by Jem Tugwell
I had tried to get Martin to come in, but he was locked in the hospital by order of his back specialist. None of the members of the crew had completed Self-Defence Level 5 or their certificate in Danger in the Work Place. I was on my own.
For a frustrating hour, I paced around PCU, waiting for the woman from Employee Wellness to find the right forms. EW was meant to help me deal with my job and protect me. She hadn’t cared that I had to go and talk to Art on my own. No, all she had cared about was me signing a liability disclaimer – if I died on the job, then it wasn’t the police force’s fault.
***
The car crawled to a stop as it approached Henley on Remenham Hill. Red brake lights and a long snake of stationary cars filled the road.
‘Car… DC Zoe Jordan,’ I said in as clear a voice as I could. ‘Police traffic override.’
The car processed the command, and in the reflection off the vehicle ahead, I saw my car’s exterior lighting turn blue. The others were meant to get out of the way, but the road was too narrow for them to pull out of the way with all the traffic coming in the other direction. My car told the one immediately in front of me to stop, ordered a gap in the traffic coming out of Henley and overtook the car. It took fifteen minutes to get down the hill and over the bridge, one slow overtake followed by another. It drove me mad.
***
Art’s home was a white, mock-Tudor place outside somewhere called Lower Assendon. The minor road the car had pulled off of was quiet, lined with hedges and the occasional tree. The house stood alone in the countryside. It was private and secluded.
On the car’s screen, I could see Art’s signal in a room in his garage behind the house. Good, I thought, that would give me a chance to use the search warrant and look for evidence in the house without having Art for company.
The gloss paint on the door was so shiny I could see myself in it. I grasped the big door handle and pushed the door open.
The hallway was a strange mix of tastes. A modern, long carpet was mixed with antique plastic furniture and pop art. I looked through the first door but only saw a room with a dining table and five chairs.
The next room was Art’s study, which was almost identical to his office at iMe. It even had the same horrid fountain. Two doors stood in the far wall. I crossed the room and pushed the first door. It opened into a bare white room with a bed with mirrors on the ceiling and walls. I was wondering why you would have a bedroom off a study when I opened the second door. Now I understood.
The smaller room had a high-backed executive chair and a desk. One wall was made of glass and looked into the bedroom. I turned the display wall on, and the screen drew into nine segments, each one showing a different image of the bedroom. One camera in the ceiling looked straight down onto the bed.
I shivered. Pervert. Zane had mentioned Art casting girls for the parties. This must be where they took place.
I opened the lid of an old laptop, but it displayed a password prompt. I would have to leave that to the cyber crime guys to crack. I bet they would find lots of interesting files on the laptop. I expected at least one of them to be titled Karina.
***
I couldn’t find anything else of immediate interest in the rest of Art’s house. I held his laptop under my arm but didn’t want to risk Art grabbing it back, so I went back to the car and stowed it safely inside. Now to find Art. I double-checked his signal: still in the room at the back of his garage. What’s he doing in there?
I had been alright on the drive over, excited even, but now I wasn’t too sure. If I called for backup I would have to wait, and Bhatt would be furious at being cross-charged for their time just to hold my hand.
I bit down on my nerves. Hold yourself together. It’s only Art. He’s not much taller than me, and I have unarmed combat training. Even if I had never used it.
‘Come on, Zoe. Pull yourself together,’ I said out loud. If it came to a fight and I forgot all my training, then a good kick in the balls would have Art coughing and hurting.
I smiled at the image and strode towards the garage – but as I approached, I slowed – my courage fading. The large wooden doors were closed, but the wind was making the half-open pedestrian doorway sway. The hinges creaked as it moved.
I shivered as the wind pushed a black cloud over the sun. The day turned darker, and the wind turned cold without the sun’s warmth. I stopped. I was scared again. It felt like a sign of something bad, like I sensed some sort of threat in the garage.
I took in three long breaths. Superstitious nonsense. How can the weather know something bad is going to happen? I’d go in and talk to Art. Simple.
It took a real effort to move my feet, but I got them uprooted and headed to the door. I checked Art’s signal again: inside and not hiding by the door.
I pulled the door towards me, wincing as the hinges creaked louder.
I stepped inside.
55
Thief
My HUD showed Zoe was in the house, searching upstairs. I guessed she would take a few more minutes before she came into the garage. In the back room, my Mimic was whirring away, creating a false echo to distract Zoe and call her to me.
I slowed my breathing to try and stay calm – waiting for her, but enjoying the time by visualising her battling against her failing muscles and Three.
Zoe’s footsteps crunched on the gravel of the drive, the audible commentary to her signal. She stopped at her car. She must have taken something from the house and put it in there. I wasn’t worried. I could get it later, and whatever she found wouldn’t save her when she was mine.
I heard more footsteps on the drive.
Come on, Zoe, my little fly. Step into my web.
The hinges creaked as Zoe opened the door.
I caught the delicate smell of her perfume.
