Title: Long Day's Journey into Night

Author: Nemo the Everbeing

Chapter 3

As inevitably happens, the news of Lieutenant Wallace's death spread throughout the ship despite the senior staff's best efforts to contain it. The Enterprise took on a tense air of fear and suspicion as coworkers began eyeing each other, wondering which of them might be a killer. Those people who belonged to Wallace's shift were especially worried, believing that they, too, might be targeted. The rumor that the doctor said there was a serial killer on board had already reached every ear by breakfast.

It was understandable, then, that when the senior officers assembled to discuss the event, they were accompanied by many dark circles under their eyes.

"How is it possible that no one saw anything?" Kirk demanded.

"The man would have to have a comprehensive knowledge of this ship, Captain," said Montgomery Scott. "Not to mention crew rotations and security assignments."

"Who would have such knowledge?" asked Nyota Uhura.

"I would," Spock.

"Among others," McCoy growled. "Right?"

"Theoretically, anyone capable of breaking into our scheduling rosters would have access to this knowledge," Spock said. "The ship's blueprints are, of course, non-restricted."

"Sair," Chekov said, looking abashed, "all the circumstantial evidence seems to point to . . . vell . . ."

"You want to finish that thought, Son?" McCoy asked, standing up.

Chekov blinked at him, and McCoy remembered that none of the crew but Kirk knew of his relationship with Spock. Sitting back down and crossing his arms over his chest, the doctor said, "I just don't think that we should jump to conclusions, especially about an officer who's proven himself time and time again to be a courageous and loyal man."

"I agree," Kirk put in. "We can't assume anyone is guilty without more concrete evidence. So, let's get some. Bones, you did the autopsy. Tell us what you've got."

McCoy scanned the grim faces surrounding him and said, "Aside from the obvious wound that killed that poor girl, there were signs of extensive and repeated torture more than likely inflicted with varied instruments, including blunt objects, something like a scalpel, and old-fashioned matches."

"How did you know they were—" Sulu started.

McCoy cut him off. "Because there were bits of sulfur in the burns where the perpetrator had dug the match into the skin."

Sulu closed his eyes and his lips tightened. He looked like he regretted the question.

McCoy continued, determined to get through this. "Psychologically, the torture implies a desire to dominate and force Wallace into an admission of inferiority. Maybe a jealous coworker or someone she turned down for a date. I couldn't tell you. The very public murder, though . . . whoever did this wants us to know. He, and I imply gender tentatively, wanted to send someone a message. Wanted to let someone know what he had done to this girl." He shrugged. "It's all speculation, of course, but it's the best I got."

"So, maybe the killing had nothing to do with the lass. Maybe it was about someone else," Scotty said.

McCoy shrugged. "I suppose it could be a love triangle, even an unconscious one." He shook his head. "What beats me all to hell is how someone like this even got aboard! You'd think the killer would have never gotten past Starfleet psych screenings." Carefully, he began to filter through the sorts of violent manias that could possibly go undetected by that sort of careful selection. "Even if he did get past Starfleet," the doctor murmured, "how the hell'd he get past me?"

The door opened suddenly, and Security Chief Giotto stepped in. He came to attention and said, "Request permission to report, Sir."

Kirk waved a hand, saying, "At ease."

Giotto relaxed and continued, "Sir, security has interviewed Lieutenant Wallace's colleagues, all of whom seem very positive about her. No one knew of any grudges or any romantic entanglements." He held out a pad. "This is a list of people you might want to interview yourself. Close friends and the like. I also included some notes that might help in the investigation."

"Thank you," Kirk told him, and Giotto turned smartly, leaving the room.

Kirk glanced over the notes and said, "Spock, it says here that you worked with this woman a few months ago."

Spock nodded. "She was a stellar cartographer, and I availed her assistance on the charting of the Hydra Anomaly, Captain. She was a competent officer."

McCoy's heart went out to his bondmate as he recognized a sincere attempt at a compliment, as least as much of one as Spock could deliver.

"It also says that you had dinner with her."

Spock nodded again. "On several occasions our research overlapped her assigned meal schedule. To maintain our train of thought, I accompanied her and we continued our research in the mess."

Kirk bit his lip. "I believe you, Spock, but a court . . ."

"I understand, Captain."

