Work. Rest. Repeat.: A Post-Apocalyptic Detective Novel

by Frank Tayell

  “I just told you that. She was the killer.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I just watched you tell everyone. It’s all over the newsfeeds. Everyone’s seen it. The impact woke up most of the people who were asleep. They logged in and checked. Everyone knows, Ely. You caught the killer.”

  The elevators ran from Level Four up to the top of the Tower. On Level Three, where Ely stood a few minutes later, was the access door to the elevator’s machinery.

  The door had been blown open by the force of the impact. The walls around it were buckled. The corridor leading up to it, however, was already clean.

  Hemispherical drones, each the size of his fist, were swarming around the debris. Some were breaking up the larger chunks whilst others hoovered up the smaller pieces before dashing back to their crevices to empty their load into a recycling chute.

  He tapped out a command, and they stopped moving. Careful not to step on any of them, he made his way to the door. He peered through the gap.

  The woman’s mangled corpse lay motionless amidst tangled wreckage now coated in blood and brain. Ely relaxed. A tension he’d not realised had been there disappeared as he saw that she was, definitely, dead. But that tension soon came back. She hadn’t acted alone. What part in her crimes did the forty-seven suspects play? Ely tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. Despite his intentions, he’d followed Arthur’s advice. He’d found the killer. She was dead. He’d done it all publicly. Everyone was talking about it. Except it did matter. The investigation wasn’t over. It couldn’t be, not until he had all the answers.

  “Vox, can you reprogramme the drones to collect evidence?”

  “What for?”

  This time he remembered that the call would be monitored and listened to. He thought before he spoke.

  “I need to know if the killer was in league with anyone else. There are still those forty-seven suspects, and perhaps there might be some link between her and one of them.”

  “Well, what is it you want the drones to actually do?”

  “We could start with some of her blood. Run her DNA through the system. She might have wiped her own records, but she wouldn’t have erased that of her relatives. That would get us a name.”

  “Well, all right. Anything else?”

  “Um. No, not… wait!” he stared down at the body. It was a long shot, but he thought he saw something that might, just might, prove Chancellor Stirling’s involvement. “I want a sample of her clothing.”

  “What? Why?”

  “It’s the same type of jumpsuit everyone else is wearing. If she lived outside the system, where did she get it from? It had to come from a printer, so which one?”

  “I don’t see how that will help, but okay.” She clicked off.

  A few seconds later, whilst he was still looking at the body, a light blinked on his display. He had an incoming call from Councillor Cornwall.

  “Yes, sir?” he asked, taking the call. At his feet two drones began to move over the pile of wreckage towards the corpse.

  “Well done, Constable. I saw what happened. Well done.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  “You found the killer. Not only found her, but dealt with her.”

  “Sir, I—”

  “And, of course, I was wrong,” the Councillor said, warmly. “I thought the killer was a man, and I said as much. I’ll admit I made a mistake. It does happen, you know.”

  That was a joke, Ely thought. “Yes, sir,” he said, forcing a smile for the camera a few metres away through which he assumed the Councillor would be watching.

  “You caught the killer, and managed it just in time. Well done. The election is ours, Constable. Ours.”

  Ely noticed the emphasis on that last word.

  “Ours, sir?” he dutifully asked.

  “Yours and mine. It was very dramatic. Everyone is watching it. I can see here that even those who are meant to be asleep are glued to their displays. Well, a few hours of production lost are to be expected under the circumstances.”

  “Sir?” Ely couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.

  “Oh, come now, Constable. I may preach ‘Production First’, but there are other aspects to life that are just as important as labour, and this night’s work is very definitely a cause for celebration. Have you considered a career in politics?”

  “I was thinking, perhaps, one day—”

  “Well, consider it now. I need good men at my side. There are… details that have not yet been made public. The times are changing and we need citizens of stern resolve, unafraid to act and to do so decisively. We need people like you, Ely. I’m nominating you to go on the ballot.”

  “Sir…” And suddenly Ely didn’t know how to fake surprise. Fortunately, Cornwall seemed to have no interest in what Ely actually had to say.

  “No, no arguments,” the Councillor said. “You are just what the City needs, and I need people I can rely on in the days to come. I’ve already told my people to get the word out. Everyone who votes for me will vote for you, and that will be nearly everyone in the City. Congratulations.”

  “But, sir,” Ely said, though he didn’t mean to, the words just came out, “the investigation isn’t over yet.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “There are still those forty-seven suspects. Someone had to be helping this woman. I mean, why else was she there in the lounge if she wasn’t there to make contact with one of them? We should find all the people involved and bring them to justice. All of them.”

  “Yes, yes, I see. A crackdown. Yes, that could be just what we need. Continue your investigation. But, Constable, I want you to contact me before you question anyone. Voting begins in just over one shift’s time. We’re set for a remarkable victory. I can’t have… I mean, we can’t have anything upsetting the electorate.”

  “No sir, I’ll speak to you before I interrogate anyone else.”

