by Jem Tugwell
‘Tell me about Alan Kane.’
‘What about him?’
I couldn’t decide if Art was being unhelpful out of spite or whether he was buying time to compose an answer. ‘Did you like him?’
Art’s relaxed demeanour seemed to get pushed out by an inner tension. He didn’t stiffen so much as solidify. ‘The man was a fool. Always self-destructing over some woman or other.’ Art flashed a brief smile.
I wondered if he had enjoyed Alan’s fall from grace. ‘What was he like to work with?’
Art dismissed Alan with a flippant hand wave, like he was flicking at a fly. ‘Average.’
‘Did he share your vision for iMe?’ I put my hand down to stop my leg jiggling and waited for Art to reply.
Art blinked several times. Maybe this was getting stressful for him.
‘No. iMe was intended to be all about convenience. It was meant to take your smart phone and give you the HUD to replace it. You’d always be connected and no more passwords or identity theft.’ He took a sip of his water.
‘We’ve got all that.’
‘We were younger and naive then. We sold our vision of convenience and didn’t think through the consequences.’
Like me, I thought, when I brought iMe into policing. ‘So how was Alan’s vision different?’
Art had a wistful look on his face as he thought back, then it hardened, and he snapped, ‘You’re old enough to remember the years of terrorist attacks. The Islamic fundamentalist violence and the Christian fundamentalist retaliation. The violence trying to split the UK into separate countries.’
‘I am,’ I said. Watching the news had been misery – all violence and senseless killing. Kids killed on buses by one group and then different kids killed in the name of justice and revenge. The calls for London to be a walled city again.
‘All the technology back then, like the pay-as-you-go phones and encrypted messaging made catching terrorists difficult,’ Art said, outrage crackling in his voice. ‘We wanted the location services to be for finding your friends, shops and restaurants. To enrich your experience of wherever you were.’ He paused again. ‘Survivor Mia changed all that.’
‘I remember her,’ Zoe said. ‘We held a vigil for the kids at our school.’
I remembered her as well, the shock wave it sent through the country and the pressure it put on the police. She was the only surviving kid from a school minibus taken by a paedophile ring. No one had tried to help the children or stop the abduction. Some were scared, their fear driven by all the ‘Don’t be a Hero’ posters. Others were too busy filming the children being taken and boosting their social media profiles by posting their videos.
The bus had been found easily as it had a GPS tracker in it. Mia only survived because the abduction was on her birthday and she was given a brand-new phone that morning. She handed her old phone to the paedophiles and kept the new one hidden. When she finally had a chance to turn it on, we had tracked her signal.
I said, ‘And Alan used that?’
‘Yes, he sold the idea to the government. Safety always trumps privacy.’
He was right; the government had leveraged the suffering of the parents. Why would you object to the police knowing where you are if you have nothing to hide? Why would you vote against stopping little kids being rescued from paedophiles? Are you that selfish that a little loss of personal freedom would mean that we can’t catch terrorists? The rhetoric had gone on and on.
‘That was Alan’s idea?’
‘Yes. The government took the momentum from all the attacks and Mia and built it up and up until people were demanding location tracking of everyone.’
And so, the government watched everyone. Every second of every day, but not like in a sci-fi film. No sinister master criminal, no alien invasion, no rebellion of machines or a catastrophic weather event. The people hadn’t rebelled against it, instead most had voted for it in the referendum. Many had queued overnight to ensure that they were amongst the first to get iMe.
For me though, it was like all the free people rushing to climb aboard a cruise ship knowing it was run by His Majesty’s Prison Service.
Art is being too nice, too helpful, I thought. It’s not normal.
‘And you were upset about it?’
‘Well, yes. We all were. The government had promised not to use the technology for tracking and what’s the first thing they do? Track people.’
‘So, Alan betrayed you.’ I pulled myself up in my chair, trying to make myself bigger and more intimidating.