Kirk rose abruptly, and McCoy saw in his face the pain of having to accuse one's friend, however tentatively, of such a heinous act. "Let's start these interviews," Kirk said. "The sooner we work this, the sooner we can resolve it. Sulu, Bones, you're with me. Spock . . ." there was a noticeable moment as everyone realized that the first officer would not be allowed into the interrogations. His status as a suspect had been confirmed. "Spock," Kirk tried again, "you have the conn."

"Name and rank."

"Ensign Yasuhiro Murakami."

"Department."

"Stellar cartography."

Jim surveyed the young man who shifted quietly in his seat as Sulu questioned him. The helmsman retained a quiet air of professionalism, despite the fact that Ensign Murakami was the son of a friend of Sulu's father.

It was why he had asked Sulu to conduct the interrogation in the first place, and it was good to see that his confidence hadn't been misplaced.

"You knew Lieutenant Wallace?" Sulu asked.

Murakami nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Sulu smiled at him encouragingly. "Could you elaborate a little?"

Murakami paled. "She was my . . . that is to say . . . we used to see one another."

"I hear that she broke up with you."

"Yes, Sir. She thought that . . . she thought there was a better man available." He looked abashed. "I took it hard, Sir. I loved that girl, and she dumped me like old socks in the refuse chute the first better offer she got. I didn't kill her, though. And I certainly didn't do . . . anything else to her." Murakami's eyes shone with tears which he struggled to keep in check. Jim glanced at McCoy, who sat quietly in a corner, and the doctor shook his head.

"Thank you, Ensign," the captain said, rising. "We'll contact you if we need anything further."

Murakami rose, nodding. Despite his best efforts, tears were escaping his eyes and streaking down his cheeks. Saluting, he left with as much alacrity as could still be considered proper.

Once he was out of the room, McCoy said, "It's not him. Not unless he's so completely gone that even he doesn't know he did it."

"I don't see that happening, Sir," Sulu put in. "I grew up with Yasuhiro. I'd have noticed something by now."

Jim nodded to them both. "I'm inclined to agree with you, gentlemen. Let's continue."

At his signal, the door slid open to admit a slight, blonde woman with puffy eyes and badly reapplied mascara. She sat down in the seat offered her and surreptitiously dabbed at her eyes.

Jim felt a stab of sympathy for the poor woman. "Are you Lieutenant Junior Grade Carol Stone?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered.

"Can you tell us your relationship to Lieutenant Wallace?"

"Nancy and I were best friends. We used to share a room when we were first transferred here."

"You work her shift?" McCoy asked.

She blinked at the doctor, as if just realizing that he was there, and then said, "Yes. We arranged it so we could have meals and free time off together."

Jim resumed the questions. "What department were you in?"

"Computers, Sir. I repaired the stellar cartography equipment."

"Do you know if Nancy was seeing anyone when she was killed?"

Stone shook her head violently. "No. Absolutely not. She never would have dated without letting me know."

"Did she seem interested in anyone?"

Stone smiled sadly. "No one she could have."

"Run that by us again," McCoy said.

Carol shrugged. "Well, she had a bit of a crush, you might say, on Commander Spock. It was nothing that would have gone anywhere, you understand. It was just . . . well, you know how it is. Nancy always wanted what she couldn't have."

Jim nodded, knowing the type. There was more than one woman on the Enterprise who was in for a world of heartache when they found out that Mister Spock was no longer one of the eligible bachelors. Of course, it may well be that such women chose Spock specifically for that reason. To wish for the unattainable, and to know that you could never have it, meant that you could never truly have your heart broken.

He nodded to the tearful lieutenant and said woodenly, "Thank you for your time."

She rose and left the room, crying softly.

"And we're back to Spock again," Jim muttered.

"What if we've got this backwards," McCoy said. "What if the message the killer is sending is for Spock? What if the sick bastard thought Wallace and he really were seeing one another, and thought that her murder would affect him?"

"Bones," Jim said.

"Dammit, Jim, I know I'm grasping at straws, but I cannot, I cannot believe that Spock killed this girl. It's against everything I know about him." He took a breath. "Jim, Spock can be damn cold at times, but he would never do something like this. If he took to killing, God forbid, it wouldn't have been the production we saw in that hall. It would be cleaner, more efficient. He's not the type to go in for crimes of passion."

"I would have said so, too, but that dream . . ."

"I can't explain that one, Jim, except to say that he was as shaken by that dream as he has been by damn near anything in his life."

Jim nodded. "God, I hope you're right. This whole thing is a nightmare, no matter how you look at it."