  “Good, good. You’ve a future ahead of you, Constable. One filled with many struggles. Prove yourself up to the task.”

  Cornwall clicked off.

  Ely replayed that last sentence in his head. It seemed a strange way of concluding the conversation. Perhaps that was what the Councillor was like. Ely had never met him in person and up until the last few shifts, had rarely spoken to him. He looked down at the mangled remains of the ghost. Somehow that seemed a more fitting way of describing the unknown woman than ‘killer’.

  It felt unreal, almost as if, now that it was over, it had all been too easy. The ghost’s face was nearly unrecognisable, yet Ely remembered how she had looked. And then he remembered how she had smiled. She had thought that she would get away.

  But why had she gone into the lounge? He’d assumed that she had gone there to meet one of the other suspects. Perhaps she had, but she had access to the Tower’s surveillance system so surely she would have known he was in there. Why then did she go inside? Because he was in there, he realised. She hadn’t been going there to meet anyone else, and he hadn’t been chasing her. He had been following her.

  He began to tap out a command, then stopped. He didn’t want it recorded. He began to walk briskly along the corridor to the Control Room.

  “Ely! Congratulations,” Vauxhall began, “I was listening in to—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he interrupted, taking off his helmet. He checked that it had turned itself off.

  “The screens here, can they be monitored?”

  “By whom?”

  “By anyone. Can we talk privately?” He looked around.

  “I told you, there are no cameras down here.”

  “Right.”

  “Ely, what is it?” Vauxhall asked, the good cheer gone from her voice.

  “There’s something wrong, something doesn’t add up. Can you bring up the schematics to the corridor outside Unit 6-4-17?” he asked.

  “Okay, but tell me why?” she asked as she tapped out a command.

  “Which one is the… okay, that�
�s the room the Greenes were murdered in, right?” Ely asked, pointing at the screen.

  “Yes. Please, Ely, tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Look, here.” He pointed. “There’s an access hatch right next to Unit 6-4-17, so the ghost didn’t need to avoid the cameras or wipe the footage when she killed the Greenes.”

  “So? Why does that matter?”

  “Well, it’s just… I… I don’t know.” The more he found out, the more he found the evidence didn’t fit the crime. “Why didn’t the system alert you when the woman walked into the lounge?” he asked, instead.

  “I thought I’d explained,” she said. “The cameras record everything, but it’s the wristboards that tell us where people are. We track those, then search for the footage for that time and place.”

  “So, because this ghost looks like everyone else you didn’t notice anything was wrong?”

  “Well, yes. I mean, here.” She pointed. “This is the footage from the lounge right now. On this screen, that’s the wristboard log. Now, you look at those two and tell me if there’s someone who doesn’t belong?”

  “But we track more than just their location,” Ely said. “What about weight and height and gait? What about the motion sensors in the Assemblies that make sure the workers are completing their tasks with the most efficient series of movements?”

  “Yes, yes, we’ve got all that, and I can bring it up, but it’s all associated with the workers ID or, to put it another way, the wristboard.”

  “But on the display on my helmet—” Ely began.

  “No,” she cut in, “your helmet is different. You get the names and IDs and access to all the records. And you can have that because it’s just one screen and one camera. Imagine the computing power, and the requisite energy we’d need, if every camera in the Tower was going to overlay onto every screen here the data for every citizen. We couldn’t do it. You understand?”

  “I think so, or I’m starting to.”

  “You know something, or you suspect something, Ely, I can tell. What is it?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Could the ghost be someone from one of the other Towers?”

  “Well…” She paused to think. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not certain?” he asked.

  “No. I mean… okay, maybe. She’d have had to come in via the transport pad, and I watch each delivery and collection, but, I’m not watching each person come and go, so it’s possible. Why?”

  He thought about telling her about Stirling, but he wasn’t certain they couldn’t be overheard.

  “I’m just playing around with an idea. What happens when someone dies? Does their record get deleted then?”

  “No, it’s just removed from the active database. It’s still there in the archive.”

  “So if someone wanted to create a ghost, they would have to go in and actually destroy the entire digital record?”

  “Right, exactly, the entire record,” she said. “For every meal eaten, every shower taken, every hour of Recreation, every time that the wristboard was used would have to be removed. And I don’t mean just deleted. That would just make it seem as if the food had disappeared or the electricity was being mysteriously generated by no one. No, you’d have to go through and edit every interaction that person had with the system. I’m not saying it’s impossible,” she added. “Just that it would take a very long time. I mean, it’s almost more believable that this woman was a ghost, you know, living outside the system.”

  “What, the descendent of someone hiding down in the tunnels for the past sixty years?” Ely scoffed. “I hardly think so.”

  “Yeah, but the tunnels are like the museum. No one goes there.”

  “Because they’re flooded,” Ely said. “No, there’s someone else involved in this. Someone who has access to the system, someone who could go in and alter those records. Someone who has the time to do it.”

  “What are you saying Ely?”