56
DC Zoe Jordan
I checked inside the pedestrian door, but the room was empty. I breathed out, trying to get my pulse back into a more normal range.
Despite it being colder inside the garage, I could feel the dampness under my arms. I glanced to my right. Through the internal door I glimpsed what looked like a big space where cars used to be kept.
I crept to the door and froze. I could hear someone breathing. It sounded like they were inside the main part of the garage.
There wasn’t any signal in the main area showing on my HUD. Art’s signal showed in the back room. Just a week ago I would have believed the display without question but now, with Suppressors and duplicate signals, it could mean anything.
I heard a groan from inside the garage. I risked a quick glance. Someone was tied to a chair in the middle of the garage. I took another longer look. I couldn’t see anyone else and the victim’s hood, and their slumped shoulders and head, made identification impossible.
I almost ran in to help, but something stopped me.
If I believed the HUD, Art was in the back room and his victim in the chair. But Art’s signal could be a duplicate. Shit. I didn’t know what to believe anymore. Art could be sneaking around behind me. Esteban could be the killer and Art could be in the chair.
***
I decided to back out of the garage and loop around to check for someone coming around the building. iMe wasn’t helping – it was making me feel vulnerable. I couldn’t trust anybody’s signal, but they would be able to see me.
This was meant to be simple but now I was feeling like a cornered animal. Part of me wanted to lock myself in the car and call for backup. But what if the victim was killed while I waited? I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.
I forced myself to head around the garage with my back to the wall. It felt safer that way, and I would be able to see anyone waiting for me. Halfway around, I got to the window of the room showing Art’s signal.
I had to turn my back away from the wall to see into the room. It would leave me exposed for a second or two, but there were fifteen metres of clear ground that an attacker would have to cover befor
e they got to me. I twisted around and looked in through the window, but all I could see was closed curtains. I blew out a long breath of relief.
My back against the wall again, I completed my loop of the garage. All I had done was waste time. The killer could have watched my signal and tracked ahead or behind mine.
I looked at the car. Should I run to it? I was fighting the urge when I heard a louder groan.
Think, Zoe, just like Clive said. Use your brain. If I went to the person in the chair, then I would have clear space around me. If it was a trap, then I could defend us both from the centre of the garage.
The clouds cleared and the sun was back. The warmth made me feel a little braver. I was going to go in, but first I was going to swallow my pride.
I touched my ear.
‘Thames Valley Control,’ came the reply.
‘DC Zoe Jordan,’ I said. Protocol dictated that I said my name even though they knew it. ‘I am on site with a possible hostage. I need backup at my current location.’ I had raised my voice so that if the killer were waiting, he would hear it.
‘The nearest car is in Marlow. ETA is fifteen minutes,’ control said.
‘OK, five minutes, thanks.’
‘No, fifteen. Repeat. One, five.’
I hung up on them.
Shit, I couldn’t wait fifteen minutes.
57
Thief
Zoe was being cautious. I’d hoped she would rush straight in, but she had come to the edge of the door and backed away. I couldn’t smell or hear her anymore.
I caught a shuffling movement, a soft scraping on the wood. She was circling the garage. What a suspicious girl you are.
After more pauses, the shuffling continued as she completed her lap. Then she was talking, loudly. Asking for backup. Five minutes. But that didn’t sound right. If help came from Maidenhead, they had to get over the bridge and that was never quick. The journey from Reading wasn’t easy either.
I guessed I had fifteen to twenty minutes. Plan for ten, I thought.
58
DC Zoe Jordan
I was still torn. Wait or go, wait or go?
My mind was made up by the terrifying groan from the garage. It sounded bad. I couldn’t stand still and let them die.
I edged back towards the garage and into the small first room. I risked another glance.
The garage was still empty except for the person in the chair. Dust sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the rear windows. The signal from the back room hadn’t moved.
I took a breath and ran, my back and head down, trying to keep low. I reached the centre of the garage and the back of the person in the chair. I could hear their scared breathing. I couldn’t see any wounds or blood. That was a good sign.
Crabbing around the chair, my back to the person, I was prepared if I got rushed by the killer.
I was alone.
I turned to look at the person in the chair and reached to pull their hood off.
59
DI Clive Lussac
‘You know,’ said Winter, ‘a Health Reorientation Camp would transform your outlook on life, Inspector.’
He liked the sound of his own voice and if I didn’t reply, he got angry. ‘Oh yes?’ I said.
‘Yes. The long route marches, the nights on the moors, the outdoor survival training. You would learn to appreciate how lucky you are.’ He sounded like a travel agent selling the best holiday in the world.
‘And if you didn’t appreciate it, then there’s the aversion therapy to help recalibrate your mind.’ Now it sounded like a state-run torture camp. A throwback to when mental health treatment was drugs and electric shock. The image of me strapped to a bench in a straitjacket formed in my mind: I was frothing at the mouth as some sadistic doctor turned the dial, the lights dimming as my body danced and twitched to the electric current.
