Proximity

by Jem Tugwell

  44

  Thief

  Mary’s home was broadly in the same direction as the restaurant. He must have been going on a date, I concluded. He was probably taking his date to the same restaurant he and Mary always went to. I bet he’d even asked for their usual table.

  I brought up the map on the car’s screen and touched the displayed route. With my finger, I pressed ‘Previous Destinations’, selected the restaurant and then chose ‘Go via’.

  The map drew a new route past the restaurant and then on to Mary’s. The arrival time had gone back ten minutes, but it was worth the delay if Lussac’s date paid for a signal trace on him. She would see him come towards her, pause briefly and then sail straight on by. It would be like he had stopped, considered the date and then rejected her in favour of his ex-wife.

  I enjoyed the rest of the journey with a big smile on my face.

  ***

  The outside door of the block of flats opened as promised and the lift greeted me with a happy, ‘Hello, Clive. I’ll take you to Mary’s floor’. When the doors opened, I slipped my mask on and strode along the corridor.

  ‘Hi, Clive,’ Mary called.

  She must have been waiting for him by the door – that blew my plan of sneaking up on her out of the water before it had started. I rolled my shoulders in preparation.

  The door clicked open as Mary pulled it towards her. I shoved against it and heard her surprise and confusion as she was sent backwards off balance.

  I stepped past the door, pushing it shut behind me, and stood in front of Mary, my bag in my hand.

  ‘Who the fuck are you? Where’s Clive?’ she screamed. ‘Get out.’

  I put the bag on the floor as she charged at me and tried to push me out.

  We grappled – a sprawl of arms until I got a good grip. I shoved her back to give me the space I needed, and I punched her hard in the face, hearing the crunch of her nose breaking and seeing blood appear on her top lip. Mary was stronger than I thought – she was still standing – until I landed another two blows.

  ***

  Mary sprawled face up on the entrance hall floor, groaning. She was semi-conscious, and I couldn’t risk her using voice control on her HUD. I tore off a strip from a roll of silver tape, reinforced with fibres, and pressed it over Mary’s mouth and around her cheeks to her jawline on both sides. Next, I rolled her over onto her front and pulled one arm behind her back. The other was stuck under her torso, so I had to wrestle it out before it could join its twin. I put one of her hands on top of the other and taped her wrists together. Now she couldn’t use her HUD keyboard either.

  ‘Shame,’ I said to her back. ‘I was going to frame Lussac for assault.’

  I whirled three or four loops of tape around her ankles and pressed it tight. Seeing her bound like that tugged at a memory of an image I had seen.

  ‘But you know I’m not him.’ I removed my redundant mask.

  Now she had to die slowly enough that I had time to get back to Lussac’s house and remove his Suppressor before Mary’s signal went red. Otherwise, I would be risking the forensic drones and the police getting to Lussac’s before me. Walking into a room full of police surrounding a drugged detective inspector would be a certain way to get arrested.

  An interesting challenge. I needed to be creative with what I could find in the flat.

  ***

  Lussac’s flat was a mess, but Mary’s was tidy. While he lived in a sterile box with no pictures or any attempt at homeliness, Mary had made a real effort at personalising her space. One of her video walls showed a loop of her favourite pictures. Different places around the world: Paris, Rome, New York, with smiling groups of friends, their tanned faces mouthing a silent cheese for the camera. I watched for a few minutes until it started to repeat. Not one photo of her ex-husband.

  I rummaged around in the kitchen and found various chemicals, but none would do. Strong bleach would have worked for a slow and painful death – but that had been banned years ago. In a high cupboard in the utility area, I pushed aside some spare cleaning products and found a toolbox.

  I lifted it down. It was big, but from its weight I didn’t expect to find much in there. I popped the catches and took a look inside. The top layer held a small hammer and a set of screwdrivers in clip holders. Underneath were two plastic boxes; each with ten compartments that held different sized screws and nails. It all looked unused, and I guessed she must have got the toolbox when she moved in, along with the selection of ‘just in case’ tools and fixings, but never needed them.

