by Malcolm Rose
Malc interrupted them. “There are traces of ash and tobacco in the room. In addition, staining on the forefingers of both subjects is typical of cigarette smoking.”
The mobile’s brief statement ended Mollie’s resistance.
Luke looked at her. “How did the information on your identity card come to be wrong?”
It was Rufus who answered. “Would you really report us for smoking?”
“I can’t stop Malc logging any crime with The Authorities. That’s what he’s programmed to do. But, if you cooperate with me, I won’t pursue it. I’ll tell them you were helpful to my case. That’d count in your favour.”
Quietly, Mollie said, “If we say anything, what’ll happen about us, our pairing?”
“I honestly don’t know. Now the mistake’s been made, I reckon it doesn’t serve any purpose to undo it.” He shrugged. “I’ll do what I can because I’m on your side. If you help me out.”
They looked at each other and came to an unspoken agreement. Mollie said, “I... er... know a woman in Derby. She was at my school. Brilliant with information technology. Even then, she could do silly things like raise an exam score by fiddling the school computer. Not that her grades ever needed a boost. These days, she’s a programmer, working on secure systems. A real high-flier.”
“So, she fiddles identity cards now?”
Mollie nodded. “She did me a favour, that’s all. Just a tweak of my age. It’s not a big thing.”
Luke nodded in agreement. “What’s her name?”
Mollie swallowed and looked down at the carpet. “Do I have to say?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
Sighing, Mollie glanced at Rufus and then asked, “You don’t have to tell her it was me who gave you her name, do you?”
“I can avoid it.” If it helped him to advance the case, Luke was prepared to pamper to Mollie’s wishes. “I’ll say Malc scanned your identity card and managed to trace it back to her.”
“All right,” Mollie replied reluctantly. “She’s called Sadie Kershaw.”
“Thank you,” said Luke, getting to his feet. “I don’t think I’ll have to pester you any more.”
****
As he sped south, Luke wondered what proportion of his life was spent in cabs. Of course, if he asked Malc to work it out, he’d get an exact percentage. Instead, he said, “From now on, everywhere we go for the pairing corruption case, I want you to analyse for traces of tobacco or cigarette ash. All right? Let me know if you get a whiff.”
“Logged.”
“Right. Back to Everton Kohter. Tell me everything you know about Rowan Pearce up to the point he was murdered.”
“Files contain very little information. He went to Ealing School and graduated as an electrician at the age of seventeen. Up to his death, he had two jobs. First, he worked as an electrician for a builder, installing wiring in new properties. After losing that post, he was employed by the local authorities, maintaining electrical systems in schools and hospitals. He was not highly regarded.”
“That’s it?”
“Confirmed.”
“What about his partner, Camilla Bunker?”
“Also an electrician, she worked in the transport industry.”
“You mean, like electric cabs?”
“Correct. Her duties also involved the electrical control of auto-shipping and aeroplanes.”
“Is that why she was on a plane when it crashed?”
“Confirmed.”
Luke gazed at the white world beyond the window. While he watched the snow, he thought about Everton Kohter and his own chances of being paired with Jade. He didn’t hold out much hope for either. He also felt guilty that he was comparing Everton’s coming execution with his own pairing. One was a matter of life or death, the other was merely a kick in the teeth. But it felt worse than that to Luke. And both were permanent arrangements.
Interrupting Luke’s thoughts, Malc asked, “You put the searching of health data for Mollie Gazzo and Rufus Vile on reserve. Do you wish to abandon the approach of measuring their cotinine levels?”
“Yes,” Luke answered. “It doesn’t matter any more. The threat of doing it was enough. Maybe, the way I put it, they thought I’d already done it.”
“You use language skilfully.”
Surprised, Luke turned towards his mobile. “Thanks for that opinion, Malc.”
“I do not have opinions,” he replied. “I was stating a fact established through observation.”
Luke laughed. “Well, thanks for the fact, then.” Returning the compliment, he added, “You’re pretty good with facts yourself.”
Luke knew that Malc would not respond. A mobile aid to law and crime did not understand praise. Even so, Luke liked to think he shared a mutual respect with Malc.
****
Luke hesitated outside the house that had once belonged to Rowan Pearce and Camilla Bunker. It was part of a terrace that had seen better days. Typical of a London walkway, the area was being taken over by nature. One house had an alarming crack in its brickwork. The tear was narrow at walkway level but widened until it reached the roof. It looked as if the property would fall apart before long. The next property had lost most of its tiles. Its windows were broken and the frames rotten. It appeared to have been abandoned.
Outside Rowan Pearce’s house, the trees were thriving better than the buildings, apart from one dead birch. Its lifeless trunk was split almost into two as if a giant axe had cleaved it. The wind had scraped its brittle branches against the front wall and many had snapped. Underneath, the ground was littered with its broken twigs. The elm where Everton had sheltered, five metres from the front door, was laying claim to the extra space. The uneven walkway was strewn with weeds.
A man strode up to Luke with barely a glance at Malc. “What do you want, pal?”
