by Jem Tugwell
This wasn’t what I expected. ‘What’s going on?’
‘My friends wanted some privacy for a party, and I was able to oblige.’
‘You were hiding the signals of celebs just so they could have a party?’ We’d been here before. ‘You denied that.’
‘Well, it wasn’t really relevant,’ Art said. His ego seemed to be re-inflating now his actions were out in the open.
‘How often do you do this?’ Zoe asked.
‘Maybe once a month.’
‘So, you’re selling celebs a way to hide their parties?’ I demanded.
‘They need respite from the paparazzi, and I don’t sell anything. Check my accounts. My only income is my salary.’
‘Oh, we will,’ I said. The little bastard was playing with us.
‘What do you get out of it,’ Zoe asked.
‘I’m invited to the party,’ Art said with a satisfied smile.
‘They’re not your friends. They’re using you to hide from the press.’
Art looked straight back at me. ‘Oh, I’m not naive, Inspector. But I’m the one in the position of power. I can turn their signals back on at any time. They know that.’
He beamed at me with the self-satisfied recollection of nights partying with celebs while I was probably alone in my lonely flat feeling hungry.
I had to grip the table to stop myself hitting him in the face.
***
I looked out of the window in Bhatt’s office. She had reflective privacy glass that let the light in but kept the press drones out. Her office was much higher in the block than PCU, and usually, you could see a long way. Today, all I could see was cloud and a curtain of heavy rain coming towards us.
‘But Art’s confession to the parties could simply be a way of deflecting the suspicion of the murders,’ I said. I could hear the whine in my voice, and I didn’t like it.
Bhatt shook her head. ‘You’ve no evidence. We have to let him go.’
I slumped back into my usual chair in Bhatt’s office. It had all gone wrong. When we got close to Doris the case started disappearing: now it was the same with Art.
I couldn’t bear to think of him smiling in the rain or in a car going back to his office.
I said what was going around and around in my head.
‘The killer’s still out there. They’ll kill again.’
38
Thief
I was drawn to the emptiness of the cell. It needed filling, and the worm in my head kept wiggling and calling to me: another, another.
I was outside and walking. The heavy rain passed and the air smelt damp but clean. The swamped drains left puddles everywhere. I swore as I put my foot in one, trying to avoid a bloody HUD Zombie who wasn’t looking where they were going.
I stepped to the side of the pavement to try and shake the water out of my shoe, and watched a car splash through a puddle and drench a woman who was walking and talking to her HUD.
The police were a problem. They hadn’t got any proof yet, but they wouldn’t stay useless forever. At some point they would try and search my home. They might find the hidden entrance to the cell. I had cleaned and bleached it lots of times, but I could still be undone by a stray hair or a print that showed Karina or Two had been there.
I needed a way to deflect the police. There must be something that I could do to mislead them. Maybe I could manufacture some evidence and leave it somewhere to get the police to look elsewhere.
I stopped with my shoe halfway back to my foot and let a big smile spread over my face. I could steal Zoe or Lussac.
The woman with the wet leg glared at me and shouted, ‘What you looking at? Think it’s funny? You can fuck off.’
As she stormed away, I shifted my weight and felt the squelch of water in my sock. I started walking and thinking again.
***
Back home, I slumped into my control chair and rocked backwards. The lights were off and I was bathed in the gentle green glow of the monitors. I flicked through the individual views from each of the infrared night vision cameras. They all showed the same empty cell.
My need was an itch I couldn’t reach. Zoe could be fantastic to own. I would savour her, but she might be a repeat of Karina.
Lussac had pissed me off.
39
DI Clive Lussac
I had a strange feeling that I was being watched and, for the twentieth time, I checked the local iMe signals for someone who might be following me. I couldn’t see anyone interesting, but it didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.
