Before he could touch it, the door whipped open. Veta crossed the threshold, her eyes not even focussing on him.
Ross caught her wrists as she looked up. When she started to cry out, he twisted sharply, so that the sound died on an indrawn breath.
Now she stared at him, face pain-strained. "Thigpen, what's the matter—?" It was the faintest of whispers.
"Nothing. Nothing but a corpse, that's all." Ross said it through clenched teeth. "Not that you'd know anything about that, would you, Veta?—About a man they called Zoltan Prenzz, the man I told you I was going to see on Japetus first chance I got—"
He broke off; twisted the girl's wrists again.
It brought her forward on tiptoe, tiny anguished sounds bubbling in her throat.
Ross' face stayed a cold, relentless mask. He said tightly, "It's my own fault, Veta. All mine, for trusting you even a little—you, working for Pike Mawson, and with a brother on starak. Only now you're going to make it up by telling me the things I need to know. And this time there'll be no holding out or stalling."
"Please, Thigpen...." The effort of speaking brought a small cluster of saliva bubbles to one corner of Veta's mouth. "I don't know what you're talking about. There must be some mistake—"
"Your mistake," Ross corrected harshly. He backed Veta into the room from which she'd come. "We'll have some answers now: who killed Zoltan Prenzz?"
"I don't know!"