Witness X: ‘Silence of the Lambs meets Blade Runner’ Stephen Baxter

by SE Moorhead

  She waved a hand to dismiss it.

  ‘What about using the tech to go into the witnesses’ minds, you’d be able to get such accurate testimony.’ Then his shoulders fell. ‘No, the legal system would never let that sort of testimony in court, not for years yet. There’d have to be thorough testing, safeguards, all the rest.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Unless you kept their identity hidden, like a witness X.’ He sat up straight again. ‘You could do that, you’d have to use CASNDRA to get the information and then get the witness to say what you had seen in their memory in court—’

  ‘Jim … Jim …’

  He fell silent.

  ‘There are no witnesses.’ She thought back briefly to Ray Clarke.

  He knitted his brow. ‘So, if it’s not a victim or a witness …’

  Kyra clammed up as a pair of women made their way past, cackling with laughter.

  ‘I want to go into Lomax’s memories and establish, once and for all, whether he’s guilty, see if he knows where Isabel is, see if he killed Emma.’

  He took a moment for this to sink in. ‘You’re joking, right?’ He was clearly horrified.

  She shook her head.

  ‘I know you always wanted to use this tech for criminal justice but isn’t this a bit extreme – going into the mind of a killer?’ He leaned over the table, agitated. ‘Kyra, I wasn’t happy about the transference with that soldier, Brownrigg, and look what happened – when you came out of transference, you thought you’d had your throat cut! What the hell is going to happen if you go into Lomax’s mind?’

  She eyed him defiantly. ‘I’ll find the truth, that’s what will happen. I’ll know for sure who killed my sister.’

  ‘And what if he did?’ Jimmy slammed his glass down on the table. ‘What if he killed your sister … Imagine what you will see! How that would affect you?’ He put his head in his hands and peered at her through his fingers.

  ‘Jimmy, the dreams I have, the things I see sometimes, and the symptoms … We knew this was a side effect of transference, but that’s all they are; phantoms. There’s no real danger. It’s worth it if—’

  ‘Look what happened to poor Phil,’ he said, putting his hands back on the table.

  Jimmy was usually so laidback and went along with her plans. Why was he being so difficult?

  ‘We’ve been through this! The hospital said he had an undetected condition before he even went into transference and that was what caused his heart attack. I’ve had my health checks.’ She reached out and put her hand on his. ‘Come on, Jim, you monitor me all the time!’

  He pulled his hand away. ‘I don’t mean that. What if the things you see make you ill? Phil Brightman – he already had an underlying problem. What if this technology exacerbates other underlying conditions that we don’t know about? Not physical ones? What about mental health issues too? How do we know that you won’t get Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from seeing bad stuff in some psycho’s head? Lots of witnesses to crime get PTSD and that’s exactly what you’re going to be – a witness to some horrible, evil crimes. You’ll be seeing it first hand as well … through the eyes of the person who did the killing …’ He seemed lost for words for a moment.

  ‘I don’t even think he did it. The others think he might have an accomplice.’

  ‘Then you might see his accomplice kill your sister! It’s not about who did it, but what you might see in there.’

  She slumped back in her chair. ‘It’s what I want. And I can’t do it without your help. There’s no way Carter will let me back into the lab.’

  Jimmy groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Oh, Kyra.’

  They sat in an uneasy silence.

  ‘You know Carter will go mad if he finds out about this. You’ve already lost your job. I might lose mine.’

  ‘It’s my kit,’ Kyra urged. ‘And another woman might lose her life!’

  He sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what I say, does it?’

  She shook her head, then took a shaky breath. ‘It’s almost like I need to be Lomax, even if it is only for a short time. But if it means getting to the truth—’

  ‘You’re not only my colleague, well, ex-colleague, you’re my friend. I’m not happy about this, but I wouldn’t let you go through it on your own. You’ve had a lot of grief in your life. If CASNDRA does exacerbate underlying conditions, then …’ He paused and shook his head. ‘… please be careful.’