  “That I want to get to the bottom of this. I want answers. They’re important.”

  “The ghost’s dead. You’re going to be elected. What’s more important than that?”

  “The truth,” he said. “Did those drones collect a sample of the woman’s clothing?”

  “Just like you asked, yes.”

  “Can you get it analysed?” he asked.

  “Well, yes.”

  “I mean right now.”

  Chapter 8 - Interrogation

  Eight hours before the election

  It took twenty minutes to find out who had printed the clothing. It took only thirty seconds to get approval from Councillor Cornwall to interrogate her.

  “This way,” Ely said as he pushed Alexandra Penrith along the corridor.

  “Why? Where are you taking me?”

  Ely didn’t reply. She had been waiting for her ‘home’ when he’d stormed down the corridor and pulled her out of the queue. Heads had turned, cameras had begun to record, and a barrage of questions followed them as he marched her down to Level Three.

  She kept protesting, and he kept silent, until they reached the corridor with the wrecked elevator.

  “I said, where are—” She froze when she saw the debris.

  “Here. Do you recognise her?” He pushed her closer to the wreckage, and the body that still lay within it.

  “No,” she said softly, when she saw the body.

  “Who is she?” Ely asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  Ely pushed her against the wall.

  “Look down at what she’s wearing. Go on. Look. Recognise it?”

  She glanced down, then hurriedly looked away.

  “You should recognise it. Now tell me how you know her!”

  “I don’t,” she said, keeping her eyes resolutely ahead.

  “The pattern is unique,” Ely said. “They always are. It only took a few minutes to work out who printed it. You did. Five days ago.”

  “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

  “You know that woman. You helped her.”

  “I didn’t,” she said. “I never met her before.”

  “You were in the lounge when I tried to arrest her. She was going there to meet you, wasn’t she? Tell me why?”

  “She wasn’t. I really don’t—”

  “Then explain how she’s wearing your clothing.”

  “How can I? I don’t even remember wearing it. I don’t remember wearing anything that looked like that. I just select a random pattern every day. The old clothes go into the recycler.”

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “The one in whichever ‘home’ I’m allocated of course.”

  “Really?” He took a step back. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

  “I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You know, if this was the first time your name came up today I might believe you. I might just think this was a coincidence. But it’s not the first time. You were awake when the Greenes were killed. Awake and off-net.”

  “I wasn’t—” she began. Ely cut her off.

  “You were. I’ve got the proof. You were in the shower. For twenty minutes. Every night for the past year you’ve done the same. Except I don’t think you were. Who spends twenty minutes in the shower? No, you used that as a cover. How did you learn about the glitch with the hot water? Who told you?”

  She stared at him, and he saw the fear in her eyes.

  “I know that you found out about it first. And then you told others,” he guessed. Barely perceptibly, there was a tightening of her jaw and a stiffening of her shoulders. Ely nodded. He’d guessed right. “Who told you about it?” he asked. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she looked around, and seemed to realise that she was truly alone.

  “But,” she said, “surely you can’t think that has anything to do with the murders.”

  “Tell me.”

  She hesitated, then glanced again at the body before answering.
>
  “There was a note,” she said, quietly.

  “Where? I’ve checked your correspondence. You didn’t receive one.”

  “It wasn’t in the system. It wasn’t digital. It was handwritten.” Now there was a glint of defiance in her eyes. “It wasn’t left for me. It was stuck in the door to the shower cubicle. Whoever woke first would have seen it.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It just said that anyone could get that extra shower at three a.m. That was all.”

  “And you told others?” he asked.

  “Yes. So what?”

  “Don’t you know how much energy that wastes?”

  “Like I said,” she retorted, “so what?”

  He stared at her. She didn’t blink. “Was that the only note you received?” he asked.

  “You know what? I’m not saying another word,” she replied. “So you better just charge me and send me over to Tower-Thirteen and let them send me off to the launch site, because,” she leaned forward, and spoke more softly, “I think I have a better chance over there than I do here.”

  He took another step back. She knew about the colony ships. There must have been another note. He opened his mouth to get her to confirm it, but then he closed it again. The conversation was being recorded. Cornwall would be watching, and Ely wasn’t meant to know.

  He tapped out a message and sent it to Councillor Cornwall, asking what sentence he should give. A moment later, he received a terse reply. ‘Defer sentencing for now. We will deal with it after the election.’

  “No,” he said to Penrith, “I’m not sending you to Tower-Thirteen.”

  He watched her face and saw her defiance replaced by dismay. And then he was certain she knew.

  “You got your confession,” Vauxhall said, when Ely returned to the Control Room, ten minutes later. He’d escorted Penrith back to her ‘home’ in silence.

  “Some of it,” he said.

  “You got enough, surely. You got her to admit her guilt. That means you’ve got proof on all forty-seven suspects. The killer is dead, what else is there to worry about.”

  “There’s still no connection between Penrith and that ghost,” Ely said.

  “There’s the clothing. That’s connection enough, surely.”