parking records.” Monsieur Philippe’s last name was Dupin, a notorious degenetizator expelled from Neptunian hospitals in 3895, following a series of scandals involving pharmaceutical embryo trade practices. To keep up appearances, Mister Dupin became Lord Gloucester’s faithful employee. Yes. Mister Cancerbero, who works for Lord Gloucester, was the one who hired Doctor Philippe as a consultant to his firm.

“This is absurd!” Sir Weyden exclaimed. “Mister Cancerbero has records attesting to the excellent work of Doctor Philippe Dupin!”

“I’m sure he has,” said Fabio, “but Doctor Philippe had, in fact, like most of us, a double life. It was Mrs. Guillermina who informed us, perhaps without intention, that Doctor Philippe used to work tirelessly day and night.”

Sir Weyden hesitated in his attempt to reply.

“Could you explain, Sir Weyden,” Fabio continued, “why are these signatures on this collective suicide note?”

Fabio pressed several commands on his 3-D screen. The lights in the living room went off and a video beam projected the note Fabio took from the Eleutheria secret clinic.

Nefertiti screamed, victim of a sudden terror, and passed out in the arms of Lord Gloucester. Several footmen helped him to sustain her.

“She is fine!” Lord Gloucester screamed, softly slapping Nefertiti’s cheeks. She reacted by opening her eyes to immediately stand up.

“This is very strange,” Fabio whispered to Martha in a mocking tone, “for they say that Saturnian women never sleep.”

“Do you feel,” Martha asked, “perhaps betrayed in your good faith, Madame?”

“Correct,” said Nefertiti dumbfounded, pulling herself a couple steps away from Lord Gloucester.

“The page you see projected in the middle of this room was carefully cut,” Fabio continued through the microphone.

Laser rays projected an incomplete sheet of paper with suicidal confessions and signatures: “Don’t blame anyone.”

Fabio went on.

“The piece of paper found in Cleopatra Gloucester matches, as you may have noticed, this sheet.”

Whispers of admiration and amazement were heard among the audience.

“’Blame no one,’ signed by Mrs. Nefertiti Gloucester,” Fabio continued. “‘Don’t Blame Anyone’, signed by Mrs. Guillermina Grave. ‘Don’t Blame Anyone,’ signed by Doctor Philippe Dupin.”

“Enough!” Anaximandra protested. “We’ve had enough speculation for a day!”

“We also found your signature, Lady Anaximandra,” Martha replied.

“You’re wrong, Martha,” Anaximandra stammered, “those signatures were part of a letter we sent to the press.”

“To the press?” Martha asked. “And for what reason?”

“To support Gwen Twain.”

Fabio moved his fingers in the air and projected the photograph of a girl beneath a newspaper headline:

“TEENAGER EXTRACTS HER EMBRYO IN A BATHTUB”.

“An 18-year-old girl sentenced to two years in prison for removing her embryo after twenty days,” Martha explained.

“Baby killer!” A fat woman shouted.

Applause and expressions of approval were heard from the crowd. Fabio addressed Mrs. Grave privately.

“But that letter never made it to the newspapers, Anaximandra,” said Martha.

Anaximandra looked suspiciously at Nefertiti.

“We couldn’t get all the signatures,” Nefertiti agreed.

“A letter that was also signed by Cleopatra Gloucester and Doctor Philippe,” said Fabio. “It was a death signature, because the pro-degenetization society had become, in fact, and perhaps unknowingly, a pro-murder society.”

Whispers of conversation spread throughout the room. Guillermina and Anaximandra looked intently at Nefertiti, who turned her head around and faced Lord Gloucester’s grim countenance.

“I didn’t kill her!” Nefertiti exclaimed. “I swear! It was me who asked Monsieur Fabio to continue with this investigation! I’ve taken care of my stepdaughters as if they were my own children! Isn’t that so, Ralph?”

“Let us ask Sir Weyden!” Fabio exclaimed. “Is Nefertiti innocent or not?”

All eyes fell on Sir Weyden’s dislocated face.

“Sir Maximilian Weyden!” Fabio continued. “Owner of the property where I currently live with my wife right now. Months before our arrival, Mister Sousa rented that very same apartment for a year.”

Martha approached Hernan, whose eyes moved away and fell on Fred.

“Did you sign the contract with Guillermina Grave, Sir Weyden’s representative?” Martha asked.

“Certainly,” replied Hernan.