"Sir," Sulu said. "We have one more person to interview." He politely ignored the fact that McCoy knew how Spock had reacted to a dream. Either it had passed over his head, or he was just discreet enough not to ask. Knowing the helmsman, it was probably a bit of both.

"Of course," Jim said, "Maurudan."

"He's a Neemurite, isn't he?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," Sulu said.

"Why do you ask?" Jim asked.

"Some Neemurites are telepaths, Jim," McCoy said.

"I thought that Maurudan tested negative."

"Well, it's easier to fake a psi test than it is to fake a phych test. I'm not saying this is our killer, I'm just saying that we should keep our eyes open."

"They've been open ever since I got the call last night," Jim said, and signaled the door.

Maurudan was a middle-aged humanoid, with a shock of silver hair and gray skin blackening with age. His ears orbited his head in agitated circles, and when he sat down, they stopped, both facing Jim and shivering in the air two inches off the top of the Neemurite's head.

"Are you Lieutenant Maurudan?" Jim asked politely.

Being that Neemurites had a head incapable of nodding, Maurudan's ears bobbed instead. "Yes, Sir," he said in a raspy, slow voice.

"You were Lieutenant Wallace's mentor?"

"For the first year or so, yes," Maurudan confirmed, "but she swiftly ceased to be a student and became an equal. She was naturally gifted."

"Did the two of you remain friends?" Sulu asked.

Maurudan's eyes turned to Sulu, even as his ears moved to face the helmsman. "We were not intimate, if that is what you imply. Nor did we spend our free time together. We are a generation and worlds apart. She spent her time with the younger crew members; I spent my time with the stars. Still, she was nothing if not amiable. She never failed to greet me."

"Lieutenant Maurudan," McCoy asked, "do you have psychic abilities?"

If the Neemurite were surprised by the question, he didn't show it. The ears waggled. "No. I am not of the ancient houses. Mine is a younger branch, long lost to the psyonic arts."

"Would you be willing to take a psi evaluation to prove it?"

The ears bobbed once more. "Of course. Whatever I can do to help you discover the truth, I shall certainly do."

McCoy looked up at Jim, who nodded. The doctor and the Neemurite rose and moved to the door. It slid open silently, and they exited.

Jim watched them leave, and when they were out and the door had slid closed he turned to Sulu. "He's worried."

"Maurudan or McCoy?"

Jim snorted. "McCoy. Maurudan was completely calm. His ears weren't even wavering."

"Can you blame him, Captain?" Sulu asked, carefully plying the computer to store the data gleaned from the interviews.

"Maurudan or McCoy?" Kirk asked, repeating his helmsman's former question, trying for a feeble joke.

Dark eyes rose to regard the captain, and Sulu said, "McCoy. He may not admit it, but Spock's his closest friend on the ship." Obviously realizing what he'd just said to whom, Sulu amended, "Present company excluded, of course." Apparently, he hadn't heard McCoy's revelation about Spock's dream, or had just passed it off as something a doctor would have been told.

Jim, who was the only man aside from the physician and the Vulcan who knew the extent of their 'friendship', and likely to stay that way for the time being, held up a hand. "No, Sulu, I'll admit when I'm beat. Spock and McCoy, strange as it seems, have more in common than I do with either of them."

"It's hitting him hard," the helmsman said.

Jim stared hard at the door. "It's hitting all of us hard."

"Permission to speak freely, Sir?"

Jim nodded. "Of course."

"I don't want to believe Commander Spock is guilty, Sir," Sulu said in slow, deliberate tones, carefully crafting and pondering each word before it was spoken, "but if he is, what do we do? I hate to say this, but if Spock is truly that dangerous, then we're going to have a very hard time stopping him."

Jim closed his eyes. Sulu had voiced something he'd avoided thinking for some time. The captain was aware of Vulcan strength and agility more than most. Spock had almost killed him years ago, and only a diversion by McCoy had saved his life. Of all the dangerous entities in all the galaxy, only Spock could claim that honor. Jim was forcibly reminded of the adage: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But what if someone was both, then where did you keep them? Could Spock possibly be an enemy? Could he have somehow hidden such a severe psychosis from both Jim and McCoy? Jim's heart, soul, and most of his mind screamed 'no', but the rational part of him, the part no doubt nurtured and encouraged by long hours spent with his first officer, said that anything was possible. And Spock had said it himself. He could have committed the crime. And he was the only man on the ship with means and motive.

"I don't know, Mister Sulu," he said. "I just don't know."