Doppelganger: Part 4
***
[Sometime before the Battle of Yavin]
Bestine
”So this is your place?” she said, her eyes looking around appreciatively. “It’s nice. I like it.”
He glanced around his tiny apartment. “It’s not much, but it’s home. And it’s someplace to come back to when I can’t get to Ralltiir.” He pointed across the room. “That’s a picture of my folks right there.”
She moved over to the makeshift shelf he’d put up with a few crates that were serving to hold books, and picked up the holo. “You take after your father, Derek.”
He looked over her shoulder. “Yeah. It’s the long face,” he said, stroking his chin and smiling. “Where do you live when you’re off-ship?”
“Oh, no place near this nice,” she said, stretching her arms over her head. “Can’t afford it on a mechanic’s salary. I live with three other gals in a flat about half this size in Trinsron.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Trinsron. That’s not exactly a safe place to be living, Jeni.”
“Can’t afford anything better,” she said. “Besides, we’re careful. We carry stunners between here and home, and one of the girls works in Trinsron. She’s used to it. We know who to stay away from, and which streets are the worst. Besides, I stay on the ship as much as possible.”
“You’re always welcome to stay here,” he said hesitantly. “I can give you a keycode. I keep it clean in here, I promise. And there’s an empty drawer in my dresser that you could keep stuff in-“
“Derek Klivian,” she said, her voice sultry as she pushed him back onto the ancient sofa. “Are you offering me a drawer?”
“Um-yeah,” he said. “I mean, it’s not much. It’s just a drawer.”
“It’s a drawer, Derek,” she said. “But it’s so much more. It’s a bit into your life. A symbolic bit, because once we leave, we aren’t ever going to be able to come back here, but it’s a symbol.”
“Of what?” he asked, somewhat amused as she climbed into his lap and settled herself there to look at him.
“Of a little piece of yourself that you just gave to me,” she said. “It’s very sweet.”
“Oh,” he said. “Am I going to get anything in return?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Other than smelly girl stuff in your underwear drawer?”
“Other than that, yes.”
“Someday, I will share a drawer with you."
[Semsara. Now.]
They were hardly in the nice section of town. It wasn’t nearly as bad as some places that Jeni had lived in the past, Hobbie knew-for that matter, it wasn’t nearly as bad as some places he had lived. The apartment he and Biggs had shared when they were finishing their tour at the Academy, for example, had been in a neighborhood of Coruscant that few dared to travel in those days. The two of them had been the only humans living in the building, and the fact that they were going to be future Imperials didn’t necessarily endear them to the inhabitants. They’d soon learned not to keep any valuables around, and Biggs had commented that it was designed to enforce the anti-alien sentiment in Imperial officers.
Janson rang the bell with no small enthusiasm to the small apartment complex, and they waited in the cold air for the door to open. The sky was beginning to spit snow, and the wind blew it directly into their faces.
The ancient door opened, and the face of an old woman appeared. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hobbie said. “I’m Major Klivian from New Republic Intelligence. This is Major Janson. We’re here about Jeni Rutard.”
“Oh!” The old woman said. “Come in, boys, come in! Just wipe your feet on the mat there, and come in.”
They did as they were told, wiping their boots off on a mat that had probably existed since the Clone Wars, and the old woman led them into a parlor off the foyer. “Do come in. This complex belongs to me, you see, and this bottom section is mine. I don’t get up stairs real well anymore, so the top five floors are all apartments. Do sit down and let me get you some caf. Now, who are you boys from again? The police have already been here.”
Hobbie and Janson sat on an ancient hoversofa upholstered in a revolting shade of pink that looked like it would fall to the ground given the slightest provocation, somewhat intimidated by the presence of the grandmotherly figure. “We’re members of Rogue Squadron, ma’am,” Janson said. “But we’re working with New Republic Intelligence on this case.”
“Well, good,” the woman said. “I’m Dori Sage, by the way. I’m glad that someone came back. I don’t believe that Jeni killed herself, not in a million years.” She shook her head, setting the caf down in front of them. “I don’t like to think that someone got in here, or that someone living here did that to her, but the fact remains that they did. But there’s no way that Jeni did it. Didn’t they find a silencer on that blaster? And on one side of her, there’s no one living there, and on the other side, isn’t there a deaf Ithorian?”
Hobbie exchanged a glance with Janson. Obviously, this woman had more information than anyone had bothered to check up on. “Ma’am, did Jeni have any enemies? Did she not get along with anyone?”
“No, not that I know of,” Dori said. “Jeni was always a real good girl. She would go upstairs and fix the heater for me, and she wouldn’t charge me a single credit for it. She would fix things all around the apartments for me, and for the residents, and never charge anyone. She just did it, and after working at the shop all day too. I’d think she’d get tired of being up to her elbows in wires and mechanical parts, but she seemed to like it.”
“Was she seeing anyone?” Hobbie asked, his voice entirely even as Janson took a sip from his caf. Hobbie had already abandoned it himself, the caf little more than water.