  I heard some grunting and sounds of a body struggling from near the door.

  Mary was still on her front but flopping about like a seal trying to get across a beach. Her bound struggling crystallised the memory: a celeb who’d died when an auto-erotic asphyxiation experiment went wrong. His partner had fled, leaving him bound at the wrists and elbows, hanging in a hotel room.

  I rolled Mary over and was rewarded with a series of grunts that I assumed was a stream of abuse. Her eyes bore into me. Pure anger and hatred. If she got free, I would have a real problem.

  I banged her head on the floor to still her, then reached under her armpits and dragged her to the bedroom, dumping her on the bed. I fetched the toolbox and stood looking down at her.

  ‘Let’s get started,’ I said, while placing my bag with the Mimic in it next to her on the bed.

  Mary’s eyes still poured out anger, but as she looked around the room for an escape, I could see the beginning of real fear as well.

  I watched it intensify as I got onto the bed beside her.

  45

  DC Zoe Jordan

  Mum hadn’t sent a message for the five minutes she allowed for Clive’s car to come. Now I was getting an update almost every minute and had stopped reading them. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel for her, but there was nothing I could do about it. I needed to focus on Art and Esteban.

  Art had said that he went to the parties, but Zane made it sound like he was the organiser. More than that, he was the provider of pretty young things of all genders to the celebs. I shuddered at the idea of the casting couch and Art murmuring ‘of course you can meet the celebs, but there’s something I want you to do for me…’

  I thought about the way he had looked at me and felt grossed out. Was he planning to invite me?

  Even if we hadn’t found any iMe signals of the two of them close together, it meant that Art must have known Karina. Definitely at the parties. Art didn’t attend the actual iMe technical sessions even though they were held in the iMe offices, but maybe that was where she first caught his eye. She was certainly pretty enough.

  I opened my notes and typed out ‘Art: Suppressor on Karina and encrypted signal to “cast” her?’ just under ‘Dave: revenge?’ and ‘Esteban: Parties?’

  ***

  Another message from Mum buzzed in my ear. ‘Clive’s still not here.’ I couldn’t ignore her any longer.

  She had ordered a glass of wine when she arrived, but said she was drinking water now. I could picture her, beautiful and stylish at the lonely table, an empty chair opposite her. I pressed my jaw to call him, but he didn’t answer. Where is he? Was he feeling guilty at standing Mum up and too cowardly to talk to me, or had Doris got to him?

  I touched my jaw again, this time to call Mum. She answered on the first ring, and I could hear the resentment in her voice.

  ‘Where is he?’ she whispered.

  I expect she felt exposed being at the table alone and didn’t want to make it worse by letting everyone hear.

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. He was nearly there. I tried calling, but he didn’t answer.’

  ‘Why didn’t the car arrive?’ she asked. ‘Is there a work emergency?’

  ‘No.’ How could he leave her there? ‘Come home. You’re too good for him.’

  All I got back was silence.

  I sighed. ‘Wait a sec.’ I’d have to risk another trace to give Mum the full story, so I started the trace when Cli
ve left his home.

  ‘He was on the way to you…’ I paused as I watched a fast-forward of the journey.’ He got to the restaurant and stopped…’

  ‘But he didn’t come in,’ Mum said.

  ‘No, he just waited there for a few seconds and drove off.’

  ‘Why? Where to?’

  ‘Wait, I’ll check.’ I fast-forwarded again. Clive’s signal trace stopped outside an apartment block. ‘He went to a flat. Not his.’

  I followed Clive into the block and to a front door. Someone was in the flat and I checked who it was. I gasped.

  ‘What?’ Mum said. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He went to his ex-wife’s apartment.’

  ‘Why would he?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum.’ I followed the trace on and saw where they were. ‘Mum–’ I couldn’t say it. The words caught in my throat.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Zoe, tell me.’ She used her strict parent voice.

