by Malcolm Rose
With his computer recording the video conversation, Troy introduced himself.
‘So,’ Sergio said in a French accent, ‘you’re a detective.’ His words and movements were not quite synchronized by the technology.
‘Yes. Investigating a possible assisted suicide.’
‘Is that a crime?’
‘Over here, yes.’ After a brief pause, Troy added, ‘As you’ll know.’
‘I’m aware of several overseas people using my services because they’ve got no local equivalents.’
‘I’m interested in the chat room.’
Sergio’s head gave another nervous shake. ‘It’s very comforting for those who need it.’
‘There’s a contributor called Charon Angel.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ Troy replied. ‘I need to know who he or she is.’
‘The site guarantees anonymity.’
‘No one deserves a guarantee if they take advantage of people at real low points.’
‘What makes you think …’ Sergio hesitated. Clearly, he’d forgotten the username.
‘Charon Angel.’
‘Yes. What makes you think Charon Angel has been abusing the site – and the people who visit it?’
‘I reckon he’s scouting for body parts.’
‘What?’ Sergio cried, visibly shocked.
‘For medical transplants,’ Troy explained.
‘I find that hard to believe.’ Sergio turned his head to the side and stroked his chin for a few seconds. ‘I’m looking at his contributions now. I can’t see anything definite. He’s either a perfectly good visitor – in which case you don’t need his name – or you’re right and he’ll have supplied a false name and details. Either way, it won’t help you to hand over his profile, so I’m ending this call.’
‘Just tell me. Is he in Switzerland, over here, or somewhere else?’
‘He’s in Switzerland.’
‘Thanks,’ Troy said. ‘Why don’t you keep an eye on what he does? If he posts anything suspicious, send me as much information as you can. All right?’
Sergio shrugged. ‘I’m a busy man, but I’ll monitor him. And, by that, I mean him or her.’
As soon as the image on the screen faded, Troy said to Lexi, ‘Who’s the best computer geek in Crime Central? I’ve got a hacking job I want doing.’
SCENE 11
Wednesday 9th April, Afternoon
April showers had not yet arrived. Lying down on the dry ground beside the last line of trees, Lexi raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the left-hand side of the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. Then she glanced down at the plan of the building that she’d unearthed and spread it out on the soil. ‘There’s no obvious basement,’ she whispered, ‘but there’s a whole wing Gianna Humble didn’t take us into.’
‘She never said she’d show us everything,’ Troy replied. ‘Maybe that’s where the clean rooms and operating theatres are. No one but doctors and patients would be allowed in. And everyone would have to be scrubbed up.’
A private ambulance came to a halt at the front of the clinic. There was no siren, no panic. A couple of nurses opened the back doors and carefully extracted a patient on a stretcher. Wheeled legs unfolded automatically from underneath the carrier as it emerged from the vehicle, allowing a smooth and effortless transfer to the treatment centre.
Attached to a convenient tree trunk, Lexi’s tiny spy camera recorded all of the comings and goings at the main entrance.
Lexi nodded towards the new arrival and said, ‘That’s one thing I’ve come for.’
Troy looked puzzled. ‘The patient, ambulance, or the trolley?’
‘I think it’s called a gurney. Saying trolley makes it sound like supermarket shopping. Anyway, I need to get my hands on one before we go.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Are we going to the back to set up another camera?’
‘Yeah,’ she answered. ‘Keep low so no one sees us.’
They stayed out of view of the clinic until they were at the edge of the wood opposite the rear entrance. Lexi fixed her second miniature camera to a branch, giving her a clear view of the area where body parts were delivered.
‘That’s done,’ she announced as she crouched down next to her partner. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what arrives in the next few days. Let’s go back round to the front. I want to check out what you call a trolley.’
‘Okay.’
When they reached the spot where Lexi had attached the first spy camera, they squatted down again. After a while, a nurse came out of the clinic, pushing the gurney. She left it near the ambulance and went back in through the automatic door.
Seeing an opportunity, Lexi began to scramble to her feet.
Troy’s arm shot out. He grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and yanked her back down.
‘What …?’ she said in an urgent whisper.
‘Look.’
A man wearing a suit and a peaked cap had appeared outside the clinic.
‘So?’ said Lexi. ‘It doesn’t matter who sees me now. I’m not going to break in or anything. I’m just going to measure a gurney.’
‘I saw him here yesterday,’ Troy told her as he watched the well-built man walk towards a cab. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird to be that smart and top it off with a baseball cap?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but probably not illegal. Shall I get onto the fashion police and see what they think?’
Troy smiled wryly. ‘No. I want to find out who he is.’
Lexi nodded towards the camera. ‘You’ll have his picture to help.’
Pointing at the cab, Troy said, ‘That’s even better.’ He checked the exact time on his life-logger.
Standing up and brushing the dirt from her sleeves and trouser legs, Lexi said, ‘I’ve got a job to do.’
From the edge of the wood, Troy watched Lexi while he spoke into his phone. ‘Travel? Yes. I’ve just watched a middle-aged man take a cab from the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. At fifteen twenty-seven precisely. Can you trace it? I want his name and where he’s going. Thanks.’