“She was seeing some fancy pants from uptown,” Dori said. “He’s off planet at the moment. He hasn’t come back yet, that-“ she calmed herself down. “Well, I shouldn’t say such things in front of gentlemen.”
“Well, he may not know,” Hobbie said carefully. “Part of the reason I’ve taken on this case, ma’am is because I was Jeni’s emergency contact. She and I have been friends for a long time, since we were both in the Rebellion.”
“Oh!” Dori clapped her hands together. “Jeni would talk about that sometimes. She never did very often.” Her face broke out into a smile and dimples appeared in her rosy cheeks. “Are you the young man she used to talk about sometimes? Are you-oh, now who was it? David? Drake? Derek?”
“Derek,” Hobbie said. “Yes, that’s me. Derek Klivian.”
“And you’re in Rogue Squadron.” Dori tsked. “Oh, you poor dear.” She reached forward to pat his knee. “She told me the whole story.”
“Yes, it’s a long and sordid tale,” Hobbie said, setting the mug of caf he’d held on to down onto a coaster. The small smile on his face was an ugly, self-deprecating one, and he glanced down at the carpeting, just a shade off matching the pink on the hoversofa. “Could we see her apartment, ma’am?”
“Of course you can. She lives on the third floor, the second apartment from the staircase. I’ll get you the code for it. It’s been changed ever since it happened, you know, just in case someone did know how to get in. They didn’t want anyone messing with evidence," Dori said, scooping up the caf mugs. “Hold on just a second, dearies.” She looked back over her shoulder before she headed into the kitchen. “Derek!”
Hobbie closed his eyes as the twittering old woman disappeared, and Janson turned to look at him. “A long and sordid tale, huh?”
“We didn’t have the time to tell stories like this back then,” Hobbie said. “And I didn’t want to tell it anyway.”
“How long and how sordid did it get?” Janson asked quietly.
“Not quite as long and sordid as you and Inyri, but almost,” Hobbie said. He turned his head. “I almost married this girl.”
Janson rubbed his eyes with his hands. “I need to call Inyri. When we pass a comm center, let’s stop so I can run in and send her a message.”
“You didn’t when I called Cracken?” Hobbie asked.
“No,” Janson said. “I was too busy making sure you didn’t do something too terribly stupid. Like get the two of us transferred to Intelligence permanently right before my wedding.”
“Wedding?” Dori perked up, coming out of the kitchen, handing the code to Hobbie. “Oh, are you getting married?”
“I am,” Janson spoke up. He took a moment to explain as Hobbie looked up the stairs. The dark wood was almost shining in the lights, and Hobbie took a few steps upstairs, looking at the walls while Janson tried to extricate himself from Dori’s grasp, finally placating her with a brief look at a holo of Inyri before running up the stairs. Blowing out his breath in relief, he glanced at Hobbie. “Come on.”
Stifling a chuckle, despite the reason they were there, Hobbie continued up the stairs until he reached the door. The security mechanism on the door was a simple one, and if the code wasn’t all that complex, it didn’t hurt that Janson said he’d caught sight of a blaster rifle sitting over the refrigeration unit in the kitchen that he guessed belonged to Dori.
The apartment smelled like stale air and engine oil and a scent Hobbie recognized as the perfume Jeni had worn as long as he’d known her. Marked out on the floor was an outline of a body, and he pulled his eyes from it to look around.
It was decorated much the same as the rest of the complex, transparisteel foundations covered with the wood paneling. Touches of personal effects were scattered around. Jeni’s toolbox was dropped by the door with a pair of scuffed boots, and a coat and scarf were hanging on hooks by the door.
Hobbie stepped in, his footstep falling eerily silent as he walked in. The tightening pressure in his chest made him want to turn around and run back outside, all the way back outside, back to the Public Safety office where he could shake Duggan into doing this properly, and then climb back into his X-wing and head for Coruscant for the warm fluorescent lights of squadron headquarters.
Shaking his head, Hobbie walked into the tiny apartment further. Janson stood at the door in quiet reverence waiting, taking in the scene.
His heart in his throat, Hobbie walked to Jeni’s dresser. The top was covered with items, a brush, lotion, other feminine knick-knacks interspersed with a few tools that had just been laid there in her haphazard fashion. Taking a finger, he hooked it under the pull of the drawer and opened it.
Mostly, the top drawer held a collection of sensible looking underthings, with a lacey one or two set to the side. A few boxes to the side sat by them, and a dark blue one he pulled out and opened.
The sag in his shoulders was apparent from across the room. “Hobbie?” Janson said softly.
“Wes?” Hobbie’s voice caught in his throat, as he snapped the box closed. “I-I don’t-I can’t-“ The box dropped back into the dresser drawer from nerveless fingers. “Oh, stars.”
Janson’s arms suddenly supported him as the overwhelming grief slammed down on his shoulders with the weight of a Super Star Destroyer. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
***