Chapter Forty-four: Cartwright: An Unsatisfactory Debriefing

Teresa Cartwright was starting her shift when the first military attaches arrived and began interviewing the staff. She tried not to feel the unease bubbling through her and continue with her schedule.

It's just routine procedure, she told herself. They're here because of Malcolm. That's all.

Peter Malcolm, in her opinion, was no loss to anyone. His behavior to the patients had always disturbed her and she'd hated having to work with him. Not that she'd wish that kind of death on anyone...

She shook her head, dismissing her vagrant thoughts, and got back to work. She had two primary regens to do and a whole slew of checkups. No time for idle speculations. She hoped they wouldn't try to interview her until she was done with her patients.

They waited for her to finish her shift before they took her aside. She was led to the staff break room, which had been taken over by the officers. She looked her interviewers over with a little curiosity.

The man was tall and gaunt, with thick, sandy hair and icy blue eyes. He looked like he was in his late forties. Given how much time military personnel spent in Cryo, though, he could be a great deal older than that. His insignia identified him as a Special Forces Lieutenant.

The woman beside him was large and big-boned, with a strong, handsome face. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in an elaborate French braid that dropped halfway down her back. She seemed to be about the same age as the Lieutenant. Something about her said that she wasn't actually military herself, but a civilian consultant of some kind.

Writing stories about people in your head again? she asked herself as she sat down.

Both of her interviewers looked extremely tired.

The Lieutenant picked up a folder and consulted it, glancing up at her briefly. There was no sign of interest in his eyes. "Dr. Teresa Cartwright?"

"Yes."

He nodded perfunctorily. "I'm Lieutenant Reginald Jarvis and this is my associate, Dr. Martina Aspen. We're interviewing everyone on your staff in an attempt to determine why your former associate, Peter Malcolm, was murdered by Riddick. We have some very simple questions to ask you. It shouldn't take too long."

Yes, she'd been right. They were just interested in Pete. She didn't know why she'd ever thought they were coming for any other reason--

"Dr. Cartwright, did you associate with Mr. Malcolm outside of work at all? Did you know him well?"

"No, Lieutenant," she answered. "I maintain a strictly professional relationship with all of my colleagues. However, I think you should know that I wouldn't have, even if I didn't have that rule."

The ice-blue eyes that met hers were shrewd. "And why is that, Dr. Cartwright?"

She sighed. If there was any truth to her suspicions, they probably already knew it. She might as well tell them. "Lieutenant, I believe that Peter Malcolm was a very dangerous man to women. I think he was a misogynist and a sadist. From time to time we would have complaints about his behavior towards our female patients. He liked to see them scared. He enjoyed participating in procedures where they would be in pain."

Now it was Dr. Aspen who spoke. "Did you ever report this?"

"Several times. But if you know anything about this place you'll know how hard it is to get qualified help. Peter Malcolm, for all his faults, was an extremely competent technician. Most of the time we couldn't get the women he bothered to follow through on their complaints, so the owners didn't listen." She felt bitter anger lodge inside her chest. They should know all of this. If they'd done their homework, they'd know why every last member of the staff was stuck in this semi-legal hellhole, cut off from the world of legitimate medicine--

"Had there been any complaints about Mr. Malcolm recently, Doctor?" the Lieutenant asked.

She shook her head. "No, nothing like that. He'd been behaving himself lately, for the most part. Nobody accused him of anything."

"Were you aware of any changes in his behavior?" Dr. Aspen asked.

"He acted a little nervous for a day or two, a few days before he died. I thought, at the time, that maybe one of our clients finally gave him some hell for messing with his wife. But then he calmed back down and seemed fine."

"Is there a specific client you're thinking of, Dr. Cartwright?" Back to Lieutenant Jarvis. These two tossed questions back and forth like they'd worked together for years.

She shrugged. "No. Like I said, he'd been behaving himself lately."

"Had the clinic received any threats that you were aware of?"

Now that was a generic question. It sounded like they were almost done with her. "No. Not that I'd been told about."

Jarvis nodded, and glanced back down at her file. "You made a data query a few days before Peter Malcolm died. You wanted to know if Audrey J. Kowalczyk had any sisters or cousins her own age. Would you tell us why you were interested in this?"

