by Jem Tugwell
But which him? Art or Esteban? Neither had signals.
The car slowed to 10mph as it approached a postnatal centre with small groups of parents talking outside. Come on, car. Move!
I dropped the window to get some air, tapping my impatience on the side of the car as a couple stepped up to the zebra crossing. ‘No! Don’t stop,’ I wailed, but the car’s autopilot ignored me and braked to a halt. I kept pushing forward in my seat, willing the car to go. If I could, I would have ploughed straight through them. I heard snippets of the chat as the car waited for the dawdling people.
‘Mine’s crawling.’
‘Mine said her first word.’
I caught the eye of a woman and saw her silent cry for help. It was like she was serving out her one-year mandatory maternity leave, counting down the days left of her sentence. Her suppressed sadness was obvious in her deflated body language. It seemed like she loved her baby but wanted to be somewhere else: back in the boardroom or saving someone’s life in surgery. Instead, her days were reduced to these bland exchanges and baby talk.
Maybe I was projecting, but FUs meant that she couldn’t hide in the haze of an alcoholic afternoon. Instead, she had to get through the day in frustration and exercise leggings.
I couldn’t worry about her. I had Winter, unsolved murders, and Zoe was missing.
Finally. The car moved again. ‘Go. Go,’ I muttered, spurring it on.
***
Local Uniform had responded to Zoe’s call but arrived too late and their car was parked on the drive of Art’s home. Its blue lights pulsed a false promise of action and urgency.
‘Any sign of Zoe?’ I asked one of the Uniforms lolling against his car.
‘No. We checked around, but she’s not here.’
‘Give me the highlights.’
‘Looks like a struggle or something in the garage. Perv room in the study,’ he said. His moustache twitched as he spoke; it reminded me of a squirrel eating a nut. ‘Can we go? Control has something else for us.’
‘No, wait while I look around.’ I didn’t know what I needed yet.
I walked over to the garage.
This place had swallowed Zoe up, but now felt so tranquil. The sun was shining, and birds were singing. Only a brief mechanical wail spoilt the peace and then faded.
I’d watched the last few minutes of Zoe’s signal from my car, but gave up: a two-dimensional plan wouldn’t tell me as much as walking the actual scene. I mirrored Zoe’s signal on my HUD as it did a circuit of the garage, acutely aware that my footfalls could be matching hers.
She had gone into the garage after calling for backup, so I followed her signal through the small room and into the main garage area. The sun streamed in, but the only thing I could see was a dining room chair lying on its side. This was where Zoe had crossed to, spent a few seconds, and then gone to the door on the back wall. I did the same and opened the door that Art’s signal had been behind. Is this where Art waited to attack Zoe? Or was it a duplicate signal?
Now it was another empty room of dust and cobwebs. I looked at the floor hoping to find some trace of her, but I found nothing to show that this was the spot where Zoe had stood.
The only positive was that I didn’t see blood or Zoe hanging from a belt like Mary. I still had hope.
I pressed down hard on the little voice in my head that said that this was my fault. If I hadn’t drunk and eaten too much and fought the system, then I could have been with Zoe. I could have saved her.
How could I look Sophia in the eye knowing her daughter had died because of my lack of discipline?
***
In the room off Art’s study, I looked through the two-way mirror and into the bedroom. This must be the perv room Squirrel had mentioned. The room where Art judged girls’ willingness to attend his parties.
Had Karina been here? The bed was cold and neat. I hoped it meant that Art hadn’t interviewed Zoe.
After a fruitless search of the rest of the house, I walked back into the daylight and checked the time on my HUD. It was gone half past six. Zoe’s signal had already been off for two and a half hours, and I was no closer to finding her.
I dismissed the Uniforms, and Squirrel and his mate left in their car.
I touched my ear and called Bhatt.
‘What’s the situation there?’ she asked.
I ran her through my meagre findings then added, ‘The killer must be Art or Esteban. I don’t know how to find Esteban, but Art’s signal could be encrypted and not completely off. Like for the parties. Can you talk to the chief constable again and find a way to unblock Art’s signal?’
‘Way ahead of you. I’ve got a slot with the prime minister.’ I could hear her smile in her words. She was well up for this fight.
I stood on the empty drive, the sun cooler now on my back. I couldn’t afford to sit here and wait while Zoe’s life ticked away.
There must be another way to find her. Bhatt might fail. I thought back to how Zoe had found the data with the locks and how they tested iMe.
I checked for signals again. No Zoe, no Art, and still no Esteban.
62
DI Clive Lussac
I ran across Art’s drive and made another call when I got into the car.
‘Hello,’ Emma Bailey said. Her voice was full of a cold. She seemed annoyed to have been disturbed when she was ill.
‘Emma, I need you to trace Art Walker, his signal has gone.’
‘I’m off sick. Anyway, you need his approval.’
I was treated to her blowing her nose. It sounded like an explosion through the car’s surround-sound system.
‘I know that, but you must have to test that the encryption of the signal works, don’t you?’ I tapped the car’s screen to bring up a map of the area.
‘Yes.’ She sounded hesitant.
