Outland by Alan Dean Foster

a monitor on the whole section for thirty-six hours. It's been quiet as a church. Foot patrol turned up nothing either. No fingerprints when we went through and photographed, no skin oil residue around the jimmy marks, no body odor pickup. Nothing."
    "Suits me fine," was Montone's opinion. "Keep the monitor on it for two weeks and discontinue the foot patrol. Maybe whoever did it has been scared off by all the attention. You sure the monitor's well hidden?"
    Ballard nodded once more. "It'd take somebody with instrumentation to find it. I set it up myself."
    "Good." O'Niel was chewing on a stylus, paying no attention to what was being said. Montone looked away from the Marshal, turning his attention to a more serious item.
    "Nelson, what about the detonators?"
    "They were found," the deputy in question informed him.
    "Where?"
    "I don't know." He looked unconcerned. "The shift foreman for the level they disappeared from reported that they'd been found . . . and said not to bother about it any more."
    "Nelson, we're talking about nuclear detonators. You don't lose them and then find them. You lose your comb and then find it. But not detonators. I'm glad they've turned up, but that's not good enough.
    "I want to know where they were found, who found them, and if there was anyone else around when they were found. You get my drift?" He stared meaningfully at the deputy.
    "Yes, sergeant." Nelson's alertness. level had abruptly risen fifty percent.
    "Good for you, Nelson." Montone's gaze went back to the board. "What about the Club?"
    "Nothing unusual." The deputy pushed at her hair, looked throughtful. "The usual junk. Oh yeah, Sheppard asked us for a couple more people for the late shift. You know, just to keep the boys and girls in line after a few belts. Seems they've been getting a smidgen rowdier than usual and he thought a show of force would be enough to get the troublemakers to tone it down."
    "He can have them," said Montone agreeably. His attention shifted to the next in line. "Slater, what about the incident in the mine elevator?"
    "Nothing much to tell, Sarge." The deputy made a face. "Some cupcake named Cane decided he wanted to go for a walk without an environment suit. They're still sponging him off the elevator wails. Couple of the off-shift people who greeted the remains got green enough to have to go on Sick Leave. Legit, according to the medics. Can't say I blame 'em. Helluva thing to run into unexpectedly."
    Slater said it all matter-of-factly, without emotion, yet still managed something none of his colleagues had succeeded in doing: he woke up O'Niel.
    The Marshal's gaze returned from the distant something it had been focused on to settle fixedly on the deputy. Other than that there was nothing to hint that he'd even heard the questioning.
    "Any details?" Montone wanted to know.
    "Not much." Slater consulted his memory. "He was alone. Nobody was near enough to have thrown him in. A bunch of the guys tried to get into the airlock after him, but he'd sealed it from inside. They were close enough that they would have seen anybody if he'd been pushed.
    "Besides, the couple who got a look at him before he went downside and inside-out said he didn't have the look of somebody who'd been forced into doing something against his will. Said he was smiling all the time, right up to and including when the elevator started down. No way it could have been homicide. Had to have been suicide.
    "Even if he'd somehow been shoved in he could have stopped the elevator anytime before passing Decompression. I checked. The controls were still on manual and nobody'd tampered with them. He didn't stop himself."
    "Did he leave a note?"
    The sudden presence of O'Niel's voice startled everyone. The Marshal spoke evenly, almost quietly, and yet he had their attention at once. It was a peculiarly confident voice, all the more arresting because its owner was now evidently interested in something.
    "I beg your pardon, Sir?"
    O'Niel repeated the