For a moment she froze. She'd wondered if someone would come and ask her about that, after it became common knowledge that Riddick had been in New Paris. But surely such inquiries were beneath the notice of the military...?

Not, she realized, when someone from the very same clinic was one of Riddick's victims.

She sighed and grinned. Paranoia. Still gets me every time. They already knew who she was and how she'd screwed up her medical career. They were just tying up loose ends here, loose ends that had nothing to do with her.

"It was kind of silly, actually. One of our patients had a newspaper in her room with an article about Audrey Kowalczyk's death. I noticed it and read it. She'd thrown it away so I figured she wouldn't mind. It was just that she resembled the girl in the picture a good deal, and I wondered if they were related."

Now Jarvis' stare had become intent. "What was her name?"

"Rebecca Tarsin. I can pull her records if you'd like."

Both Jarvis and Aspen, however, looked abruptly disappointed. Somehow, what she'd said had answered their questions completely, and in a way that told them they were looking at a dead end.

"That won't be necessary, Dr. Cartwright. Thank you for your time."

She stood up and started out of the break room, but she stopped at the door for a moment. "There is one thing, though."

"Yes?" The perfunctory disinterest was back in both interviewers' eyes.

"Well, it's the man she was with. He was pretty big, similar in build to Mr. Riddick, I'd say, and there was one time, when he got angry with me, when I almost felt like that's who I was looking at..."

Interest sparked back in their eyes. "Describe him," Jarvis prompted.

"Straight, dark brown hair. He kept it cropped and had a goatee. His eyes were brown and--"

Jarvis cut her off, shaking his head. "It doesn't sound like Riddick, especially given what we've learned of his appearance the last few times he was definitively sighted. Your Mr..." He glanced back at his notes. "Tarsin? Is that it?"

She nodded.

"Your Mr. Tarsin sounds like just another prospector. Had you read the article shortly before you two argued?"

She nodded again, feeling stupid.

"That's why he reminded you of Riddick, I'm sure. Thank you for your time, Doctor. We won't keep you any longer."

Unspoken: And don't take up any more of our time on worthless false leads.

Cartwright exited the room, a little miffed, and headed for her office. They could have heard her out...

What the hell? Did I want Colin Tarsin to be Riddick? she asked herself.

She should, she reflected, be relieved. If Riddick had never been near her, she would never be in any danger from him. She knew almost nothing about why the military was involved or what Riddick had been doing on Troubadour in the first place. All she knew was what she'd read in the papers, along with the crazy rumors floating through the coffee houses and bars. Jarvis and Aspen, with their Special Forces affiliations, had to have a lot more information at their disposal than that. They'd know if she was saying something interesting. She hadn't been.

Sitting down at her chair, though, she saw him again in front of her, slamming his hands down on her desk with animalistic rage in his eyes. Saw him again, in Rebecca's bedroom, throwing the mouth-bit across the room in fury. Remembered the look of hatred she'd seen on his face, halfway through the regen procedure, as he stared at Peter Malcolm, who was enjoying Rebecca's pain a little too much.

And she remembered his words to her the next day, after he punched her desk...

"That girl has gone through more traumatic shit in her life than anyone should have to experience. I don't want her to feel any more pain..."

At the time she'd thought she'd looked into the eyes of a killer for a moment. A man who would annihilate anyone who hurt Rebecca.

If he had been Riddick, and Pete had tried something on Rebecca...

Pete would have ended up exactly as they found him, she thought.

But he wasn't Riddick, she reminded herself. He was just another prospector.

Another part of her mind seemed to snort in droll amusement. The way Rebecca Tarsin was just another ex-hooker?

She stood up and headed back for the break room.

It was empty when she arrived. She'd been one of the last people they'd interviewed. By the time she got back to her office, she'd come up with a half dozen reasons for why she was acting like an idiot.

Despite the fact that Lieutenant Jarvis had left a number behind with the staff, in case anyone remembered something important, Teresa Cartwright decided not to call it. Her active imagination wasn't important, she told herself. And that was all it was, an active imagination.

Colin Tarsin couldn't possibly have been Richard B. Riddick.