He seemed unconcerned that Luke was a forensic investigator and his tone was aggressive. The way he pronounced pal made it clear that he was anything but friendly. Malc moved to Luke’s left shoulder in case he needed to fire his laser in defence, yet the man wasn’t carrying a weapon openly and he didn’t come within touching distance of Luke.
“I’m looking into Rowan Pearce’s death.”
The man looked baffled. “All done and dusted. Ain’t nothing here for you now.”
“Did you know him?”
“Yeah. He was all right.”
“What’s your name?” Luke asked.
He laughed harshly. “You don’t get no name out of me, pal.”
“You must identify yourself,” Malc said.
“No chance,” he muttered.
The man was about to turn and stride away when Luke said, “Don’t worry about it. I just want to know what he was like.”
The neighbour shrugged. “Rowan? Bit of a layabout. Did as little as he could get away with. Good on him, I say.”
“This interview cannot be entered into case notes,” Malc objected. “Anonymous comments are inadmissible.”
“Inadmissible, but useful,” Luke replied. Turning back to the local man, he said, “Did you know the boy who got arrested?”
“No.”
“How about Camilla Bunker? Rowan’s partner.”
“She was dead.”
“Yes, but what was she like?”
“Wiry. You know? You couldn’t see her if she stood sideways. Thin lips, thin neck, thin everything.”
Luke nodded. “But what sort of person was she?”
“A pain. Always talking about getting out of London. Seemed to think Rowan was holding her back. He was lazy, hardly ever any credit on his identity card. She was all for getting on in life. Work, work, work and move north. Didn’t suit Rowan.”
“So, you’d say they clashed quite a bit?”
His deep laugh sounded as if he’d got gravel in his throat. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“How would you put it?”
He paused, searching for a word. “Turbulent. Like the plan
es she used to work on.” Then he sniggered again. “I can laugh because I didn’t have to live with her. Always had to have the last word, she did. Real mean and nasty. Better for everyone she’s where she is now – dead.”
“Did you ever see anyone else going in or out of their house?”
“No.”
“Were you around on the day he died?”
The man hesitated, clearly suspicious that Luke might accuse him of something. “You’ve got the lad who done it.”
“Yeah, but more inside information would be good.”
“All right. I was at home.” He nodded towards his own house, next door. “Didn’t see nothing. And no one heard nothing because of the storm.”
“Was Rowan used to leaving his front door open?”
“Are you crazy? Do you want to invite bandits and muggers in? And murderers.”
“Okay,” Luke said. “That’s all. Thanks.”
Chapter Nine
Luke talked to a few more people living in the same walkway but he didn’t learn any more. He’d come a long way to shed only a little light on the victim’s life but he was content. The journey was worth the time it had taken because, while the gain was small, he thought that it was significant. On his way back to Sheffield, he said, “Rowan and Camilla’s pairing was stormy. Like the weather.”
“Irrelevant,” Malc replied. “Her death occurred before his murder.”
“Yes,” Luke said thoughtfully. “Look, Malc. It’s incredibly difficult to go into an enclosed space without leaving a trace. So, think about who went into Rowan Pearce’s house. We’ve only got evidence for the two people who lived there, plus Everton Kohter. So, let’s say the three of them were the only ones. Just as an exercise, let’s assume for the moment Everton didn’t do it.” Before Malc could object to dismissing the obvious suspect and convict, Luke continued, “That narrows things right down. Rowan’s wounds couldn’t be self-inflicted, could they?”
“No.”
“So, his wife – Camilla Bunker – killed him.”
“Impossible. She died before the crime took place. Your error follows from an illogical assumption. Everton Kohter is guilty.”
“But if he’s not, logic says Camilla Bunker survived the plane crash and committed the murder. Her smeared prints were on the knife. And remember the one in the kitchen? You said it was rejected because it was marked. What if it wasn’t a glitch? Maybe she had a scar on her finger.”
“There is no record of such an injury in her medical files.”
“My point exactly. She could’ve picked it up in the crash and went back to the house, knowing everyone thought she was dead. That’s a pretty good alibi.”
“Speculation.”
“Yeah, but I owe it to Everton to check it out. Tell me about this plane crash.”
Malc searched The Authorities’ remote database for a few seconds before finding the air traffic accident file. “Flight GGW17 came down in Coventry after running out of fuel. Soon after take-off in London, it was struck by lightning. The aeroplane’s monitor gave unusual readings from the fuel tank, indicating a rapid loss of fuel. The pilot’s conversations with ground control reveal that he was convinced the readings were due to a computer malfunction caused by the lightning. He consulted an on-board electrician – presumed to be Camilla Bunker – who confirmed that an electrostatic surge could affect the computer. Afterwards, investigations confirmed that the lightning did no damage at all. Strikes on aircraft are not uncommon. As in this case, lightning usually passes harmlessly through the outer skin of the craft. In fact, the fuel line had loosened catastrophically because an engineer had fitted an incorrect nut during maintenance, causing a severe leak. The escaping aviation fuel would not have been seen by the crew or passengers because it was a night flight.”
“Let me guess. The pilot didn’t turn back and make an emergency landing. He carried on thinking he’d got lots of fuel – despite what his monitor said. Until he ran out.”