The tranquillity of my apartment block foyer soothed some of my apprehension, but I couldn’t shake a nagging ache of foreboding. I pushed the button for the lift. Three storeys up, so no need for the double journey messing around I used to get to Oscar’s flat. As I waited for the lift, I scanned the area, grateful when a gentle bing announced its arrival.
‘Hello, Clive,’ the lift said as I got in, ‘are you going home?’
‘Yes,’ I replied, and the indicator for the third floor started glowing.
Shit, I thought, the lift software has been upgraded. Now I’d have to use the stairs to see Oscar.
***
I closed the door to my flat. I was safe in here, but even so, I felt the need for a soothing drink. As I went into the kitchen to find one of Oscar’s bottles, a message on my HUD stopped me in my tracks.
‘Sender: Alfie.’
Doris’ lawyer.
‘Subject: Thinking of You.’
What the hell does that mean?
I opened the message and saw a press release from the Ministry of Well-being and Health. It described the period of consultation for the use of helmets by pedestrians. People busy using their HUDs were walking into things, while others had slipped or tripped. The published studies were crammed with statistics on accidents and images of people who had suffered severe brain damage from a relatively minor impact to the head.
I had seen the press release before and it wasn’t relevant to me or the Health Bank. I wondered why Alfie had sent this message, and then the tag at the bottom of the message crashed into me: ‘It appears that a little tap on the head can be dangerous. Be careful out there.’
On its own, it seemed innocent enough. Alfie would laugh off any suggestion that he was threatening me. I reached for a bottle, splashed two week’s FU allowance into a glass and took a big gulp. I savoured the burn as the liquid traced its way down my throat, but it didn’t stop my hand shaking as I put the glass down on the worktop. My Buddy ran out, waving his finger at me in rebuke, and unfurled another banner: ‘Freedom Unit violation reported to the Ministry of Well-being and Health.’
Doris knew I would understand the real meaning. In the old days when she wanted someone killed, she pulled Alfie aside to say, ‘They’ve gone too far, Alfie. Get someone to give them a little tap.’
***
Zoe had tracked down one of the celebrities who was at Art’s party. Some pretty boy from a funk-rap boy band I’d never heard of. The band were the latest winners of a TV talent show that churned out the next superstar every six months, and who would be gone before the October chill stripped the trees bare of their autumnal reds and golds.
Zane E was staying in the majestic luxury of Cliveden. The historic hotel seemed a strange choice of location for a brash rap star, but it was a good excuse for an afternoon drive through the countryside to the Buckinghamshire town of Taplow.
As the car crunched up the long drive, I felt as green as the manicured lawns. I was nursing one hell of a hangover, and my head banged so hard that it was difficult to think straight. I wasn’t doing a good job of being a decent boss, let alone a suitable date for Zoe’s mum. I had booked a restaurant for tonight and Sophia had messaged me to say that Zoe knew about our date and wasn’t happy. She had given me the silent disapproval treatment on the whole journey and now, full of virtue and offensive good health, she looked down at me with obvious distaste from her moral high ground.
The noise in my head got louder, and I had to shut my eyes to suppress the vomit rising in my throat. It took me several seconds to realise that the additional ringing was actually a call.
I tapped my jaw and winced at the volume of the voice in my head.
‘Clive, Clive, is that you, man?’ Oscar shouted.
Bright white flashed before my eyes. I needed to lie down in the dark room. ‘What’s up, Oscar?’
‘Jesus, man, I got an assessment from the Ministry of Well-being and Health.’
‘So?’ We all got them this time of year as part of the taxation regime.
‘So? So?’ he screamed. ‘They’ve got a new cross-referencing process. They’ve checked my alcohol purchases over the last six months and compared it to my alcohol intake. They say there’s a discrepancy that they want to talk to me about.’
‘They’ve asked for a meeting?’ That wasn’t a good sign.
‘No. They’ve demanded a full audit.’
‘Oh shit,’ I blurted. A full FU audit was brutal, and the Ministry used the most humourless staff they could find.
