Double Check

by Malcolm Rose

  The boy made the same noise again. It didn’t sound like an attempt to hold back tears this time. Luke wasn’t sure what it was.

  “Everton Kohter. I have sufficient evidence to charge you with the murder of Rowan Pearce.”

  Then something happened that astounded Luke. The strangled noise escaped from Everton’s throat and it became a laugh. Facing a murder conviction and the death penalty if found guilty, Everton laughed loud and long.

  Plainly the FI was amazed at the time as well. “What’s funny, Kohter?” he snapped, the anger obvious in his tone.

  But Everton seemed to find the whole thing too hilarious to answer. He must have been doubled up with laughter.

  Shocked, Luke said to Malc, “Thanks. That’s enough. I know why it was put down to madness now.”

  “Throughout further questioning, the prisoner laughed frequently and inappropriately.”

  Luke shook his head. “Weird.”

  “I have traced the manufacturer of the set of kitchen knives in the victim’s house. The base is one point eight kilograms, designed to be heavy enough to allow the withdrawal of a knife without holding down the rack. This information is consistent with the killer’s fingerprints appearing only on the knife and not elsewhere in the kitchen.”

  “What about the bloodstains on Everton Kohter? Do they match the spatter pattern you’d expect for someone who’d made those three stab wounds?”

  “No. The smears suggest that the culprit rolled in the blood.”

  Luke turned up his nose. “Why does someone kill, spit and pee on his victim, roll around in the blood and then laugh his head off?”

  “It is impossible for laughter to cause decapitation,” Malc replied. “But the first four activities are indicative of an unbalanced mind.”

  “Yeah,” said Luke. Other than that, he was lost for words.

  Chapter Five

  Whenever Luke got out of a cab, he would always survey his surroundings. It was particularly important to glance around in the south where bandits might be lying in wait. This time, when the automated vehicle came to a halt outside Block J of Cambridge Prison, his eyes locked on to the imposing prison building and, for a moment, he froze. Captivated, he did not take in anything else.

  Beyond the strong iron gate, a straight walkway led to the reinforced entrance to the grim building. On either side of the path there were tall brick walls with coils of fearsome razor wire on top, making the approach to the prison seem like a dark tunnel. The block was built of plain stone that had blackened over time and the main door was set within a forbidding concrete arch. Luke could see armed guards high up on the turrets at the front corners.

  Taking a deep breath, he swiped his identity card through the reader. Normally, any door would spring open for a forensic investigator, but not here in Cambridge. A voice told him to keep still and to avoid blinking while a laser in the gatepost performed an iris scan to prove his identity.

  After a few seconds, the gate lifted up vertically, allowing him to enter the oppressive channel. Behind him, the iron barrier slid back down and banged shut with a clunk that sounded final. Only the most hardened criminals – and all inmates sentenced to death – were sent to Block J. Four guards would escort a prisoner approaching the intimidating door: two in front and two behind. But Luke went uneasily along the pathway with only Malc for company. He wondered how Everton had coped with this short walk towards a bleak building that he would never leave.

  Within a few metres of the massive entrance, the sound of Luke’s footsteps changed noticeably. He was walking on a hollow surface. He shuddered as he realized that he was going over a drawbridge with water below. In the event of an emergency, this part of the walkway could be hauled upright and the block isolated by a deep moat that encircled the building as if it were an ancient castle.

  At the door there was another reader. Luke passed his identity card over it and the huge arched door creaked open, revealing the superintendent and three armed guards in a large reception like the mouth of a cave.

  The prison superintendent stepped forwards and welcomed Luke without enthusiasm. “FI Harding. You’re younger than I... Anyway, come in. I must say it’s very unusual for someone like you to visit one of my inmates. By the time they’ve come under my wing, you’ve normally finished with them.”

  Inside, Luke shivered. He didn’t reply.

  “We’ve got Kohter in our interview room, ready for you. Can I ask you why...?”