“Confirmed. Transport crash investigators concluded that pilot error was mostly to blame. He seemed unwilling to believe that fuel could leak out at such a high rate.”
“At least the plane wouldn’t have caught fire. When it came down, it didn’t have any fuel.”
“It is correct that it had exhausted its supply, but there was an explosion and extensive fire because it crashed onto Coventry Chemical Industrial Zone. There was also spillage of several corrosive chemicals.”
“That’s tough. It lost its own fuel and landed on someone else’s.” Luke shook his head as he gazed out of the window. “We’ll be going close to Coventry. I don’t suppose there’s much left to look at now.”
“All fragments were taken away for examination in a hangar at Birmingham Airport.”
“Did they find Camilla Bunker’s body – or any part of it?”
“No.”
“Interesting.”
“There were eighteen other victims who were never found. It is thought that they were incinerated completely.”
“Were there any survivors?”
“No. In aircraft accidents of this type, the chance of survival is less than five per cent.”
Alert, Luke glanced at Malc. “Five per cent isn’t zero, if I remember my maths.”
“Correct.”
To Malc, the statistics meant that Camilla Bunker was almost certainly killed. The same statistics told Luke that it was possible she had lived.
“How do plane crashes get investigated?” Luke asked.
“The procedure is similar to that at a crime scene. A transport crash investigator, or TCI, takes the place of a forensic investigator. The equivalent of a mobile aid to law and crime is a specialist unit called Masta - a Mobile Aid at Sites of Transport Accidents.”
“Does a Masta take a scan of the crash site, like you’d keep a record of a crime scene?”
“Confirmed.”
“So, you could request all the details and give me a hologram of the whole area?”
“That is ambitious, but possible in principle. I would require at least one Masta unit to increase processing capacity.”
“Are you saying you’re inferior to a Masta?” Luke asked with a mischievous grin.
“Incorrect. I am more advanced,” Malc replied without a hint of pride in his voice. “But I would need extra processors to manage the large amount of data.”
“Superior, but modest,” Luke said.
“I am simply stating the requirements.”
“All right, Malc. Contact The Authorities. Request the data, a great big empty space, and any help you need to recreate the crash site.”
“Transmitting.”
“That’s not all. We’ll go past Derby later as well. Try to find out where Sadie Kershaw is and get me an interview with her.”
“Logged.”
****
Luke held out his card with Luke Harding, Forensic Investigator printed across the top and Sadie Kershaw scrutinized it closely. Then, mystified, she looked around. “Where’s your mobile?”
Malc had argued about being left outside but Luke had insisted. He anticipated that Sadie would admit to nothing if Malc were on hand to record her words. “This isn’t official business,” he told her. “At least, not yet.”
“What is it, then?”
“I’m after a new identity card.”
“You’ve got to go through The Authorities’ official procedure.”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t want anyone to know about it.”
Sadie was in her early twenties and she was sitting in front of a computer workstation in the Registry Department of Derby’s plush Town Hall. She spread out her arms in a gesture of innocence. “That’s called forgery. Nothing to do with me. It’s a serious crime. You’ll know that.”
Luke grabbed a seat, dragged it close to her and sat down. “Let me explain,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ve got a trail from a fake identity card back to you. For certain. If I bring my mobile in, you get into a lot
of trouble. I can’t stop him reporting his findings to The Authorities so it’s best we sort it out here and now. Just the two of us. You see, I’ve got a pairing problem. The only way I can see to get around it is a change of card. I’m an FI and the girl I want to be paired with...”
Sadie interrupted. “Hold on. Even if I could do something like that, what does she think of all this?”
“Jade agrees. But altering her card to make her look like a scientist won’t wash with the committee because she’s well known as a musician. And getting more well known by the day. Altering mine is even less likely to work. My job’s too high profile. The only idea that stands a chance is giving us both new and false identities. Then we go somewhere we’re not known, except through our new identity cards. Compatible identity cards.” Luke was aiming to tempt a forger into the open. That’s all. He was laying another trap. The idea was far too fanciful to put into practice. He couldn’t give up his role of investigator any more than Jade could tear herself away from music.
Sadie glanced around and then leaned towards him. She whispered, “It’s true I’ve helped out a few women. Ones I felt sorry for. Ones who come up against stupid rules, stopping them achieving what they want.”
Luke nodded. “What have I got to do?”
“Let me speak to Jade. Not through a telescreen. That can be monitored. Bring her to me, face-to-face.”
Luke stood up with a grateful smile on his face. “It’s a deal. We’ll be in touch.”
****
Jade’s appearance in front of Sheffield Pairing Committee took only a few seconds.
Ms Boniwell asked her, “Are you content with your pairing arrangement?”
“No.”
“Is it true that you’d prefer to be paired with Forensic Investigator Luke Harding?”
“Yes.”
“Think carefully before you answer, Jade Vernon. Would you be willing to change your career – to prove yourself in science – as a means of legalizing a pairing with him?”
For a moment, Jade closed her eyes. She didn’t need long. She lifted up her head boldly and stared at the Chairperson. “No. It’s the system that needs changing. Not me.”
And that was it. Jade was dismissed.