by Jem Tugwell
‘Whoever put her here didn’t just dump the body. They took some care,’ I said, hoping to find something to comfort Zoe.
‘Like they put her gently to bed, then arranged her.’
Karina wore the same haircut from the photo Dave had given us – a bob, the tips cut towards her chin, and the fringe brushed over her right eye.
‘The floral dress and tights look like the same ones Dave said she wore when she went missing,’ Zoe said.
‘Yes, but they’re too clean to have been worn every day.’ The hem of the dress was neat and straight, halfway up her thighs. The material was smooth and certainly didn’t have the creases from days of use.
‘There’s something on her neck.’ I bent forward to look closer. Karina’s pale blue skin had two marks running along the top and bottom like two parallel tracks. Not strangulation marks, but maybe the slight indentations left by a tight strap or collar.
The slight breeze stirred the branches, and the canopy swayed above us, moving the light across Karina’s face like a floating shroud. The tranquillity of the scene moved me, compounding the shock and revulsion of a violent and bloody death. How could someone who had cared enough to arrange Karina in this spot also been able to kill her?
***
Eventually, the ambulance arrived to remove Karina, and the peace of her resting place was destroyed as her body was rolled and then bagged.
I needed some space, so I backed out from under the bushes, stretching in a spot of warming sunshine. I lifted my head to the light, hoping it would help shift the despondency spreading through me. Poor Karina.
There were no iMe signals of anyone bringing her body here and the Uniforms had interviewed all the walkers in the park. Nothing.
How can a body get itself here? Who’d brought her?
One murder and one missing politician.
We had failed Karina. We had to find Alan before he was killed.
20
DI Clive Lussac
Bhatt was waiting for us when we got back to our office. The last of the daylight was disappearing, and the gloom matched all our moods. Zoe and I walked Bhatt through the drone footage and forensic model. Other than Karina’s body, we couldn’t find anything. No prints or forensic trace of another person. The iMe signal data was notable by its absence.
Outside the office, the rain started to hammer down – noisy, dancing splashes on the aluminium windowsills. The darkness of the evening pressed into the office. I had let Karina down.
‘We have to face it. Someone knows how to hack the iMe system,’ I said. ‘How else can someone carry Karina’s body to the park without us seeing their signal?’
Zoe was still pale, and the cold white glow of light from the crime wall on her face wasn’t helping. ‘Esteban,’ she said. ‘He has big gaps in his signal.’
‘He’s our only real lead at the moment,’ I agreed. ‘And he knows we postponed our meeting and probably where we went.’
‘Have you any new evidence to link Karina and Alan together?’ asked Bhatt.
‘No. There’s only the old gym membership.’
‘What about links between Esteban and Karina or Alan?’
‘Nothing.’ I couldn’t hide our lack of progress.
‘You have no other leads?’
‘Not really. In theory, it could be anyone. It’s like an old case, and we have no physical evidence.’ I stopped speaking and waited. Bhatt was thinking.
She looked up. ‘If Alan Kane dies, the shit will really hit the fan.’
Somebody killing a junior minister would be huge. People were used to living in safety, and any threat could undermine the whole system. ‘There would be chaos.’
‘That would be an understatement.’ Bhatt went to sit down but saw the layer of dust, so moved to a desk that a bum had wiped clean before. ‘We rely on iMe tracking so completely, our security, our money… our policing.’
I’d never seen Bhatt so vulnerable and concerned before.
‘It’s more worrying if the two cases are separate.’
‘Why, Boss?’ asked Zoe, forcing her hands apart.
‘Because if a different person abducted Alan Kane, then we have two people who can hide their signals.’
‘Oh.’
‘Exactly. But it feels too unlikely.’
‘You need to see Esteban,’ said Bhatt. She had been quiet, and it worried me. She didn’t normally hold back.
‘We’re seeing him in the morning,’ I said. ‘He sent a location to meet while we were out.’
Bhatt was still for a moment, then she spoke slowly and quietly. Such a contrast to her normal full volume commands that it was all the more chilling. ‘The prime minister called me. She wants Alan Kane back.’