When Lexi bent down and measured the width of gurney wheels and the distance between them, Troy realized what was on his partner’s mind. He nodded his approval.
When she returned, she said, ‘The wheels are fifty-four centimetres apart. That’s two more than the tracks in the field by the bodies. So that’s that. Our guy didn’t use a gurney from here.’
‘Not if they’re all the same.’
‘I bet they are – so they all fit the equipment in the ambulance and inside the hospital. I’m after some other type of cart. It might not have anything to do with health and hospitals. The transplant trade isn’t the only explanation for our dead bodies.’
Troy hadn’t forgotten that a peculiar and cruel operation might lie behind the death of the female major with an outer heart. But he couldn’t make sense of it. He understood the need for transplants. He could even believe that mistakes might happen. But he couldn’t work out the motive behind a deliberate biological mix-up. ‘Why would anyone put outer organs in majors? Or the other way round?’
Lexi shivered violently. ‘Maybe it was an experiment to make a sort of outer-major hybrid.’
‘What?’ Troy exclaimed.
‘I know. It’s not natural. It’s … No. Horrible thought.’
Troy shook his head, dismissing the idea. ‘Are you done here?’
‘For now,’ she answered. ‘Let’s go and leave the cameras to do their job.’
As they walked towards the car, Crime Central’s Travel Section called Troy. ‘The man you’re after, his name is Dylan Farthing and he’s on his way home.’
‘Which is … where?’
‘Shepford third quarter. Fifteen Ennis Street.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
In the car, Troy said, ‘Fifteen Ennis Street, Shepford,’ and the onboard computer took control of the journey.
; Lexi shook her head. ‘You’re going after him, why? Because he looks shady?’
‘Because I’m curious. And he’s got the muscles you’d need to lug dead bodies around.’
‘I’ll get the handcuffs ready – in case we come across any other body-builders,’ said Lexi. ‘They’re into killing people and mutilating their bodies.’
Ignoring her sarcasm, Troy replied, ‘You can check his shoe size.’
SCENE 12
Wednesday 9th April, Late afternoon
Ennis Street looked familiar. Troy had probably never been there, but it was the standard design for Shepford’s third quarter. The neat detached houses were a uniform light brown colour, built from the same local stone. They were all similarly sized boxes, two storeys high with tiled roofs that sloped from left to right. Each had a small front garden and a larger one at the rear.
Troy pushed the doorbell at number fifteen. After a few seconds, the smart and sturdy man appeared in front of him. This time there was no cap, but he was wearing tinted spectacles that also seemed out of place. ‘Yes?’ he said, glancing at the life-loggers attached to his visitors’ waists.
Troy asked, ‘Are you Dylan Farthing?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Good. Detectives Troy Goodhart and Lexi Four. We’ve got a few questions for you. Can we come in?’
Dylan stood to one side of the hall, next to a small table. ‘What’s this about?’
As they walked into the plain, spotless living room, Troy replied, ‘We’re looking into some events near the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic – and we know you go there. We wondered if you’d seen anything useful to our investigation.’
With cropped fair hair instead of a baseball cap, he looked very different. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, first, perhaps I’d better ask why you go to the clinic.’
Dylan sighed. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me,’ said Troy. ‘Sorry.’
He touched his dark glasses. ‘Why do you think I wear these? Why do I need a stupid cap outside? Why go to the clinic? I’ve just had a cornea transplant in my left eye and I have to protect it from sunlight.’
‘Right. But as you went to and from the clinic, did you see …?’
‘I saw hardly anything. That’s why I needed the operation.’
Troy expected Lexi to be sneering at him but, when he glanced at her, she wasn’t. She was gazing down at the freshly vacuumed carpet. Troy decided that a rapid retreat was the best policy. Heading for the door, he said to Dylan, ‘Well, I’m sorry to bother you. I wouldn’t have if I’d known about your condition.’
As they walked away, Troy waited for a cutting comment from Lexi, but it didn’t come. Inside the car, he said, ‘You seem … thoughtful.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And …?’
Plugging her life-logger into her laptop, she said, ‘I liked his carpet. Clean with a nice pile.’
‘So?’ Troy prompted.
‘We all leave clear footprints on a carpet after it’s been vacuumed.’
‘You recorded his?’
‘Larger than average, standard leather shoe.’ She showed Troy the imprint on the laptop screen. With her forefinger, she marked the position of the toe. Then she slid her finger across the image to the heel and a cursor followed her movement. She lingered for a moment on the back of the shoeprint. At once, the measurement appeared alongside the cursor: 29.5 cm. ‘Thought so,’ she muttered. ‘Size twelve.’
‘But not the same as the trainer near the bodies.’
‘No,’ she replied.
Troy regretted that majors and outers wore the same types and sizes of shoe – and walked in the same way. The two human races could not be distinguished by their footwear.
‘I’d write it off as a coincidence,’ Lexi continued. ‘But …’
‘What?’
‘There was a letter on the little table in the hall. Addressed to Farthing Family Butchers.’
‘He’s a butcher?’
‘Meaning he knows his way around a dead body. And he’s handy with a sharp knife.’