‘He betrayed the technology. He took what we made and twisted it, corrupted it.’
‘And that made you angry?’
‘Of course, the lying shit tricked us.’ Art ran his hand over his hair.
‘Then, in an act of revenge, you took him and killed him?’
‘Hah. You’re an idiot, Inspector.’ Art slumped back into his chair, and I could see the tension in him evaporate.
‘Answer the question, Mr Walker. Did you kill Alan Kane?’
Art went very still again. With a dead-eyed stare said, ‘No, I did not kill Alan Kane.’
‘You didn’t cut him up and put him in the trunk?’
I pushed some photos of Alan in the trunk at the display wall.
Art flicked through the photos. I would have expected some revulsion or shock, but he took his time examining each one.
‘I did not put Kane in that trunk,’ he said, and glowered back at us, but he couldn’t stop himself glancing at the photos every few seconds.
‘Is that why you arranged Alan like that? Are you taunting us, saying we can’t solve this?’
‘It looks like an accurate message, Inspector.’
***
‘He’s lying, and we’ve let him go,’ I said back in Bhatt’s office. She was at the hand-wash station again.
‘His body language was weird,’ Bhatt agreed. ‘There’s something there.’
‘He was enjoying looking at those photos of Alan Kane,’ Zoe said. ‘He kept staring at them like he was savouring the experience.’
Was she finally beginning to see it?
‘He looked like he overcompensated with the direct eye contact. It seemed like he was trying not to look like he was lying,’ Bhatt said.
Yes. Yes. I was going to get him, and I knew how.
36
DC Zoe Jordan
Our office was besieged with press camera drones. They were like rabid bluebottles, swarming and tapping the glass, trying to get in. If we didn’t solve this, who would get sacrificed? Bhatt? Clive? No, I was at the bottom.
Art had said he didn’t know Karina and we hadn’t found any links between them so, unless she was a victim chosen at random, Art had no obvious motive. We only knew one person who had a Suppressor, and that was Esteban. He had witnesses saying that he was at a dinner, but he could have taken Karina and then gone to eat.
Doris and Tom were Fraud’s problem now. They had the staff to put the case together and deal with all the legal arguments there would be between the Ministry of Well-being and Health and the members.
We finished taping covers over the windows to stop the drones seeing in and now couldn’t see the bright and sunny day outside. The investigation seemed in the dark as well.
Clive was pacing and muttering in front of our crime wall as he rehearsed the next interview with Esteban. When I got the message that Esteban was here, I grabbed Clive’s arm to stop him.
***
‘What was your relationship with Alan Kane like?’ Clive asked.
The more time I spent in Interview Room One, the more depressing it was. I pushed my fingernail under the edge of a chip in the paint. A leaf of beige popped up, revealing more grey.
‘It was OK in the beginning, but it collapsed into arguments,’ Esteban said.
Clive leaned forward in his chair. ‘Heated arguments? Were you angry?’
‘Yes. He betrayed all the promises that were made before we started.’
I
uncrossed my arms. ‘Angry enough to kill him?’
‘Of course not,’ Esteban said with a small laugh. ‘Why would I? I have too much to lose.’
‘Why should that put you above suspicion?’
Esteban said nothing, so I threw the photos up on the wall again. They were the same ones of Alan in the trunk we had shown Art.
Esteban glanced at them.
‘Did you arrange him like this to show us how clever you are?’ I leant forward across the table so I could invade his space as much as possible.
‘No. But…’ Esteban swept his hand up to wipe his forehead. It was the first time he hadn’t looked in complete control.
‘But?’
‘Alan could be incredibly childish,’ Esteban said. His hands came to his temples and he stuck out his tongue. He rotated his hands a couple of times. Each one going in the opposite direction, like kids do. Like I had. ‘Alan did that at the end of the meeting where we were forced to agree to the tracking. It was his victory gesture.’
‘That must have wound you up,’ I said. I could feel Clive’s leg bouncing up and down again under the table.