***
I had a red light.
It came on when I woke up, but I had ignored it. The solid light had started blinking and now was replaced by an animated red figure running along the bottom of my HUD. My Buddy ran to the right-hand side of the screen and rolled out the alert message as he ran back to the left: ‘Your voluntary exercise session is overdue’. He stopped, waved, ran to the right and pulled out the message again. And again, and again. The little bugger never tired. It was distracting, and from painful experience, I knew that if I ignored it much longer, the incessant ‘bong’ would start in my ear, and that didn’t ever stop. iMe never forced you to do anything, of course. It was always your choice, but iMe moaned so much and so consistently that you either surrendered and did it ‘voluntarily’ or went mad.
My gym kit was on the floor where I had dumped it after my last session when I had almost collapsed, panting and sweaty, vowing to do more exercise so it wouldn’t hurt so much. If I’d put my kit in the clothes processor then, I could have pulled on nicely cleaned and ironed clothes. Instead, I sniffed dubiously at my socks, shrugged and pulled on my crisp and smelly kit.
As with all newish homes, my treadmill was built into the floor and would only allow aerobic pulse rates, unlike the hardcore professional Anaerobic+ bikes. I stood on the treadmill, and it started moving. My little red tormentor was now my green training Buddy, and I could see him, my heart rate and ECG heart readout on my HUD. As the speed of the treadmill rose, so did my pulse. My little Buddy ran happily and effortlessly with me, encouraging me with inane superlatives. Apparently, I was ‘super awesome’, I was ‘the man’, I was ‘powering through’.
I screamed at him. ‘Why can’t you shut up and let me suffer?’
***
The exercise made me hungry, but with one day left on my Excess Consumption Order, my fridge delivered another bird food breakfast. Even so, I was looking forward to the day. I booked a police car for the trip to see Esteban and it arrived exactly on time at 8am. I got in and set up Zoe’s address as a way-point so I could pick her up.
Now I was in the car, I felt tired and lethargic. Unfocused, just letting the roads slide past in a blur. In films and books, the characters’ brains always seemed to be working at full speed. They were heroes – active, coming up with ideas. My brain didn’t feel like that today. Instead, it was as quiet and empty as an airport at night. Of course, my brain could work. It used to be good, but it was as if I was in standby mode with a little red dot showing power was there, but nothing was working. It was like I was waiting for something.
The night’s rain had passed and despite the bright morning sun, the roads were still wet. The car’s tyres hissed and splashed on the roads as we drove. ‘Destination in five minutes,’ the car said.
I messaged Zoe, but all she sent back was an ambiguous ‘Nearly ready.’
Is that a unit of time?
***
A set of ornate metal gates started to purr open as we approached them. The car slowed, crunched over the gravel and pulled up outside a smart, old house. High hedging separated the house from its neighbours and provided a green security veil. I got out of the car when Zoe didn’t appear straight away. Sniffing some blossom in the air, I approached the glossy bl
ack front door.
It opened, revealing an older version of Zoe; maybe late forties, but I was in dangerous territory trying to guess a woman’s age. She had Zoe’s olive skin, but it showed signs of having been lived in. A good life. A happy life, I thought, judging from the laughter lines around her eyes. She smiled now, white teeth gleaming against her lipstick. Her beauty struck me, and I caught a hint of her delight in life. It reminded me of Mary before she froze me out.
‘You must be Zoe’s boss,’ she said. ‘She’s having a bad hair day. She’ll only be a sec.’
‘And you must be Zoe’s sister,’ I said, cringing at the lame and cheesy line, but it was the best I had on the spur of the moment. I had expected Zoe to get straight in the car, not for me to need to look my best. I did my crumpled jacket up to hide the spot of yoghurt on my tie.
Over the years Zoe’s mum must have heard better lines, but her smile remained. ‘That’s very sweet of you, but I’m Sophia, Zoe’s mother.’