‘Exactly, shit,’ Oscar agreed. ‘I’m going to have to tell them the truth, Clive. I mean, there are the payments as well.’
He was right. He couldn’t deflect an FU audit, and my payments to him would be unexplainable any other way.
‘OK, Oscar. Just do what you have to – I’ll deal with it when it comes back to me.’
I was screwed. This close after my Excess Consumption Order, I would be looking at a three-month stay in a Health Reorientation Camp run by the Ministry. I wasn’t sure I would survive.
***
As we walked into the calm oasis of Cliveden’s great hall, my head eased, and I felt a bit better. It was the sort of place I would like to become used to.
I smoothed the jacket of my new suit, hoping that I looked like I belonged. I’d heard that people with money dressed down as shabby chic, but all I saw were beautifully dressed people, their modern style contrasting perfectly with the large fireplace, suits of armour and tapestries on the walls. I was the only shabby thing in the room.
A receptionist came over – it was obvious that her tailored uniform must have cost three times as much as my new suit. ‘May I help you?’ she said to Zoe after dismissing me with her eyes.
‘We’re here to meet with Zane E,’ Zoe said.
‘He’s expecting you and asked if you would join him in the library. I’ll take you through.’
We followed her, and Zoe muttered, ‘You’re a disgrace. You’re hungover and you stink of alcohol.’
I had no defence, so I followed Zoe like a naughty little boy following their angry mother.
***
Zane E was dressed in a sharp, elegant bluey-silver suit with black shoes that outshone the silverware on the table. It showed how out of touch I was. I was expecting a baseball cap on backwards and big jewellery. He was at home here, and his good looks and sense of style were really intimidating. I dropped down into a chair and hid my scuffed shoes under the table.
He looked around the room. Even here people were staring, red dots blinking in their eyes to show they were filming Zane. The images would be flashing around the world, joining all the other people commenting on someone else’s life rather than living their own.
‘The library has been reserved,’ the receptionist said, and shooed the people out.
Zoe started with a gentle lead-in. She was clearly a fan. Some questions about the band and his background. I nudged her leg to get her to bring the questions to the real subject.
She shifted in her chair as she adjusted from fan to police officer.
‘Do you know Art Walker?’ she said.
‘I don’t know the guy, but I met him once at some nice pad near Hyde Park,’ he smiled at the memory. ‘Great party.’
‘Did Art Walker invite you?’
‘No, my agent did. He’s in with Art.’
Zoe threw a photo of Karina at Zane. ‘Have you seen her before?’
Now Zane lit up. ‘Sure, Karina. She’s fantastic fun. Gorgeous and smart. We chatted together a few times.’
Zoe looked at me to make sure I wasn’t asleep, but I was concentrating hard.
‘What happens at the parties?’ I asked.
Zane looked a little shy. ‘I was brought up by my aunt, and she always said that a gentleman should be discreet.’ A hint of moisture touched his eyes. ‘She’s gone now, but I try to make her proud every day.’
Maybe his aunt’s influence was why he seemed so well adjusted and modest, despite all his sudden fame.
‘I can see that,’ I said, softening my tone.
Zoe asked, ‘Was Karina at a lot of parties?’
‘I’ve only been to three, but she was there every time. She said she had been to a few, but it sounded like a lot,’ Zane said.
‘How often are they?’
‘Every month, my agent said.’
We had already checked – the iMe technical briefings were held at most once a quarter. These parties could be the networking events that Karina told Dave she went to. The monthly frequency seemed to line up.
We’d found a link between Art and Karina.
Zoe was thinking the same thing because she asked, ‘What was Art Walker like at these parties?’
‘Not cool. He acted like he was the big man. Full of himself at organising the parties and the privacy.’
‘What else?’
‘Lots of staff and people who weren’t celebs, like Karina, weren’t happy. Art pushed them around, you know, controlling them, telling them what to do all the time.’