  And, very briefly, Kyra shivered.

  11.32 p.m.

  It made my blood boil to think of him, out in the world, with a freedom that he doesn’t deserve. But I turned it to my advantage. At the Scrambles I was so close to him throughout until he slept and then I completed my work. He went with one whore, I killed another.

  He even spoke to me briefly, made physical contact.

  But he wouldn’t know me now, unless he saw the scar he left me with. I was careful to hide beneath a hood. The scar reminds me of the damage he can do. The child in me is still afraid but I calm him by telling him that Lomax cannot hurt me now.

  He can’t hurt Elise anymore.

  If only I could have protected her then. She was so young, but I was only a child myself.

  But I will do what I can for her now.

  He would never give me a second thought, a second glance. He probably doesn’t even know that I am alive. He will have no idea that sometimes I sit outside the prison, just to feel the thrill of knowing he is trapped in there wondering who did the deeds he is accused of. He taught us the meaning of suffering and now I’m teaching him what it feels like to suffer.

  One day I will tell him it was me, when my plan is accomplished.

  It’s time I ate, so I go to the fridge and open the door, but the light hurts my eyes. I reach for a pizza without looking at the two packages wrapped in cellophane on the meat shelf. I close the door and turn to switch the oven on.

  Elise should have been a beautiful woman now, like the woman downstairs in the box. It pains me to keep her like this. I want to take her out and admire her light, but she doesn’t belong to me. Not like the other one did.

  The thought spoils my appetite and I put the pizza in the bin and switch the oven off.

  I need Elise to know that I am thinking of her constantly, that I will do whatever it takes to keep the darkness away, to protect her, wherever she is.

  Chapter Twenty

  SUNDAY 4 FEBRUARY 2035

  9.17 a.m.

  Kyra had spent the previous night wrestling with disturbing dreams of being trapped in the CarterTech lab with Lomax. When she had been awake, she had been trying to predict Tom’s reaction to her suggestion, and the consequences of her actions, but she was determined to go through with her plan of a memory transference. She just had to wait for her opportunity to persuade Tom, to explain the tech to him and get him on her side so that he would be able to get permission from the governor, and help her to persuade Lomax. God, it seemed like an impossible task already.

  She stood in front of the digital boards, nursing a mug of coffee. Isabel’s photograph and details only served to show the parallels between her and the other previous Type B victims – 152cm, blonde and blue-eyed, student nurse.

  She fit the profile.

  Kyra’s eyes travelled across the board, following the notes, her head aching with concentration. Underneath an image of a pub with an archaic, shield-shaped hanging sign it read: FARMER’S ARMS – Marlborough Street – Isabel last seen here 10.45 p.m. approx.

  No CCTV outside – landlord has delivered internal closed circuit to be examined.

  CAB FIRMS pick up at the Farmers Arms – but no one matching Isabel’s description and no one giving her name.

  BOYFRIEND – ANDREW HARPER – INTERVIEW 11 A.M. TODAY

  HEAD INJURY MAN???

  LOMAX ASSOCIATES? None so far, no criminal/gang links, no known adversaries

  PRISON VISITORS – mother, lawyer

  WITNESSES – Ray Clarke ???

  And then a single n
ame that she didn’t recognise

  Martin Coombes

  Alex joined her. ‘We’ve got CCTV from inside the pub. We’re running it through facial-recognition software now. Landlord says what happens outside isn’t his business. Lots of the regulars know Isabel, no one saw anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘What’s the family situation?’ Kyra asked.

  ‘Mum upped and left fifteen years ago, no siblings. Mr Marsden works long hours, saw her off at the door night before last, said she seemed happy and relaxed. She was looking forward to seeing her friends. He says she’s a good girl, studies hard in her nursing course, sensible head on her shoulders. He says she never stays out without telling him. Family Liaison are at the house. Search turned up nothing.’