‘Could you run a test to see if his encryption is working correctly now?’
‘I don’t know, I could get in a lot of trouble for doing that. I’m off sick today. Isn’t Manu in the office?’
‘Please, Emma. Zoe’s life may depend on it.’
‘Why? What’s happened?’
‘I don’t have time to explain everything. She’s missing.’
A long silence.
‘OK, I suppose I can run a test from here. You’ll have to say it was for Art’s safety if I get caught.’
‘Fantastic, Emma. I’ll say whatever you need me to. I’ll come to you.’
‘No need to come here. I’ll call you.’
With a test from Emma and Bhatt on the case, I had two chances to find Art.
***
The tyres of the car had just started to turn when I got an alert from iMe Tech Support that told me Esteban was back on-grid. I stopped the car and touched to make another call.
‘Hello, Inspector,’ Esteban said when he answered.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Nice to talk to you as well. Good manners cost nothing.’
‘I don’t have time for that, Esteban,’ I said. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Around. I fancied a drive, so I headed off and followed my nose.’
Had I heard Esteban’s Ferrari when I was at Art’s house?
‘Near Henley?’
‘Maybe. I was just driving.’
Esteban’s signal showed that he was in a house near Bagshot that wasn’t the house he took us to before. ‘You’re not at home.’
‘No, I’m at a friend’s.’
I couldn’t decide if Esteban was genuine or being evasive.
‘Have you seen Zoe or Art Walker today?’
‘No.’ His answer came after a pause, like he was churning through possibilities before answering.
‘Neither of them? They’re off-grid, like you.’
Listening to Esteban’s evasiveness crystallised my suspicions about him.
I checked the clock again: 18:53. Time was running away from me. My hand hovered over the car’s destination input screen. Who is my kil
ler?
I decided to track both Esteban and Art. Otherwise, I was taking too much of a risk with Zoe’s life.
Esteban first, I decided, and it needed to be done face to face.
Emma could run the test on Art’s signal without me and call with the result. No point going to her home if Art was somewhere else. Emma had mentioned Manu as well. We had ignored him.
‘OK, Esteban. Stay where you are, I’m coming to you.’
He agreed before I hung up.
Esteban definitely had time to be in Henley, take Zoe to his house, and then go on to his friend’s house near Bagshot. I put the address in the car. It was only about twenty-five miles from Art’s house in Henley, but it would take me an hour. This could be a complete waste of time, but there was no point staying here. I set off. ETA 8:15pm.
More than four hours since Zoe’s signal dropped.
63
Thief
Four was wearing a hood, and I was savouring her being strapped to one of my dining room chairs, the tape nice and tight. At my mercy.
I pushed the table back to allow space to circle her. As I made each loop, her head stayed still, like she was trying to ignore me, but when I paused behind her back, she cringed.
I grew bored. This was no fun to play. I couldn’t see into her eyes. I could feel her fear but not immerse myself in it.
I removed her hood. Her hair was all over the place and it added to the wild, hostile look in her eyes. The Suppressor would stop her HUD working so I removed the tape from her mouth.
‘You fucker, let me go!’ Four screamed, trying to stand. I pushed her down.
Fear was driving her anger. It was glorious, but she needed to learn some manners. I shifted my feet and shoulders, getting the stance my gym trainer had shown me and practised a quick one-two, left-right in the air.
Four watched my hands.
‘Is that meant to scare me?’ she said.
‘No, just loosening up.’
‘You’re pathetic. You need to let me go before it’s too late.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, and repeated my one-two. This time I was half a pace closer and my hands were lower. Four’s head bounced as my left fist landed, not my full force but judged so that she recovered in time to meet the incoming right.
Two solid blows. Some trauma and a little blood spilt from her mouth. Not enough to hurt her chances against Three.
‘Have I got your attention? Good.’
Four nodded and a little more blood pooled at the side of her mouth. I could see her tongue touring her mouth, checking for damage and counting her teeth. Her eyes glared at me.
‘Just a little taster,’ I said. ‘Before you go and get all stressy with me, just remember Two. He was horribly rude, and I despise bad manners.’
Four nodded again, the memory written on her face.
‘I see you remember Two in his box.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Why? You sound like Karina.’ I bent down close to Four, looking deep into her beautiful eyes. ‘Did you like what I did to Mary?’
‘No, but let me tell you something,’ Four said, and her head bobbed up, encouraging me to come closer. ‘You’re not as clever as you think,’ she whispered, and rocked her head back. Sensing danger, I snatched my head away as Four’s forehead jerked forward in a vicious headbutt. The top of her head bounced off my forehead before her fringe whipped at my eyes as our heads flashed past each other. ‘Bitch,’ I screamed. I could feel the swelling through my hair.
Four stared at me, a defiant smile on her face. I needed to teach her some respect. I danced and weaved. One-two. Head. One-two. Stomach. Back, sides, kidneys. Each controlled blow aimed around the chair. I was breathing hard when I finished.
Four’s head lolled forward and she groaned. Subdued for the moment.
Time for a different game.