‘We were all upset and angry, and it really rubbed salt into our wounds.’
‘And you decided to kill him then?’
The sweat was back on his forehead. ‘No, I didn’t decide to kill him.’ Esteban was staring at me now. A silent challenge.
I stared back. ‘OK, we’ll come back to that later.’ I paused, allowing the pressure and threat of the question to hang in the air.
Thankfully, Clive’s leg stopped bouncing as he shifted his weight in the chair. ‘Was that when you left iMe?’ he asked.
‘No. I was angry and I felt betrayed, but tracking made sense because of people like Mia. The government couldn’t be selective on the cases, so it got applied to everyone.’
Clive scraped his chair back from the table. ‘What made you finally leave?’ he asked. I could hear him rubbing his leg with his shoe.
‘I drew the line at the Model Citizen. Being tracked all the time was one thing, but controlling everything you ate and drank… Taxing your enjoyment was too much.’
Clive nodded. ‘Was that Alan’s idea as well?’
‘Not directly, but you remember the financial pressure on the NHS. It drove the Prevention is Better than Cure campaign. Model Citizen only works if everyone has iMe.’
‘So, you left?’ Clive rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. The warm weather had given him the excuse not to buy a new suit despite the burns.
‘Yes, around the same time as Alice Bakaev.’
‘And took your Suppressors and got immunity from prosecution for being off-grid.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve told you before. I signed the Official Secrets Act.’
‘That’s convenient. It lets you do what you like.’
‘Yes, it does.’ He smiled.
I wasn’t going to let him off that easily. ‘And you decided to kill Alan Kane because you thought you could get away with it?’
That wiped the smile away.
‘No,’ Esteban said.
‘What about Karina Morgan? Did you know her?’
Esteban paused a long time. ‘I did not know that woman.’
The pause and his formal speech raised a flag in my mind. ‘Really? Because it sounds like you did.’
Esteban paused again, apparently going through some internal dialogue. ‘OK, OK. It will come out anyway,’ he sighed. ‘I didn’t really know her, but I did meet her at a party.’
37
DI Clive Lussac
We had Art back in the interview room, but I decided to let him stew a while. I had turned the thermostat up, hoping that the stuffy room, uncomfortable chair and the heat would help piss him off enough to make him angry and careless.
I looked at Zoe. Rightly, she seemed pleased with herself. She’d got Esteban to admit to having met Karina at a party, and we had a link.
‘How are we going to solve this?’ she asked.
‘The truth?’ I said. ‘If it stays like this then we won’t solve it. Not without proof. We need luck or a mistake.’
‘A mistake as in someone else getting killed and the killer leaving evidence?’
It was the grim reality. ‘Yes, like the old days, unless we get a confession, we’re going to have to wait.’
Zoe shivered. ‘Waiting means going through that press scrum every day. My mum’s got TV drones all around the house.’
‘I know. She said.’ I knew Zoe didn’t like me talking to Sophia, but it wasn’t really her call.
Zoe crossed her arms and frowned. If I had kids it would have been my job to object to their choice in partners, now I was the one being judged unworthy.
Sophia and I were going on our first date tomorrow, and we hadn’t told Zoe yet. I bottled it. I’d tell her later.
***
I smiled at Art, hoping to goad him. Trying to get under his skin.
He wasn’t as relaxed as before – he dabbed at his forehead with a monogrammed handkerchief.
‘Let me tell you what I think,’ I said. ‘You have a Suppressor and you used it to kidnap and kill Karina Morgan and Alan Kane.’
Art banged his fist down on the table, leaving a small dent in the flimsy top. ‘I did not…’ He seemed on the verge of saying something else, but he stiffened and stared at us.
I looked at Zoe and nodded. She threw a document onto the room’s display wall.
Art turned, and as he read it, the colour drained from his face. He dropped his head into his hands.
Now I had him. I let the silence stretch out. I wanted him to think through the consequences.