  ‘Who’s Martin Coombes?’

  ‘Will managed to trace one visitor, from the time Lomax was held on remand,’ Alex explained, ‘before he was sentenced and ended up at Rockwell. Coombes was an apprentice mechanic at Lomax’s garage on Gresham Road between 2004 and 2006. We can’t find anything on the police system to suggest he was in any way dodgy, but we are trying to trace him so that we can collect a bio-sample to rule him out. But Lomax’s DNA has been confirmed on Caylee’s body,’ Alex said with a shrug.

  ‘He’s been framed. Gut instinct,’ Kyra explained without looking at her.

  ‘I’m not convinced,’ said Alex, her eyes on the board. ‘Some poor cow will die soon if we don’t get this sorted.’

  The words hit Kyra like a blow to the stomach. She tried not to react but the exhaustion, the stress of trying to get Tom on board, the implication that Emma had been only some ‘poor cow’ all came crashing together. Her throat started to close up, her chest tightening, her breaths shortening. She rummaged in her pocket for the inhaler which she kept close at all times now. She took two puffs. Tears began springing from her eyes. She tried to turn away before Alex saw what state she was in and, when she could no longer hold it together, she escaped from the Hub to the toilet.

  Locking a cubicle door behind her, she lowered the toilet seat and sat down. The inhaler allowed her airways to open enough to let the wailing escape.

  When she heard the door, she choked back her distress and put her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

  ‘It’s me, Alex.’

  Kyra could see the shadow in the gap beneath the cubicle door.

  Would she go away if she didn’t reply?

  Alex knocked gently on the door. ‘You alright?’

  The kindness in her voice added to Kyra’s feeling of misery.

  ‘Let me in.’

  She wasn’t going to go. Kyra leaned forward, unlocked the door and it swung open slowly.

  Alex opened her mouth and closed it again. She smoothed her hair back and tried again. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  Kyra glanced over to the wide mirror above the sinks in front of her. She could see Alex’s plait hanging down her back, her hand on the cubicle door. One of the taps was running, the thin trickling turning into a gurgle as it disappeared down the plughole.

  She bit her lip. What would Alex think of her if she told her the truth? Would she march right out of the bathroom and tell the DCI, get her kicked off the case, get Tom into trouble? Or would it help to tell Alex? Would she see Kyra for who she really was, then, not someone who wanted to take her place in the boss’s estimations, but someone who was trying to find justice, on a personal level?

  It was a gamble. ‘He killed my sister.’ She took a staggered breath. ‘Emma.’ Saying the words out loud felt like a bereavement all over again. But it also steeled her, as though out of the haze of sorrow and sleeplessness there was a goal in the distance, giving her meaning, direction.

  Alex’s face fell. She pointed a thumb towards the door. ‘The girl from the board?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She bent down on her haunches and blew out heavily. Her eyes settled on Kyra’s.

  ‘There’s me, thinking you were some smart-arse consultant.’ She briefly rubbed Kyra’s hand. Her fingers were cold. It felt odd but comforting. ‘I am so sorry.’

  Kyra pulled tissues from the roll and wiped her face.

  ‘Jesus, this must be so hard for you.’

  Alex’s words galvanised her. She didn’t want to be a victim.

  She wanted justice.

  ‘I want to get him, Alex! I want to sort this mess out,’ she leaned closer to her, ‘for Emma, for those women.’ It made her even more determined to get Tom to agree to her plan.

  Was that admiration Kyra could see in her eyes?

  Alex studied her for a moment, weighing her up. Kyra had done it hundreds of times herself, as a psychologist. She put her chin up, her shoulders back in defiance of her personal situation.

  ‘Let’s do it then,’ Alex said, standing up. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes … wash your face and, when you’re ready, I’ll see you back in the Hub.’ She paused at the door and turned back. ‘Let’s get him.’ And then she left Kyra alone.