SCENE 13
Wednesday 9th April, Early evening
‘Tomorrow night feels right. I am content. I’m ready. Everything’s in place. It’s a good time to go.’
Troy sat back, checked what he’d written and smiled. ‘That’s a cat I’m putting among the pigeons.’
Lexi shook her head. ‘Sometimes you talk in riddles.’
‘It’ll force Charon Angel’s hand,’ said Troy, hitting the return key to post the comment online.
Replies began to arrive within a minute.
‘I implore you to seek help.’
‘What you’re thinking of doing is wrong. The taking of any life is against God’s law. Choose life.’
‘Forget the past. Whatever happened there is over. You must look to the future and recognize its potential. Start afresh.’
After three minutes came the message that Troy most wanted to see. Charon Angel wrote, ‘The day after tomorrow – or next week, next month or whatever – some full-of-life girl might step off the road in front of a speeding cab. You might have been the one person close enough to yank her back, to save her life. Perhaps she would have gone on to be a leading politician, making the world a better place. That’s what I meant about you – and everyone else – having unknown value. If you go ahead, your absence will change the way things are supposed to be. It’s a shame to deny the world your contribution.’
Troy let out a sigh and shut his eyes for a few seconds. ‘His tone’s changed,’ he muttered. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lexi replied, ‘But he’s in the clear. “It’s a shame to deny the world your contribution.” That’s no way for anyone to get their hands on your kidneys.’
Troy nodded slowly. ‘Unless Sergio Treize tipped him off. Warned him we’re watching. Now he’s coming over all innocent.’
‘That’s a bit devious.’
‘But possible.’
‘Maybe it’s just you getting desperate for a suspect,’ Lexi said.
‘Not desperate. Imaginative,’ Troy replied with a grin. ‘Don’t forget I’m the perceptive one.’
Lexi checked out an incoming message on her life-logger and then said, ‘We’ll see. Terabyte’s on his way.’
The computer technician had a real name but no one used it. A lot of the people who asked for Terabyte’s help didn’t even know what he was actually called.
He’d first made a name for himself at school. He’d won himself and every other student a two-day holiday in winter with an electronic attack on the building’s computerized heating system. One of his mates congratulated him a little too loudly for freezing everyone out of school. A teacher overheard and, from then on, everyone became aware of his special skills.
Now, at the age of seventeen, he was Crime Central’s best computer nerd. And Troy had asked him to gate-crash the administration of the suicide website.
He came into the room, sneezed, flung his hair over one shoulder and adjusted the glasses on his nose. ‘I hacked into better-protected sites when I was ten,’ he said.
‘So,’ Troy replied, trying to control his rising expectation, ‘you’ve found out all about Charon Angel.’
‘Pretty much,’ he replied. ‘Her name is Sharon Angie.’
‘It’s a she?’
‘I haven’t seen a photo but Sharon sounds female to me. The site admin doesn’t have a lot on her, but she’s living in Switzerland. Way up a mountain in a village called Wengen. I’ve got her email address, not a house address. Or cottage, or whatever they have in Wengen.’
‘Anything else? How old is she? Has she been to this country?’
‘I trawled around. According to Passport Control, she’s never been here. She’s twenty-seven and she shops a lot online. I don’t suppose they’ve got supermarkets at the top of Swiss mountains. Again, no home address, but judging by what she’s been buying, she likes books on psychology and martial
arts, music from Iceland, wine and car maintenance.’ Terabyte had a long and cute face. When his hair flopped forward, he gave the impression of a spaniel.
Troy’s shoulders dropped and his enthusiasm faded. Terabyte had just blown his theory that Charon Angel was hunting body parts. She hadn’t even been in the country. What had happened to Troy’s usually reliable instinct?
‘I’m guessing I’ve disappointed you,’ said Terabyte.
Troy nodded. ‘That’s me done for today. I’ve got a shepherd’s pie waiting at home. With bucketfuls of brown sauce.’
Terabyte looked at Lexi with a grin on his face. ‘Us outers wouldn’t know if shepherds taste nice with or without sauce.’
SCENE 14
Monday 7th April, Early afternoon
Lexi gazed at her life-logger and groaned. ‘That’s another avenue blocked off. Only a couple of people have had hand transplants and they both check out. Done in genuine hospitals with genuine hands donated by genuine accident victims.’
With a wide grin, Troy said, ‘Nothing underhand going on there, then.’
Lexi groaned again.
Troy apologised for the joke. ‘I’m not surprised you didn’t turn anything up. It fits. If Dmitri got involved with some sort of medical black market, the transplant wouldn’t be officially registered.’ He shrugged. ‘Let’s face it. Right now we’re a bit stumped with Dmitri and L4G#1. Let’s not make them brick walls for banging our heads against. Let’s tackle the major woman with the wrong heart, L4G#2.’ Troy was still pained to refer to two of the bodies by codes rather than names, but he had no choice until he discovered their identities. ‘I’ve been thinking about it overnight.’
‘Oh?’ Lexi took a careful bite out of a block of soft, decomposing cheese. It was casu marzu, crawling with live insect larvae. If jolted, the maggots would launch themselves about fifteen centimetres away and she’d lose their juicy flavour.