  The unsettling thud of the door shutting interrupted the end of his question.

  Luke kept his answer brief. “I’m conducting a check on the evidence against him.”

  “Really?”

  “Confirm, Malc.”

  “A review of this case has been sanctioned prior to execution.”

  Surprised, the superintendent echoed the opinion of The Authorities. “It won’t take long.” He paused before explaining, “I know what Kohter’s done has got nothing to do with me. I just carry out what the law dictates, but I looked into his case. I guess because he’s my youngest prisoner. There’s no doubt he’s guilty.”

  Luke shrugged. “Looks like it.”

  “I can tell you don’t want to discuss it with me – why should you? – but... Anyway, my staff will take you to him. Are you carrying any weapons?”

  Luke shook his head. “Never.”

  “All right. There’ll be two guards outside at any time. If necessary, you can call...”

  Luke sighed. “It won’t come to that. Malc has defensive capabilities.”

  “Even so...”

  “Has Kohter ever been violent?” asked Luke.

  “Strangely, no. But that doesn’t mean...”

  “Has he ever confessed while he’s been here?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’d like to see him straightaway.”

  Flanked by two guards and with Malc hovering behind, Luke went down two starkly lit and chillingly plain passageways until they came to a halt outside a door. When their loud footsteps fell silent, it was like a heart had stopped beating. One of the guards – a man called Greg Roper – unlocked the solid door and it slid slowly aside with a whirring noise.

  Inside, a boy was sitting on a chair that was bolted into the floor. The only other pieces of furniture were a table and a second chair. The featureless walls were painted a soothing light green. With one wrist handcuffed to an arm of the chair, Everton looked up at his visitor but there was no trace of hope in his blank expression. He was scrawny, much shorter than Luke and he looked incapable of harming anyone. His hair had been shorn, revealing the remnant of an old wound – a purple stripe on light brown skin – above his right ear. It was his eyes that Luke noticed most. There was nothing there. No depth. No sparkle. No life.

  The bare room contrasted with Jade’s slick apartment in Sheffield and Luke’s hotel suite, partly converted into an office and mini-laboratory for an FI’s use. Both were pure luxury compared to this anonymous interview room. Overwhelmed by the depressing atmosphere, Luke asked Greg Roper to remove Everton’s handcuff.

  “I can’t do that, sir. Regulations.”

  Apparently confused by the investigator’s request, the boy gazed at Luke in silence.

  “A drink, then. Do you want one, Everton?”

  Before Everton could answer, the prison guard said, “I can bring you something, sir, but not...”

  “All right,” Luke replied. “Pomegranate juice. But it’s been a long journey. I’m very thirsty. Bring me two glasses, please.” Before Roper had a chance to object, Luke turned towards Everton and said bluntly, “Did you do it?”

  Everton cocked his head on one side. He stared at Luke for a second, then dropped his gaze. “Don’t know.”

  With those two words, Everton Kohter went a long way to convincing FI Harding that he was innocent. When the guilty claimed to be innocent, they always answered that question with a simple and certain, “No.” Culprits never tried to escape the punishment of the law by declar
ing that they didn’t know whether they’d committed a crime or not.

  “My name’s Luke. I’ve been asked to check your case out,” he said. “And I’m a friend of Owen Goode. He’s thinking about you.”

  “Owen,” the boy murmured as if he’d been isolated from the outside world for so long that he could no longer bring his mates and old haunts to mind.

  “You know what hit me when I looked through your file? You never said, ‘I didn’t do it.’ Not when you were arrested. Not under questioning. Not once did you claim you’re innocent.”

  “You’re a forensic investigator.”

  Luke nodded. “Why didn’t you deny it?”

  Everton shrugged. “Can’t remember what I did.”

  “Do you think you’re capable of murdering someone?”

  He sniffed and thought about it as if no one had ever bothered to ask him before. “I guess... No, not really, but the FI went through all the evidence against me.”