  ‘They’re in the bedroom.’ My voice cracked and faltered. ‘They… they’re on top of each other.’

  I heard a small ‘no’ and the call dropped.

  46

  Thief

  Mary thrashed around on the bed like a landed fish, desperate to escape.

  She was wearing a short satin skirt and I was treated to a flash of her white knickers as it rode up her legs. She was pretty and full of spirit. Her make-up subtly enhanced her eyes and lips. Her formal shirt was sexy in a slightly severe way and the effect with the short skirt and her brown legs was spectacular. She must have wanted to put a full on, see what you can no longer have show for Lussac. He was a fool, but she had probably been too much for him to handle.

  I tried to flip her onto her front, but she pushed back against me. I bent in close to her ear. ‘You can fight me, or I can pluck an eye out. Choose.’

  She screwed her eyes shut, and her body went limp. I rolled her over and taped her elbows together to mirror the images of the celeb I had seen. I couldn’t complete the image with the things I had, but her wardrobe should have what I needed.

  A couple of her handbags looked promising, with nice heavy chain loops to go over a shoulder. They were long enough but made of a shiny plastic substitute so wouldn’t be strong enough.

  I rummaged around and selected an old dusty leather belt from the back of the wardrobe. It had a strong buckle and the leather would take her weight. Perfect.

  I put the Mimic on Mary’s back for a few seconds. I was thinking about how Lussac’s tracks would look when replayed by the police: he gets there, is taunted by her and punches her in the face. Then he takes her to the bedroom tapes her up and climbs on top.

  Then he gets all kinky.

  ***

  I moved the toolbox over to the en-suite bathroom door, took out the hammer and the box of nails and headed back to the bed. I rolled Mary onto her back and pushed the end of the belt through the buckle to form a noose and looped it over her head. With the buckle positioned neatly on her windpipe, I pulled the belt tight. She whimpered. I pushed her legs over the side of the bed and pulled her up into a sitting position. I slipped the handles of my bag onto my arm and pulled on the belt. She resisted, trying to pull away but stood up as the buckle bit deeper. She hopped after me, like a reluctant dog on a lead. Pull, resist, hop. Repeat. Each time I moved, my bag banged against my leg. The signal would look like Lussac had done it.

  The bathroom door opened inward and I pushed it through 90 degrees until the handle on the inside of the door touched the wall. I turned Mary, so her back was flat against the open door, and flipped the spare end of the belt over the top of the door where it dangled in the handle-sized void between the door and the wall. I fished two nails out of my pocket and held them close to Mary’s eye. ‘Stay still.’ She stared at the points and nodded.

  I moved the nails and pressed them into the leather of the belt. They wobbled but held, so I picked up the hammer and invaded Mary’s personal space. She cringed away from me.

  Holding the belt flat against the door, I tapped the nails with the hammer, pushing them through the leather, but not into the wood. Now I could hold the hammer in one hand and the belt in the other. Grasping the belt, I pulled it up, tightening it around Mary’s neck. She started to go red in the face. Her body was rigid with fear and, as she snapped her head back to me, she was pleading with her eyes.

  ‘Up,’ I said, and pulled up on the belt some more. Mary’s heels lifted off the floor as she came up onto her tiptoes.

  ‘More.’ I pulled the belt so that only her toes were taking her weight. Mary’s breathing was ragged with panic, but she didn’t dare move in case the belt tightened even more. I held the belt in place with one hand and tapped a nail with the hammer. I was gentle with the first couple of strikes until the nail went into the wood of the door. I checked Mary – she was still up on her toes, so I drove the nail fully home, making it nice and tight in the solid wood of the door.

  I banged four more nails into the leather to secure the belt to the front of the door above Mary’s head. She seemed to be saying please repeatedly, but I couldn’t tell through the tape. Her eyes were begging me.

  I ignored her and stood back to check my work. I was happy – well, almost. Lussac would be a bit pervier, I thought. I grabbed Mary’s shirt and ripped it apart. Buttons flew, and the shirt gaped to show her white bra and tanned, flat stomach. My final flourish was to pull her knickers down and leave them around her taped ankles.

