by Jem Tugwell
I replayed our search of Emma’s house. We hadn’t found any of the materials like that here.
‘Boss,’ Zoe said. Despite the cuts and bruises, she had gone pale.
The invoice displayed on the wall was for a second-hand butcher’s bone saw.
‘Alan,’ I agreed.
69
Emma Bailey
The weeping from my damaged eye had slowed, but my head still fizzed and sparked.
‘Having a bad day?’ sneered Three.
I ignored the words and placed the dining room chair in the middle of the cage. I waved at it. ‘Just sit down,’ I said.
Three was used to the way my mind worked and looked reluctant: suspicious of the chair, the tape and the two kitchen knives I held. Fear glued Three’s feet to the floor.
‘I have a treat for you.’
Three clearly didn’t believe me. Grabbing an arm, I pushed Three into the chair. Three pulled away from me, not wanting to be there.
‘I promised you a match against Four, but that’s been delayed a while.’
Three slumped in relief, tired after our training session.
‘If you beat Four, then you get to play against Five.’ I smiled. ‘Guess who Five is.’
‘No idea,’ Three said, sounding hoarse. I guessed that the training had damaged Three’s throat and maybe vocal cords.
‘Your friend, the inspector.’
‘No friend of mine.’
‘Four and Five will work it out and be here soon. Then the games can begin.’
‘No. They’ll catch you. You can’t escape now they know it’s you.’
I pondered this view of events as I taped Three to the chair.
‘I almost forgot. You’re in the news. It’s everywhere,’ I sneered. ‘Art Walker, Head of iMe, missing.’
70
DI Clive Lussac
We ran from the house to the car and jumped in. The doors shut, and the heaters started to dispel the cold inside. Zoe programmed the car for Emma’s parents’ house and as we started to move Bhatt’s voice came through on the car’s speakers. I told her where we were going.
‘I’ve upset some important people, but I got the result of Art’s encryption,’ she said.
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
‘His signal isn’t encrypted. It’s off.’
***
The car crawled through another village at 20mph. The midnight streets were empty of people and traffic, but the car obeyed a rigid set of fixed rules. Programming cars to learn had landed the car manufacturers in court with claims of negligence when the first mistakes ended in injuries. Their lawyers had insisted on ‘no learning’, so we were stuck at 20mph when we could safely go much faster.
‘So fucking slow,’ I moaned. ‘This is life when rules take away your initiative – when our blame culture crushes people wanting to take responsibility.’ I kicked the inside of the car in frustration.
Zoe rolled her eyes at me.
The car’s blue exterior lights bounced back at us from the houses’ windows as we cleared the village and headed into the countryside.
‘Do you think Art is still involved?’ Zoe asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’ This was a climbdown for me. I had wanted it to be him.
‘So why did Emma use his signal?’
‘She knew we would question him. It was a good place for a trap.’
Zoe thought for a while. ‘So how did she know he wouldn’t be there?’
‘He’s either a partner or a target.’
‘Target.’
I had to agree, it made sense. If Alan was killed because of his links to iMe, then Art and Esteban were the logical next targets.
***
We hadn’t had to chase anyone in years. It was safer to turn up wherever their signal was. Our car’s systems showed a steady 40mph, and it would be another twenty minutes until we arrived.
‘The old cars used to tear along, lights on, siren blaring,’ I said.
‘That must have been exciting,’ Zoe said. ‘And reckless.’
‘Yes and yes. But at least we got there in time to do something other than clean up the mess.’
Zoe scratched her nose but said nothing.
Where else could the conversation go? We were different generations. We were speed versus safety.
‘Where’s Esteban?’ I said.
Zoe was on her HUD and didn’t hear me. If we were two people sitting across from each other in a restaurant, not a police car, we would have looked typical. Both sharing the same physical space but separated by the world of the HUD.
‘Zoe,’ I said louder.
‘What?’ she said, surprised at my tone.
‘Didn’t you hear me?’
‘What? No,’ she said. ‘But I found this.’
She threw her HUD display onto the car’s screen. She had a menu tree open: ‘Car – Police Overrides – Options – Health and Safety – Other – Security – Authorisation Only’. At the bottom were the words ‘Enable Chase Mode’.
This was more like it. ‘Press it,’ I commanded. ‘Let’s burn through the countryside.’
She did, but nothing happened. Then Zoe’s Buddy rolled out an ‘Authorising… Please Wait’ message banner and stood looking at her arm as if she wore an old-fashioned wristwatch.
Five minutes went by and her Buddy’s arm never tired of looking at her watch.
‘We’re going to be there before the authorisation,’ I moaned, but as I said it, her Buddy rolled out another banner, ‘Chase Mode authorised by Chief Superintendent Bhatt’.
Buddy put her banner away and pulled out a file icon that she threw at the screen.
The file was titled, ‘Chase Mode Waiver’. Zoe had lots of things to acknowledge: Yes, chase mode was her free choice; no, the police force hadn’t coerced her; yes, she understood the risks. It went on for four pages.