After a long pause, I said, ‘Mr Walker, you’re normally the only person who can authorise the release of encrypted iMe data. Is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ he said through his hands.
‘But in special circumstances the prime minister can also authorise it.’ I was enjoying myself. I pointed at the display wall. ‘I arranged for the chief constable to write that letter. Explaining how you are the prime suspect in a double murder and are refusing to cooperate with the police. Asking for the prime minister’s approval for the data to be released.’
I looked across at Art, who still had his head in his hands.
‘We’ll leave you to think about whether you’d like me to send that letter.’
We left the room, and I clanged the door shut.
‘You still think he’s innocent, Zoe?’ I asked.
‘He’s certainly hiding something,’ she said.
***
As we walked back into the interview room, Art looked up at us. I had dragged Bhatt and the chief constable in to watch the confession I hoped to get. I could feel their gaze again.
Shuffling my chair around in a noisy little dance to get comfortable, I brushed a flake of loose paint off the table and looked at Art. He seemed diminished, like his suit was now too big for him.
Here goes.
‘Mr Walker, where were you and why was your signal encrypted when Alan Kane went missing?’ I asked, and waited, praying it wasn’t going to be another stonewall response and that I had dragged the chief constable in for nothing.
Art hesitated and then straightened the lapels of his suit and cleared his throat. Even then, it took another visible effort of will to get him started.
‘Um, I want your assurance that this won’t go any further,’ he said.
I looked at him, trying to blank out my reaction, not wanting my excitement to show. ‘I can’t possibly promise that. This is a murder investigation.’
He nodded, seeing the obvious dilemma. The arrogant, self-important front had gone. His insecure core continued. ‘I… I was in London with friends.’
I shook my head. I needed more than this pathetic reason. ‘Why would you need to encrypt your signal just to see friends?’
He was obviously still holding back, so I pointed at the letter that was still on the display wall. I entered the prime minister’s
ID in the ‘Send To’ section at the top and hovered over the ‘Send’ button.
‘Wait… Wait,’ Art said.
‘We need the truth. All of it, not some useless half story about friends.’
‘OK. OK.’
I glanced at Zoe, seeing in her eyes the same excitement I felt. We were so close to the truth, we needed him to start, and then it would all spill out.
‘Please, Mr Walker. Take your time and explain it to us,’ she said.
Art straightened in his chair. ‘You understand that I’m an important man…’
I had to bite my tongue. Arrogant shit.
‘And as such, people come to me asking for favours,’ he continued.
‘OK,’ I said, trying to nudge him on.
‘Some of these favours I feel I can accommodate… for people who need some anonymity.’
Just confess, I wanted to scream at him, but I couldn’t risk it.
‘And you accommodated a favour at the weekend?’ Zoe said.
Art looked down again. ‘Yes. For some friends.’
‘Who?’
Art mentioned some old actors and musicians and lots of names that I didn’t recognise.
Zoe nodded, she seemed to know them. She was busy with her fingers on her HUD.
The display wall cleared the letter to the prime minister and redrew with the signals of Art and the names he mentioned.
‘This is the trace for the weekend,’ she said. ‘All of these people’s signals are encrypted.’
‘I thought the encryption was only for the police and state secrets, not a bunch of celebs,’ I said.
‘We need to see the data,’ Zoe’s voice was firm and commanding. It seemed to shock Art.
‘OK,’ he said, and typed out a message on his HUD. ‘Wait a minute.’
We endured an awkward silence, like an unplanned interlude in a show, waiting for the truth.
‘OK, refresh your query,’ Art said.
Zoe refreshed the display, and the signals now showed normal. She changed the screen to a map. All the signals were in London. When she zoomed right in, the signal dots stayed clustered in the same place. Art and the celebs were in a nine-bedroom mansion in Princess Gate, opposite Hyde Park. It was nowhere near the location where Esteban said he met Karina.