  He appeared worn down. Maybe, within these miserable walls, all of his youthful optimism had been crushed out of him. Maybe the certainty of his execution had numbed his spirit. To all intents and purposes, he was dead even before he began the final walk to the Death Cell, flanked by a couple of guards. At least that way, he’d feel no pain and no regret. He’d feel nothing.

  Greg Roper came back into the cell with two plastic cups of a deep red juice. He placed them on the table and said to Luke, “They’re both for you.”

  “Thanks,” Luke said, picking up the first cup and draining it. “That’s good.”

  As soon as the door closed, Luke pushed the second drink towards the boy’s free hand. “Want it? It’s great. My favourite.”

  Everton stared at the juice suspiciously before glancing up at Luke. Then his fingers shot out like a striking snake. He grabbed the drink, gulped it down in one and licked his lips.

  “What do you remember about that day, two years ago?”

  “I... don’t know. I was walking. Heard a noise. Don’t know what. Maybe a voice or something. It was raining. I went up to this house. I could see the door was open. It was dark and then... Nothing. It’s all blank. Next thing was being arrested.”

  Luke nodded. “Why did you hang around outside the house for half an hour afterwards?”

  “Didn’t know I’d done anything wrong. Why should I run away?”

  “Strange the door was open in the rain. Was it wide open?”

  Everton closed his dull eyes. “No. Just a bit.”

  “What did you mean when you said it was dark? The house was dark?”

  Everton shook his head helplessly.

  He wasn’t behaving like a suspect who was trying to hide something. He seemed genuinely unable to answer. He wasn’t behaving like the guilty either. He didn’t grumble about being questioned, he made more eye contact than a culprit usually did, and he didn’t try to blame someone else for the crime.

  “How come you were going past his house?”

  “I’d run out of school to get away from... kids who were having a go at me. Not for the first time. Just needed a break. I was walking back.”

  “So, you were angry at the time.”

  Everton shook his head. “Sad.”

  “Wasn’t it raining? Didn’t you get soaked?”

  Everton looked away while he thought about it. “Not sure. Not at first. Maybe it came down when I got to the house.” He shrugged his slim shoulders.

  “Did you know Rowan Pearce?”

  “No.”

  Luke changed his tactics. “Why did you spit on him?”

  “Did I? Don’t remember.”

  “What did the kitchen look like?”

  “No idea,” Everton answered.

  “Have you ever suffered blackouts?”

  “No.”

  “When you were arrested, you laughed. And again under questioning. Frequently and inappropriately, according to the notes. It didn’t go down well. Why did you do that?”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  Luke gazed at him for a few seconds and then turned to Malc. “Define hysterical, please.”

  Malc replied, “One: extremely funny. Two: suffering an unmanageable emotional outburst characterized by fits of laughing or weeping.”

  “Which were you, Everton? Hilarious, or were you panic-stricken and out of control?”

  “Looking back, it wasn’t funny, was it? Not for me, not for Mr Pearce.”

  “So, it was an emotional outburst. Why didn’t you deny killing Rowan Pearce? Why don’t you now?”

  Everton wiped his mouth with his loose hand. “How can I? Seems like I did. But it doesn’t matter any more, does it?”

  “How do you mean?”

  Everton’s dead eyes focused on him. “They’re going to execute me pretty soon.”

  Luke nodded slowly. “If you want my help to try and stop it, you’ve got to think back and give me something I can use.”

  For several seconds, Everton seemed to make a real attempt to recall something, then he shrugged again. His long stay in prison had broken him.

  “Did you see anyone else, inside or outside the house?”

  “I can’t remember knifing him, spitting, getting covered in blood. Nothing. So, I’m not going to remember anyone running away.” He didn’t raise his voice. He wasn’t cross. He was merely confused and frustrated.

  “I didn’t say anything about running away. Did you see someone running away, Everton?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “All right. I’m going in a bit. Are you sure you can’t tell me anything?”

  Everton shook his head.