She pressed ‘Submit’ and still nothing happened, then her Buddy threw a second file, which was titled ‘Second Passenger Chase Mode Waiver’.
I had to go through all the same questions and after I pressed ‘Submit’, her Buddy asked, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Zoe said.
‘Chase Mode requires double acceptance. Are you really sure?’
‘Yes,’ Zoe said a second time, impatience creeping into her voice and the next banner showed the words ‘Chase Mode Enabled’.
The cars lights started flashing alternate red and blue and the speed started to rise. 41. 42. 43… It stopped at 50mph.
No!
‘That’s it? We’re trying to catch a killer!’ I said in disgust. ‘Fucking technology.’
***
Zoe and I used the rest of the journey to form a basic plan. We examined the layout of the site and the room plans that were all stored centrally. Out of habit, we checked the house and the outbuildings. No signals showed, but that didn’t seem to matter now.
The aim was simple – search and rescue. Two people, two search areas: the house and the outbuildings.
‘You take the house, I’ll do the outbuildings,’ Zoe said.
I couldn’t risk losing her again. ‘No, we’ll go in together and stay together.’
She looked upset as she picked at her nails. ‘It’s slower, and you were all for speed earlier.’
‘Yes, but splitting up is reckless.’ Somehow, we had flipped sides in the speed versus safety argument. ‘My old training manual said partners stick together.’
‘I want a face-to-face with Emma when I’m not taped to a chair.’ Zoe’s sullen eyes bore into me.
‘Together. No argument,’ I said.
After a minute of cold silence, she replied.
‘No argument.’
71
DI Clive Lussac
The car stopped and we jumped out and raced toward the front door of the house. The night was clear, and the nearly full moon cast a silvery light over the house, hedges and drive. It allowed us to see. And be seen.
; I checked behind me – Zoe was still there. She ran holding her upper body rigid, like she was feeling her cuts. Her eyes were locked onto the side of the house that led to the outbuildings.
Waving us forward, I approached the door. I heard running feet and snapped my head around preparing for attack, but my brain told me the feet were going away from me.
I understood what Zoe really meant when she said no argument. She wanted some payback time with Emma. She disappeared around the corner of the house and out of sight.
I put my weight on my right foot, preparing to go after her, but the house needed searching and speed did matter. We had a killer to catch. I transferred the weight to my left leg.
I couldn’t leave Zoe alone again.
Twice more I shifted my weight back and forwards, trapped in a dance of indecision.
My left foot won. We needed speed. I overrode the lock and headed through the door.
The house wasn’t what I had expected. It had been gutted like a donor vehicle stripped for spare parts. Sections of walls were missing, doors removed, floorboards pulled up. I rushed from room to room, surer with each wrecked room that neither Emma or Art were there.
Emma must have used the house to provide materials to build something. It didn’t look like she had built anything in the house.
Oh, shit. The outbuildings.
I ran.
***
The closest outbuilding to the house was a small shed which was full of gardening tools rusting gently in the damp air.
The next was larger and I ran across the gap to it, aware of the noise I was making, and pushed against the door. It held fast. I couldn’t see a lock, but the old timber hadn’t seen paint in years and had warped, twisted and swollen with neglect and rain. I took two steps back and smashed into it. For a moment the door flexed and I thought that I was going to bounce straight back off, but my weight and momentum overpowered the grip of the old wood, and I blundered through.
I was off balance and only just avoided running straight into a pile of metal pipes and their cold, sharp edges. The building was empty of people but full of offcuts of building materials. It was a simple dumping ground, so I left through a well-oiled door in the other end of the building.
I had made so much noise that I didn’t try to creep up to the last outbuilding. Zoe was in there.
This time, I tried the handle and was rewarded by its smooth turn. I padded in to avoid running into something else sharp.
This space was much bigger, with lots of workbenches and tools packed against the outside walls. There was a tool for everything and most of them were old enough for Emma to have inherited them. Her newer purchases were much shinier.
The floor showed scrape marks going to the doors, like things had been dragged to a waiting car.
‘Could you be any louder, Boss?’ Zoe said, as she appeared in the doorway to a room leading off to the side. ‘I heard you a mile away.’
‘I was worried about you. So…’ I felt a little bashful; I was letting my protective feelings for Zoe overpower logic and drive my actions.
‘Anyone here?’ I asked.
‘No. But look at all this stuff.’
I walked over to the door and followed her in.
This room had a stool, huge lights and a U-shaped workbench. The walls were covered with shelves, each holding rows of small containers.
Zoe pulled one open and showed me some electrical components with thin bulb-like bodies painted with stripes and two long legs.
‘Resistors,’ Zoe said.
She waved her arm to indicate the rest. ‘More of the same.’
On the work surface sat a battery of electrical test equipment, soldering irons, circuit boards and wire.
‘See this,’ she said, and stood aside.
I stared at a mass of wires and circuits built into a shell. It looked very much like a half-finished version of the Suppressor Zoe had been wearing at Emma’s.
***
We headed back to the main area of the outbuilding.