Winter had stopped speaking and was looking straight into my eyes. ‘I see that you understand your situation, Inspector. Finally, we can move on to my real questions.’
Winter’s eyes flickered white and black as he read something on his HUD.
‘No!’ he shouted, and slammed his hand down on the table. A vein on Winter’s temple pulsed and his face bloomed red with rage.
‘Something wrong?’ I asked.
‘You’re…’ he choked, struggling to speak.
My disabled HUD started to show signs of life and my little green Buddy ran across the HUD trailing the banner ‘Access Restored’. He stopped and jumped up and down, cheering.
Winter’s head was the colour of beetroot, and the vein pulsed a wild beat. If he wasn’t such an arsehole, I might have worried that the vein would pop.
I didn’t understand what was going on until the backlog of messages loaded and I read the most recent one from Bhatt.
‘Justice Department overruled Well-being and Health – you’re released from Winter. Zoe called for backup. Car booked and programmed to Art’s home – last location for Zoe. Go.’
I jumped up from the chair, sending it skidding across the floor. Shit, Zoe had gone to talk to Art and needed backup. What’s gone wrong?
Inspired by Buddy’s cheerful gesturing, I raised my hand as if to wave goodbye to Winter, then turned it so that my palm faced me, all my fingers vertical. I dropped all but my middle finger, which stood tall and proud.
Winter managed to go a little darker red, which made me smile, and I took my cue and left.
Halfway down the pampered office corridors of Well-being and Health, the next message from Bhatt stopped me dead.
‘Zoe’s and Art’s signals have both disappeared.’
60
DC Zoe Jordan
My hand touched the hood and I lifted it.
The first thing I saw was a Suppressor, lights blinking showing that it was hiding a signal. Then a taped mouth, scared eyes and hair. I looked into the familiar face, dropped the hood, and gently peeled the tape away.
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No. No. I’m OK.’
I couldn’t see blood or any real signs of damage. Nothing life threatening.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Help’s coming. Who attacked you? Are they still here?’
‘I think I hurt him. He was swaying and unsteady as he tied me up. Can you look?’ I followed the direction of the nod and saw the door to the room with the curtains.
Have I solved the whole thing? The next victim saved. Karina’s, Alan’s and Mary’s killer exposed to the world. I could stand alongside Bhatt. Modest as I took the praise from the press and found Mum’s glowing eyes in the crowd.
Or I could wait and let the Uniforms do it.
No way – I’m all over this.
I tore at the tape binding ankles to the chair, but I couldn’t separate the handcuffed wrists from the chair’s armrest. ‘Wait here while I check for him and to find something to cut these cuffs.’
I turned towards the door. As I crossed one of the beams of sunshine from the windows, I cast a long shadow onto the wall. Something was bothering me, something was out of place.
I reached the door and turned the handle.
My pulse hammered in my ears, but I forced myself to open the door wide.
The room was empty apart from cobwebs and a white sports bag with the Barclays logo and the words Health Bank written in blue letters. The bag gaped open and as I bent forward into the room, I could see a big box with lights. Not a Suppressor, it was the wrong shape.
I was wondering if this thing could generate a duplicate signal when I worked out what felt wrong. There wasn’t any visible reason for all the groaning.
Why can I hear the clicking of handcuffs opening and clanking to the floor? It wasn’t something a victim could do.
Shit.
I turned as fast feet skimmed over the floor, and I saw a distorted shadow flash across the wall.
I kicked out at the shadow but only hit thin air, then I flailed a fist. It found a target and I was
rewarded by a grunt, but I felt the sharp explosive pain of something sharp being plunged into my back and the sensation of pressure.
My head felt fuzzy and my legs went bendy, like my bones were somehow melting, one knee folded and then the other. I knelt like I was praying. Perhaps it was a good time to start.
I could hear talking and had to concentrate hard to make it out.
‘Number Four, welcome to the games.’
The drugs must be screwing my hearing up.
Hands grasped my shoulders and pulled me back into the garage.
I was on my back, arms and legs stretched out. Hands held my head as it floated away and separated from my body. Something was around my neck – I could feel pressure and warmth.
My eyes were dimming, the world fading.
I saw a face swim in front of me and heard more words.
‘It’s so exciting.’
The face floated away and came back.
‘I’ll tell you a secret, Four. I think you’ll beat Three.’
They were the final words I heard as I was swept around a dark vortex and down into the black.
61
DI Clive Lussac
It was after four in the afternoon when I left Winter, so I called Zoe from the car. It was an empty gesture, but I had to try even though I knew that no signal meant no calls. What had he done to her?
She could be anywhere now, and all I was doing was rushing to Art’s house, the last place Zoe had been, in the hope that it would tell me something. The journey alone would cost me more than an hour and a half, but I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go.
The only thing that made sense to me was that Zoe had found some evidence of Karina or Alan at Art’s house and the killer had jumped her. Then he must have suppressed her signal and gone off-grid to hide. Bastard. Wait until I get my hands on him.