Ghosts of Ganymede

4. Branigan Investigates

While the Jovian moon had its own constabulary, of course, the spaceport and its precincts happened to be under the direct authority of the Space Patrol, so it was a veteran Patrol officer who was dispatched to investigate the murder of Big Bill Barlow—for that it was obviously murder no one could doubt.

This officer was a granite-jawed man in his middle years, with thin disapproving lips and cold, colorless eyes. He was lean and trim, his spare figure taut in the dead-black tunic and leggings of the Patrol, and the silver crescent moon of an inspector-major gleamed on his high collar. His name was Branigan, and, as it happened, he and Star were rivals from the days of old.

When the rangy redhead had been a cunning and elusive rogue back in the wild and reckless days of his outlawry, it had been Branigan's bad luck to be assigned the task of bringing Star to justice. But the mischievous young daredevil had outsmarted him at every twist and turn, leaving him to writhe in impotent fury as Star Pirate vanished into the void with the loot from his most recent caper.

These things rankle in a lawman's soul; and even in these later days, when Star had received a full pardon for his crimes from a grateful System government for a favor done freely, Branigan still held a grudge against the impudent youth who had dared make such mock of him in the old days. Hence it came as no surprise to any when at the very sight of his arch-nemesis and the slim Venusian, Branigan swore by twenty spacedevils, and his hard face flushed crimson.

"So, you’re mixed up in this affair, are you, you sly young devil! Well, maybe this time you've just possibly outsmarted yourself, for once!" grated Branigan.

Those green eyes twinkled with innocent merriment into his own gimlet gaze. "Doubt it, Branigan," Star drawled with a wry grin. "Thirty customers will tell you that Phath and I were nearly out of the door when McGuire called out from the floor above that his partner was being murdered by a ’black ghost’—whatever he meant by that."

"He’s right," rumbled the moonfaced Uranian. "And I was the first one in the room, just before these two." In a sober voice and without wasting words the bartender told how he had found the babbling little Scotsman crouched tearfully over the corpse of his partner. A few quick questions from Branigan brought out the whole story—the mystery moon, the secret tomb, the treasure of black pearls.

"What happened to the gem Barlow was flashing around?" demanded the inspector. Quarl shrugged, his wide moon yellow face wearing a baffled expression.

"Search me, inspector! It’s—it’s gone!"

"Aye," barked Branigan gruffly. "Search you I will, and everybody else on the scene—starting with you, Pirate!"

"Search away," grinned the redhead. "But please be careful around the ribs—I’m awfully ticklish!"

Branigan had brought with him two husky ratings of the Port patrol. Together they made short work of searching the patrons of the Spaceman’s Rest, and the murder room. They found nothing of consequence: in particular, they did not find the mysterious black pearl the two miners had found in space.

When they were done, and Branigan grudgingly permitted the now-sobered patrons to leave the saloon in the dim pink light of morning, Star Pirate took him aside.

"Have you come to any conclusion as yet, or are you as baffled by all this as I am?" asked Star.

The inspector smirked nastily.

"What, the great Star Pirate—mystified? Well, I’m not. It’s open and shut. Nothing to it; easiest case I ever cracked," he said in tones redolent of self-satisfaction.

"Pray enlighten me, then," murmured Star politely.

"When you’re confronted with a case of murder, look for motive," the inspector said sententiously. "Who profits most by the man’s death? His partner, of course, McGuire—"

"Not before the law," said Star instantly. "Barlow has a niece who keeps house for the two men. They have a little shack out in the back-country, where they rest up between voyages and raise a small crop of vegetables. As Barlow’s only heir, the girl inherits everything he leaves. The fifty-fifty agreement between the two partners was only verbal, a mutual agreement, and was to be terminated by the death of either one of them, Not that Miss Barlow won’t, most likely, be extremely generous with McGuire, who has been as much an uncle to her as Barlow himself ever was."

Branigan’s mouth was hanging open. He noticed the fact, and closed it. "H-how did you ... latch onto all this?" he asked.

"Easy," Star grinned. "I talked to McGuire."

Branigan purpled, then, restraining his temper with a visible effort, he growled, "Those pearls were taken on a mining trip, and it’ll be a pretty problem for the courts to decide whether they’re Barlow's private property or belonged to both men, since they shared the proceeds from their mining trips equally. But that’s for the courts to worry about—me, I look for motive, then for opportunity. McGuire had both— nobody else was in the room when you and your web-footed sidekick and this fat-faced Uranian came busting in, was there?”

"Nobody . . . that I could see, " mused Star Pirate thoughtfully.

Branigan smirked and spread his hard hands. "Then there it is, smart guy! It had to be McGuire ... take him away, boys."

Star and Phath and the yellow-skinned bartender stood in silence as the Patrol squad manacled a pale and muttering Scotty McGuire and led him away.

They said nothing because there was really nothing to say.