  “Okay. I’ll try and get you out of this anyway,” Luke promised. As he got up, he added, “If you think of anything – anything at all – tell a guard.”

  “Yeah. But I’m not going to. Not after all this time.”

  Luke gazed into his face again. “You’re doing pretty good, under the circumstances. Very calm.”

  “As good as dead.”

  “I’m sorry. It must be very hard for you,” Luke replied sympathetically.

  Everton shook his head. “It’s not hard to be dead.”

  Chapter Six

  Alongside the track was a long line of wind turbines. Beyond them, the Midlands raced past. Alone in the warm cab, Luke imagined a heavy sword dangling over Everton Kohter. With each passing hour, the sharp blade dropped a little further, getting closer and closer. So far, Luke had nothing to halt its descent.

  Of course, he wasn’t really alone in the cab. An FI was hardly ever truly alone. He had his permanent companion with him. He asked Malc to establish a sound-only link to Owen Goode. It took half an hour, though, because Owen was busy in Greenwich clearing up the old domed warehouse that the Thames had flooded. He was intent on turning the place into a school for sport. He wouldn’t call it a school, though, because he hated schools and the demands of instructors. Besides, the children who were drawn to him had already run away from one school. They wouldn’t willingly go to another.

  “I’ve been to see your mate in Cambridge,” Luke said into the air. “Everton.”

  Malc relayed Luke’s words to London, received the response, and regenerated Owen’s voice using his speech synthesis program.

  “And?” Owen prompted.

  Luke avoided the question. “Tell me about him. What makes you so sure he’s innocent?”

  “I just know. He’s not the type. Not a bit of violence in him.”

  Luke did not give up. “But what makes you think like that?”

  “Well, I suppose there is something,” Owen’s voice replied. “It was ages ago, when we were both at school together. I never got on with instructors. He never got on with kids. Always a weedy guy, he didn’t like sport. Likely, that’s why some of the others picked on him. He was only interested in running – running away. And he didn’t do that very well. Anyway, two lads went for him. It was obvious what was going to happen. Everton had a javelin in his hand and he was right b
y a rack with lots more. He was hopeless with a javelin but he still could’ve speared them both before they laid a finger on him. Could have done them a lot of damage. But he didn’t do anything to protect himself. Took quite a beating instead.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Me? I’m not shy about using a javelin when I have to.” He laughed at the memory. “Prodded them both, like. Nothing too serious. Just enough to scare them off. Champion.”

  “Maybe the whole thing taught Everton to get his attack in first next time. Maybe it turned him violent.”

  “No chance. Not Everton.”

  “All right, Owen. Thanks a lot. I’m working on it.”

  “But you don’t give him much hope, do you?”

  Luke hesitated and then replied glumly, “Even he thinks he’s guilty.”

  ****

  Turning his mind back to his investigation of the irregular pairing in Sheffield as he approached the city, Luke said, “If the members of the committee get to know they’re being investigated, they’re not going to fall into my trap. They’d be on their best behaviour till I clear them. So, I can’t interview them without letting on that I’m on their tails.”

  “Human beings do not possess...”

  Luke sighed. “On their tails means chasing them. Enter into dictionary.”

  “Logged,” Malc said obediently.

  “Anyway, I could talk to the couple who’ve been paired but shouldn’t have been, according to The Authorities.”

  “You have been cleared to interview Mollie Gazzo and Rufus Vile.”

  “Check they’re available, Malc, then program the cab to take me to them. And tell me why their pairing’s wrong.”

  “The Authorities’ records indicate that Mollie Gazzo is four years older than Rufus Vile. This contravenes the age requirement for pairing.”

  “The Pairing Committee knew this?”

  “Ms Boniwell denied it. Mollie Gazzo had recently moved to Sheffield and her identity card, which the committee checked, recorded her age as twenty years. If this had been correct, she would have been the same age as Rufus Vile.”

  Luke was perplexed. “You mean, there was a mistake on her identity card? I’ve never heard of that before. I thought it was impossible.”