‘She’s been trying for years,’ Zoe said, steering me to a corner. ‘All her failed attempts.’ She waved a hand towards a big pile of discarded electronics. There must have been over a hundred variations of things that looked like Suppressors. She turned to me and said, ‘What about the house?’
‘The house is a mess,’ I said. ‘It looks like she ripped stuff out and brought it to the outbuilding. What she didn’t have, she bought and got delivered here.’
Some links of a big metal chain lay on the floor, the ends cut through to make the chain itself shorter. I moved one foot and pushed a link with my toe. It was heavier than I thought.
Light caught on tiny twirls of metal on the floor. They reminded me of school metalwork lessons and the beautiful shards you got from cutting and drilling a soft metal like aluminium.
‘She made things here and took them somewhere else,’ I said.
Zoe nodded. ‘I saw the drag marks and thought the same thing.’
I thought back to the screen with all her journeys on and why Emma needed such a big house.
‘We’re in the wrong place.’
72
Emma Bailey
I winced as I touched the side of my head. The drying blood matted my hair and the swelling was burning and raw. When I peered at my fingers, I saw a mixture of blood and clear liquid. That couldn’t be good. Oh, Five. You’ll pay for that.
My head felt different. Connections had broken and my brain sparked like an electrical short-circuit. It fired random memories at me as the arcing impulses made new links.
My brain flashed white, and I was back stealing from my sister and brother for the first time, but the culprit was so obvious that they went straight into my room. Punches and kicks to make sure I stopped. But I didn’t.
‘Don’t take my Barbie, Emma.’ – I didn’t.
‘Give my birthday money back, Emma.’ – I didn’t have her money.
‘Do you know where Mrs Jenkin’s cat has gone, Emma?’ – Why would I?
‘How did your friend Janey fall down all those stairs, Emma?’ – She tripped, honest.
‘How did you not see little Ryan when you reversed the car, Emma?’ – He ran behind the car chasing a ball.
I had to endure Dr Owen every time I misbehaved. Sitting in his office, clenching my knees together and pulling at the hem of my skirt every time his eyes flicked down and lingered. He was a useless, empty man with no morals, but he had power over me. I got more rules and controls from everyone, but it taught me how to hide my treasures in seemingly boring places. About lying and manipulating. I paid close attention in my drama classes. I became talented and inventive.
My brain seemed to vanish for a moment. No thoughts and no control as everything disconnected. An empty void and then it clicked back on, and I was standing over Two. He had corrupted iMe, taken the vision of simplicity and convenience and made it the worst thing ever: a control mechanism.
I rocked back in my chair and closed my damaged eye to the electric throb behind it. I breathed and tried to think of good times. Of Mary. Oh, Mary. She had given me the games. My indulgent, overdramatic trap in the garage had gifted me a taste for an unexpected pleasure. The purest form of control was over someone taped to a chair and waiting for the knife to touch flesh again.
The chair and the games were my new favourites.
My vision swam as another bolt of pain seared through my head.
I could run, break for France, but I was a fighter. I wanted revenge. I wanted the games.
Lussac would be my number five, and he could watch Three vs Four. He would want Four to win for sure, but then it would be him vs Four. It would be epic. Would he go for the noble sacrifice or a survival preserving victory? What would Four do against Lussac?
And if Three beat his precious Four, then Lussac would take Four’s place and fight for glorious revenge. It was a win-win: either outcome I would relish, record and watch again and again.
I squinted at Three in the cage on the monitors. Time to play.
***
The knife I balanced in my palm was a little too big, but I had left my favourite little one in the dining room and Lussac must have taken it.
‘Three, we have some time to kill.’ I smiled. ‘You know I like games. Let’s play a guessing game.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll give you a question, all you have to do is guess the answer.’
Three didn’t say anything, but his suspicion glowed in his eyes. They flicked from me to the knife.
‘First question: why are you here?’
‘Because you’re a messed-up psycho bitch!’ he croaked.
I touched the tip of the knife against his shirt and let the point rest on his skin. He cringed away.
‘That’s rude,’ I said, but I considered his answer. ‘My question was too vague and open to many interpretations. Technically, your answer is correct, although Dr Owen didn’t use those words. Well done.’
Three didn’t look pleased. I don’t think he liked playing with knives. He certainly didn’t like me playing with knives.
‘Next round, and I’ll be more specific this time. Question two: what made me choose you?’
Three shook his head.
‘Oh, Three,’ I said in mock surprise. ‘There are so many correct answers. It’s a shame to pass.’ I shook my head in time with his and it made my head sizzle. I shut my eyes as the pain jolted through.
I rotated the knife through one slow revolution and admired the spot of red that appeared through his shirt. ‘Try again.’ I eased my weight onto the knife.
He winced in pain and it raised the pitch of his damaged voice. ‘Karina,’ he said.
I released the pressure on the knife.
‘Correct. Karina is one answer. I could have stolen anyone, but I know you encrypted both your signals for some alone time. I saw you watching her at the tech briefings. You were obsessed with her.’
‘She really wanted to go to meet the celebs,’ he smirked. ‘But she was special.’