Her eyes held me a moment, and I lost confidence. I dropped my gaze, and then I panicked, worried in case she thought I was checking her out. I was, but I didn’t want to be that obvious. I made a clumsy attempt to make it look like I was admiring the house. ‘Nice place.’
I worried that I would see a frown of disapproval when I looked back at her, but she wore an amused smile, like she was wondering how bad I was going to make it for myself.
A noise behind her saved me from any more embarrassment. Sophia turned as Zoe appeared and pecked her on the check. ‘Later, Mum.’ Whatever Zoe had tried with her hair seemed to have worked, as it was now under temporary control. She must have got her hair from her father, as Sophia’s was black, straight and perfect.
As the car pulled away, my rear-facing seat allowed me a view of Sophia, still framed by the front door.
‘What are you smirking at, Boss?’ Zoe asked.
I was thinking about Sophia, but I couldn’t tell Zoe that. Another reason why I didn’t use Sentiments: my thoughts would be far too transparent. What would it have chosen? A happy puppy? I would have died. ‘Nothing,’ I said, but Zoe crossed her arms in disbelief.
She was still staring at me when she shook her head and tutted. ‘Really? No way.’ she said.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing, just Mum,’ she snapped, trying to shut the conversation down.
A few minutes passed in an uncomfortable silence. Every so often her eye changed colour as she read something on her HUD, and her hands typed out the response. Her frown deepened, and I checked her Sentiment. Shit, she’s angry. I decided to keep the silence going until her Sentiment changed from the red-faced figure with arms crossed and a tapping foot.
‘No,’ Zoe blurted out. ‘That’s too weird.’
I wasn’t sure that she meant to say it out loud. Her Sentiment still tapped its foot, but I ventured a tentative ‘You OK?’
I looked out of the window to avoid the daggers her eyes threw at me.
After more angry messages, Zoe sighed. ‘Right… er, I can’t believe I have to ask this, but my mum wants to know if you’re married.’
Does Sophia like me? Why else would she ask the question?
Legally I was still married as I had pressed ‘Save for Later’ on my divorce demand, but I ventured a tentative ‘no’. I was grinning like an idiot, but Zoe wasn’t in any mood to return my smile. I shut it down as she typed a short response.
It would have taken me weeks to get around to vocalising a personal question. Some people came straight out with this stuff. I envied them their ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ approach to relationships.
Zoe and I had stayed firmly away from family and personal stuff in our conversations. We kept a mutual, unspoken agreement to keep it all about work, so I knew nothing about her life.
‘Don’t you both live with your dad?’
‘No, he moved out when I was a kid.’
‘I’m sorry. Do you still see him?’
‘Occasionally…’
I thought she was going to say something else, but she must have got another message because she shook her head again and said, ‘Never or not now… married, I mean.’
‘Not now.’ I repeated the small lie. Mary and I hadn’t lived together for months, so I didn’t feel married. I needed to press that button.
After more typing and another head shake, she said, ‘Apparently I need details.’
‘Life’s like a bicycle ride,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Sometimes you pedal, sometimes you freewheel. I pedalled hard to win Mary – my wife.’
‘That makes no sense.’
‘She was pretty, and I was clumsy.’ I sighed, reflecting on where it had all gone wrong. ‘Little by little I slowed and stopped pedalling with Mary. I was always at work and she blamed me.’
Zoe left a silence for me to carry on.
‘I think Mary stopped pedalling for me as well. At some point, we veered off in different directions.’ I stared out the window. ‘Now I’m alone.’
***
Our car skirted Salisbury and after a few miles pulled into a lay-by, we got out, and I breathed in the brisk, fresh air – clean county air that the city didn’t understand. I stood and turned into the wind, feeling the life of it, letting it buffet me. We were on the top of a hill; crop fields a patchwork of greens and yellows around us.
In the distance, I could hear a mechanical wail. If I didn’t know better, I would have said it was a high-powered petrol engine being pushed hard. The pitch of the noise dipped for a fraction and then wailed again. It was close now. I hadn’t seen a petrol car for years. The pollution tax was massive, and a permit was nearly impossible, but a big, red shape was approaching us. It can’t be. But this was real. The car stopped next to us. A shock of noise and heat. A prancing horse on the bonnet with the word Ferrari underneath. The window purred down.