Zoe threw another photo at Zane, and I knew who it was. ‘Did you ever see him?’
‘Yeah, Esteban. I met him at a party. He was cool.’
‘Anything else you remember?’ I asked, noting Zoe’s pointed glance at me.
Zane looked a little upset now. ‘Some of the women made a real effort to avoid Art. They said he had interviewed them before letting them come.’
***
As the car made its way back from Cliveden, I sent a report to Bhatt telling her we needed to talk to Art and Esteban again. We would need to talk to Dave as well and perhaps shatter his illusions of Karina. Or maybe he had found out, and we should move him to the top of the suspects list.
I let my mind drift ahead to my date with Sophia tonight. My first date in years and I was both nervous and excited. Zoe was back giving me the silent treatment, so I imagined the perfect evening instead of talking.
The bing of another message from Alfie broke my daydream. An old iMe press release about the benefits of always knowing where people are. The meaning was clear: they were tracking me. The message ended with the sinister words ‘Tap! Tap!’
The car pulled into the secure basement of my block. I had told Zoe that I wanted to avoid any waiting press drones, but I didn’t want to risk bumping into one of Alfie’s men outside on the pavement. I got out and stood in the empty concrete loading area as the car pulled away to take Zoe home. The harsh light cast dark shadows into the corners of the bays. I began to think that this wasn’t such a good idea. The lights were controlled by movement sensors and the ones around me started to shut off, deepening the darkness and my unease.
I knew that I needed to move to keep the lights on, but I froze when I thought I heard a footstep from near the door. My pulse coursed through my head and I panted as if I was running on my treadmill. There can’t be someone there, can there? The light would have come on.
I stood straining to hear movement. The last light timed out and pitched the whole area into darkness. All I could hear was my own breathing. I was going to have to do something. I couldn’t stay here.
I took a tentative step toward the door, and the lights overhead came on and dazzled me. It made the area near the door seem even darker. I shuffled forwards, peering into the black, wishing to get close enough for the light by the door to come on, but knowing that would be the moment anyone waitin
g would rush me and give me a tap.
I felt so exposed moving towards the darkness while being floodlit. I inched and inched, my whole body tense, and my left hand held up as a defensive shield.
The light snapped on. I flinched and jumped to my right. I hoped that any blow would most likely come from a right-handed attacker and this would move me away from their hand and the weapon it contained. I guessed that if they had a gun, I would be dead already.
I looked around, but I was alone. I felt like a complete idiot, smiled and breathed out. I had been so scared that I hadn’t even scanned the area for iMe signals. I checked now and confirmed that no one was there, but I didn’t trust the system anymore.
I walked the remaining paces to the door, still feeling that there was some sort of threat. I put my hand on the door and it clicked unlocked. As I pushed the door open, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me through the door and up against the wall. I hadn’t even seen the person, but I could feel their weight against me and their breath on my neck.
‘Inspector Lussac, I’ve been following your signal. This is a strange way in, are you trying to avoid someone?’ the man said.
‘Who are you?’
He said nothing, but I felt the pressure ease from my back and his hand locked on my wrist pulled me around to face him.
He looked about forty, his hair was shaved into short stubble, and his eyes glared a cold menace. His signal wasn’t showing, and his suit bulged with muscle. If he wanted to smash my face in, I’d have no hope.
‘Did Doris send you?’ I said.
‘Who’s Doris?’ the man answered and pushed his ID into my HUD.
‘Special Investigator Winter, Freedom Unit Enforcement, Ministry of Well-being and Health.’
I sighed with relief that I wasn’t going to get a tap from Doris, but then I realised that I was in just as much trouble.
‘You need to come to our offices tomorrow at 9am. I’ve been chatting with Oscar. He has all sorts of stories about you.’
With that, he released my wrist and patted my cheek. ‘Don’t be late,’ he said, and stepped through the door into the loading area.