  ‘Your calves will burn up, and your toes will ache,’ I said. ‘But you should be able to manage at least fifteen minutes on your toes.’

  I checked around the room and remembered what I had forgotten.

  I took a tissue from Mary’s bedside and rubbed it against her nose, making sure it caught at the blood drying there before putting it into my pocket.

  I had the time I needed. Mary wouldn’t last forever on tiptoes, but she would fight to live. It would look like Lussac was a vindictive, sadist killer who had left her to die.

  ‘Actually, you might last more than fifteen minutes,’ I said. ‘Given what you have at stake.’

  ***

  The car was waiting where I told it to, and I made it back to Lussac’s flat in eleven minutes. I was really tempted to see if Mary’s signal was still green, but I couldn’t risk the police finding that a search had been run.

  Lussac was still in drug-induced oblivion when I got back into his bedroom. I put the Mimic back on his bed next to the Suppressor, timing the switches on both so that the Suppressor turned off just before the Mimic. Lussac’s true signal was back on the grid, so I removed the Suppressor from his neck.

  I had one last job. I went to the bathroom and held the tissue with Mary’s blood on it under the tap. The water ran through the thin paper, and I caught some of the blood-tinged water in my palm. I mimed careless hand washing over the sink, making sure that a couple of drops of the pale pink water splashed against the wall.

  A little bit of forensic proof to supplement the signal evidence. I was pleased with the touch. I stuffed the tissue in my pocket so that I didn’t leave any of my DNA behind.

  ***

  I stood outside in the darkness of some trees and waited. It would all depend on Mary. When her signal went red, the police would go to her flat. They couldn’t possibly treat it as a suicide, so they would run a trace and then come here.

  I waited eight more minutes. Twenty-seven minutes since I had left Mary. She had been a real fighter.

  I walked away from Lussac’s road when I heard the sirens.

  47

  DC Zoe Jordan

  Mum tottered up the drive. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was upset or because she was walking in high-heels on gravel.

  ‘Oh, Zoe,’ she cried, opening her arms. I pulled her in and hugged her. I know I wanted Clive to screw the date up, but not like this.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ How could he leave her at the restaurant a
nd go straight to his ex-wife’s bed?

  I couldn’t say anything that would help, so I made the same small soothing sounds that Mum had used when my now ex-boyfriend kept going back to his ex.

  An urgent message came up on my HUD. I kept a half cuddle going while I tapped the air to open the message.

  ‘Unexpected RED Signal alert. Deceased: Mary Lussac.’

  Oh, shit. I jumped out of the cuddle as I saw the name. There can’t be many people called Mary Lussac.

  Mum looked at me, startled by the sudden movement and the change in my attitude. ‘What is it, Zoe?’

  ‘I…’

  Mum looked scared. ‘Is it Clive?’

  My head buzzed with a call. It was Chief Superintendent Bhatt. I could guess why she was calling me.

  ‘Jordan,’ she barked.’ You’ve seen the message about Clive’s ex-wife?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Get there now. Uniform are there, but I need to hear the details from you.’

  She clicked off before I could say anything. What the hell was happening?

  I ran a search on Clive again and followed his movements. I felt relieved. He was at home. Although he was the last person to see Mary alive, he had left more than twenty minutes before she died. Did she kill herself after he left?

  ***

  Mary lived quite close to us, so it was a short hop to her place, but I fretted all the way in the car.

  A big, gruff Uniform stood in the doorway of Mary’s flat. He glared at me until I threw my ID at him and his face softened.

  ‘Take it easy, luv,’ he said. ‘Trust me, I’ve seen a few and this is a rough one.’

  I should have been pissed off at him calling me luv, but his tone was caring not mocking. He seemed genuine, so I let it slide. I could hear the forensic drones in a room ahead on the left, and I followed their noise to where I assumed the body was. At the doorway, I peered into the room.