Deadman - Book 3 Chapter 42: Forensics

I escorted Bill over to the pile of guns, and handed him the bullet. I’d already narrowed the number of guns down by which ammo types they used and which guns were fired by the group that had said they’d heard the voice. That left nearly a dozen guns for him to examine. There was a chance that the shooter had attempted to rid themselves of the weapon, but that seemed unlikely. I still wasn’t even sure that matching the bullet to a specific gun was possible, and besides, it was a hard thing to give up something of value in the wastes, particularly a weapon.

Bill and his nephew began going through each gun one by one, lifting them up, checking the straightness of the barrel and then turning them over in their hands. Somehow they managed to narrow the guns down even further, frequently moving back between the guns and looking at the bullets. Once it was narrowed down to around five guns, I started to watch those Hordesman they belonged to. All of them looked nervous, but that was understandable. Even if it had been by accident, one of their guns had shot the Khan, a possible death sentence, or worse awaited them.

With the last five guns, Bill and his Nephew took out their tools and started actually disassembling each gun and examining each part. The nephew was very methodical about this and for the most part I understood the what and why of what he was doing, but Bill was another story. He would smell and occasionally taste the parts of the gun, weighing them in his hand, and making minute gestures I couldn’t hazard a guess as to the purpose of.

The honor guard that had been helping me approached. “Are you certain that man is…sane?”

“What’s your name?” I asked, realizing I still didn’t know it.

“Valdes.”

“Well, Valdes, I am absolutely not sure he’s sane. I am certain of his competence though. If he and his nephew can’t do it, then it’s impossible.”

“You’d bet the Khan’s respect and your authority on this?”

I nodded, even as I watched Bill spit down the barrel of a gun and watch as it slid through and out onto the ground. “Yes, absolutely.”

I heard Bill’s nephew actually gag in disgust at one of the guns he was holding, and watched as Bill moved over to him to look at the gun. Even from the distance I was standing at, it was filthy, and I could smell the grime of frequent use and infrequent or even non-existent maintenance.

Bill nudged his nephew to the side, and quickly reassembled the gun. Even as I was watching him do it, my own experience reassembling firearms being not insignificant, I still lost track of what he was doing once or twice. Once it was together, Bill lifted it, pulled a bullet seemingly from the air, loaded it, and fired a single shot at a nearby slap of concrete. His nephew jumped, as did a few of the others assembled nearby.

Bill moved over to the wall, and found where the bullet had hit the wall. He examined it, turning it over in his hand, and even lifting the lenses of his dark shades to get a clearer look. He grunted, seemingly satisfied with whatever it was he had been trying to determine. He walked over to me, gun in his hand and held it out.

“This is the one,” he said. “Pulls heavy to the right. Owner takes shit care of his things.”

I held the gun, finding it to be somehow…sticky to the touch. I looked to Valdes. “Whose is it?”

Valdes pointed at a man who was shaking in his chair, the guards near him didn’t need to bother grabbing him, the other Hordesman near him were holding him fast in his seat, I assumed they’d been doing so the moment the gun had been selected. I moved over to him, seeing, and smelling the fear on him. I looked at the gun, and looked at him. He was a large man, covered in tattoos, but none of the gear or cog jewelry given to those effective with vehicle repair or smithing. I could tell immediately I’d gone down a rabbit hole and come up empty. The shot itself had been an accident. Judging by the wet pool at the man’s feet, he was no mastermind.

Still, that didn’t mean he didn’t know something of use. “What car did you ride in?” I asked.

He flinched, and started talking in a series of ums and ahs that I found frustrating.

“Just get up and show me.”

He managed a nod, and stood unsteadily, I could hear and smell the foul liquid sloshing in his boots as he walked through Medina toward the makeshift garages. When we reached them, he pointed at a particular truck. It was parked in the middle of four others, a few fresh bullet holes on it, and the image of a dragon painted across the side. I looked around to see a mechanic walking by, her gears jingling as she walked.

“These trucks, have they had any maintenance since the Khan’s injury?” I asked.

She jumped a bit, surprised, and looked at the vehicles. “No. Priority was defenses while the Khan was injured, and we triaged the rest of the vehicles damaged since the siege was broken. They haven’t been looked at.”

“Thanks.” I turned and walked toward the truck he’d pointed out and started going over it, looking over every inch. I found nothing, but I still had a feeling in my gut that told me I was moving in the right direction.

I looked to the terrified man again.

“What other cars broke formation with you?” I asked.

He pointed at two more and I called Bill and his Nephew back to help me search, along with several mechanics. It was easy for someone without a lot of vehicle experience to find something that was hidden.

“I found something!” said the Nephew, raising his hand to show a small device I couldn’t identify.

“Me too!” said one of the mechanics, raising up the same type of device.

I approached them both and looked at the small pieces of machinery. I didn’t recognize exactly what they were, but I did see speakers on each of them, and that was near enough to confirm my suspicions. As I stood there, several more were found. When we spread our search to include all the vehicles in the fleet, we found even more. This was why they’d heard that false order, this was why the Khan had been shot.

I had the shooter taken away by the guards, let Bill examine the devices when he’d shown an interest, and made my way to find the Khan. I could smell him at his makeshift throne stage along with his daughter, Leroy, and a few others. I made my way there, walked through the guards at their door to find them all sitting at a table and eating while they discussed the recovery and next steps in the war.

The Khan broke away from discussions when he saw me, not even waiting for Carmila to announce my arrival and instead gesturing for me to join him and his family upon the dais.

Leroy and Atlan were wearing blood stained clothes, but didn’t appear too tired. Atlan was tearing viciously into a plate of something avian, while Leroy picked at a similar meal carefully with a fork and knife. I wondered where their child, Kublai, was. I assumed they’d left him back at the Ren’s castle. There may be Ursans about, but it was still likely safer there than in a battlezone.

I leapt onto the raised stage, which I could now tell had once been meant for slave auctions, feeling my lip curl in disgust at the thought, then approached the Khan.

“Something to report so soon?” he asked.

I nodded, placing the gun, and the speaker-device on the table in front of him. “Here’s the gun that shot you, and here’s the reason it happened.”

The Khan lifted the speaker device, twisting it in his hands and holding it to his remaining eye. “This is the cause?”

“The men who broke formation and fired in your direction. They all claimed to hear an order telling them to do so, and were speaking the truth to a man. I believe the order was relayed through this device, to create confusion among your ranks.”

Atlan took a break between bites of poultry. “Our men wouldn’t necessarily disagree with the order or question it. Risks like that are common to us.”

The Khan lifted the gun, and scowled slightly at its touch. He then aimed it, and scowled even more deeply.

“The man who shot me… He was not aiming for me was he?” he asked.

I nodded. “No. His gun pulls to the right severely.”

The Khan placed the gun back on the table. “So… it both is and is not his fault… I will deal with him. You, I assume, will be looking into how these,” he held up the speaker, “found themselves among my fleet?”

I nodded. There was more work to do.