21
DI Clive Lussac
‘Inspector Lussac?’ the driver said. I nodded, and he smiled. ‘I’m Esteban Jimenez.’ He spoke with a soft Spanish accent, the split of the syllables and emphasis both in different places to how I had been saying his name. His was more melodic than my flatter accent. He pronounced his name as Es-TE-bahhn, not EsteBAN. The J in his surname was more of an H sound – Himenez – at least I got that bit right.
Even stationary, the car seemed angry and impatient. Zoe took a few paces back from it. She looked like she was staring down a wild animal. Esteban turned the engine off and got out. The growl was replaced by gentle pings and ticks as the metal started to cool.
The car was fantastic, like the types of car I had on my wall as a kid. The sun caught the paint, highlighting the metallic flecks. It shimmered. All I could do was stare at it.
‘People say you live off-grid, but you’re not exactly hiding away in that,’ I said, indicating the Ferrari.
Esteban gave a self-deprecating shrug. ‘Well. I don’t live in stealth mode all of the time.’
I tore myself away from the car and looked down at Esteban. He was Zoe’s height and wore a black shirt with white flashing on the shoulders.
Zoe gave up waiting for an introduction. ‘I’m DC Zoe Jordan.’
Esteban shook her hand. ‘Zoe. Nice to meet you.’
‘We need to talk to you,’ I said.
‘I know, but not here.’ Esteban moved to the boot of the car and opened it. It swung up and opened silently.
I could feel my hair being tossed and knotted by the wind. Zoe had given up on hers, and it flapped around like a flag. Esteban’s shirt collar took occasional flight in the wind, allowing a glimpse of the stiff hi-tech looking neck collar he wore.
‘Please,’ he said, indicating that we come to him. ‘I want to help.’
I paused. I didn’t get the sense that he was our killer, so I headed to the car. Zoe followed.
The boot of the car was empty except for a box holding two collars similar to his. They were about 50mm thick, with padded top edge
s to protect the wearer, and appeared to be crafted out of some sort of brushed metal. Esteban lifted one out. It looked light in his hands. He stepped behind Zoe and lifted her hair away from her neck, before spending some time putting the collar on her, spinning the knurled metal thumb-wheels to adjust the fit.
‘Shit,’ she said, distressed hand movements flashing around her head. ‘My iMe’s lost signal. Shit, shit.’
‘Please don’t worry,’ Esteban said. ‘It’s only temporary.’
‘But, but… I can’t get my HUD to work.’ Her arm movements got more frantic like she was swatting at imaginary flies.
Esteban came behind me, and I ducked down so that he could reach. The collar was heavier than I thought. He clicked it closed, and I could feel movements that made it wrap around my neck. Not so tight that it suffocated me; more like a tie that was slightly too tight. Esteban fiddled some more, the collar started to get warm, and then my HUD had a blank screen with the message: ‘Unknown Error: Please report to Tech Support’.
Even though most of my life was pre-iMe, this still felt unnatural. For the first time in over a decade, I wasn’t being watched. Did a collar like this make those marks on Karina’s neck?
I stepped up close to Zoe and whispered, ‘I know you’re used to having a signal, but go with the flow here. We need to make progress in the case, and we can overpower him if it gets messy.’
As I stepped back, she nodded, still hopping from foot to foot in agitation, unsettled by the disconnect.
‘iMe working as described,’ I said. ‘An unexpected situation handled with an error.’
Zoe stopped moving. ‘Just like Manu said.’
Esteban closed the boot and opened the car door. He touched a button on the front seat, and it purred forward to allow access to a small back seat. ‘I’m sorry, Zoe, but the inspector looks too tall to fit.’
‘I don’t know.’ She took a step away.
Esteban smiled and walked over to our car. ‘It’s safer than this heap of shit.’