***
The tip of my knife rested on Four’s upper arm. All the love and care I had given the blade made it razor-sharp. A little more pressure and the tip cut through the fibres of her shirt and found skin.
Four gasped and tried to pull away, but the chair held her. I was wary of her head and touched my scalp again.
She watched in silence. I had enjoyed the eleven other small cuts in her shirt that now dribbled with blood. Four had learnt that shouting and swearing had its price.
A little more pressure on the knife. She was stock-still, rigid, staring at it. I watched the tip deform her skin, stretching its surface tension. I held it there, counting to ten, dragging it out. My eyes shut, feeling her breath quiver along the blade, the handle and into my fingers. It was almost climactic when, with a tiny pressure more, Four’s skin yielded and the knife penetrated her.
I was rewarded by another dribble of blood and her quiet sobs as she fought the pain.
‘You need to stop before it’s too late,’ she said.
I perched on the front lip of my chair, drinking in the suffering in her eyes as I admired my work. I’d done well but I needed more area to work on. Both her arms had six red lines.
‘Are you shy, Four?’ I asked.
She lifted her head to ask what I meant. She must have guessed that no answer was going to be good for her, but she spat her defiance at me.
I wiped my face and traced the tip of the blade up her arm and across her shoulder, collarbone to her neck, tracing a long winding route, caressing the material but not cutting it. I stopped below the Suppressor and headed south, following skin until the two sides of her shirt’s collar joined.
Four shivered. The blade left a tiny white line in her skin that disappeared as the blood returned.
The knife found the resistance of the cotton holding the first button, a little pressure and it cut through and carried on down. The button fell and bounced away onto the floor.
‘Let me go and we can have a fair fight,’ Four said.
‘I’m not stupid.’
The knife inched its way down to the next button, which I sent the way of its partner. I folded the shirt fabric back and was rewarded with the swell of a breast and some retaining lace.
‘Clive will come. We’ll bring you down,’ Four said. She was a fighter and that didn’t bode well for Three’s chances in the games.
My problem was that Three vs Four wouldn’t last long.
I needed Number Five. There were still a few out there who needed to pay.
Four looked up, and tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. She believed in him – the brave inspector riding to rescue her.
‘Your inspector’s having a nice chat with an FU audit officer.’ I laughed.
I still had a little playtime left before I stole Five.
My eyes snaked down Four’s gaping shirt and the unblemished skin that rose and fell with each breath.
64
DI Clive Lussac
Emma called me. She’d beaten Bhatt. She’d found Art’s signal – he was heading straight towards her.
I banged the emergency stop on the car’s navigation unit, revelling in the tyres’ complaints as my weight pressed hard against the seat belts. I wasn’t sure what Art was planning or why Emma was important to him. Maybe she was next, but I would be there. Luckily, her house wasn’t too far and the display said that I would be there by eight thirty.
My head buzzed with another call. Rob at iMe Tech Support.
‘Tell me,’ I said.
‘I checked for duplicates like you asked,’ Rob said. ‘You were right. Art had a duplicate signal before Zoe got to his house and then disappeared.’
‘Thanks.’ I hung up.
That made sense. Art needed his signal to bring Zoe to his house. He must have generated a fake signal, suppressed his real signal and then jumped her before disappearing.
I spent the rest of the journey worrying about Zoe. My mind flashed with the scene where we found Karina’s body. I looked at her face, but all I saw was Zoe lying on the leaves. I screwed my eyes tight to crush the thought.
; The car pulled into the drive of the house in time for me to see the last light of the day disappearing. I didn’t want the car to move in case I needed it again, so I found the appropriate police override on my HUD. The car stayed where I left it like a well-trained dog.
As I approached the door, it opened, and light flooded out. The bright light in the entrance hall turned Emma, who was standing in the doorway, into a silhouette.
‘What about Zoe’s signal?’ I asked.
‘No sign. Art’s close. Quickly, inside.’
I followed Emma, I felt like a spring being wound and wound and wound. I recognised the signs. Nothing looked wrong on the outside until bang – the spring broke. All over Art.
65
DI Clive Lussac
‘Why’s he coming here?’ I asked.
‘I must be next. It must be iMe related.’ Emma looked tense and preoccupied. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m scared…’ She hid her mouth with her hand. ‘You don’t know what it means to me.’
She turned and headed down the entrance hall into the kitchen. I followed behind.
‘I was sorry to hear about your wife.’
She seemed different – not the timid little bird from the office meetings. ‘Thanks,’ I said. It was too raw still. I didn’t want to discuss it with her.
Emma stopped at the other side of the kitchen island, and touched the top of her head again: about the tenth tentative touch on her hairline.
‘How did you hurt your head?’
‘It’s nothing.’ She seemed distant, like she was churning something over in her head.
Then the atmosphere changed – our gentle chat replaced by a hard edge as her eyes changed from summer warmth to icy chill. ‘Terrible way to go, nailed to a door.’
I took a step back. Specific details about her death hadn’t been in the press release.
She looked at me, reading my face. Mary had seen through my every feeling and lie like I was glass. Emma looked like she had the same ability.