  There was a shift in the atmosphere between them, a lightening of the tension. They were in this together now. Bonded in secrecy.

  She took a couple of deep breaths, stood up and went over to the sink. She bent over, splashing her face with running water, feeling it cooling her skin. As she turned the tap off and stood back up, she reached over blindly for the paper towels to dry her face.

  Something brushed her hand.

  She opened her eyes, the water immediately running into them and blurring her vision.

  Someone was standing next to her.

  ‘Alex?’

  But it was too small to be Alex.

  Grabbing at the towels, she patted her face quickly. When she looked again, she saw the boy from Brownrigg’s memory standing next to her, anger blazing in his eyes, his white garments covered in desert sand. He was holding the curved, rusted knife and her body froze in terror, even though her mind knew he wasn’t really there. She couldn’t move a muscle, even as he drew his arm backwards, ready to attack. She felt the burn of the blade and the boy spun on his heels and ran out of the bathroom door.

  As the door closed, a single gunshot rang loudly in the corridor.

  Kyra looked her reflection, horrified to see blood seeping from the gash in her throat into the collar of her white shirt.

  The bathroom light flickered off briefly, and when they came on again the blood disappeared.

  She touched her neck. Her fingers were clean.

  Christ, Kyra, pull yourself together!

  She leaned over, hands either side of the sink for a few moments, breathing deeply. There was no way she was going to let the team see her like this. She waited until the panic and nausea had died down, then stood up straight and faced herself in the mirror. She pinched her cheeks to get a bit of colour, then held her head up and made her way back to the Hub.

  10.23 a.m.

  Martin Coombes.

  I remember him so clearly.

  As a child, I wished that he had been my big brother. He was probably ten years older, but with similar dark hair and blue eyes to me. He was an apprentice. He told me that was someone who learned as they went along.

  I have had to learn as I go along.

  Learn how to plant evidence, track my prey, hide my movements.

  I wonder how different my life would have been if Martin Coombes had been my big brother? Would he have stopped that man from being so cruel to us? Would he have taken the beatings for us? Would he have been able to save Elise?

  Martin Coombes was kind to me. He used to give me biscuits sometimes when that man wouldn’t let me eat. He would slip me fifty-pence pieces and pound coins with a wink and put his fingers to his lips.

  The bastard told the mechanics to ignore me when I came home from school, forbade them to speak to me. And they obeyed.

  All besides Martin Coombes.

  Our house was on the same plot of land as the garage. The bastard only stayed with my mother because of the yard, I know that now. Somewhe
re he could live for free, use the land for his business, use her.

  It was such a lovely place, ‘in the country’ she used to say, even though it was only a few miles from the city. We used to play in the fields nearby. We had a vegetable patch and my mother grew roses.

  Before she met him, my mother was devoted to us. She would play games with us, take us on long walks and tell us all the names of the flowers and birds. We were the centre of her world, me and Elise, before he came and cut all the roses down to build his garage.

  After he was arrested, I wanted to go to the prison. I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him what I had done. What I had done for Elise. What I had done for revenge. But I knew there was no way he would have agreed to let me visit.

  Why would he let his ex-girlfriend’s kid visit?

  I didn’t think he would even have remembered my name.

  So, I pretended to be Martin Coombes, the man who knew how cruel and destructive the bastard really was, the man who gave me hope that things could be different.

  When I faced him in jail I felt eight years old again.

  Even he thought I was Martin at first too, like the screws. The photo ID was pretty convincing and, of course, Martin’s bio-chip under my skin couldn’t lie. It hadn’t been easy, getting that chip. I had grown to look so much like the man who had been kind to me. The bastard only recognised me because of my scar – a craftsman always recognises his own handiwork.

  I had wanted to go and tell him what I had done, that it was me who followed him in the darkness, killed the women, planted the evidence to make it look like he had done it – that, after all these years, I was going to make him suffer for what he had done to me, to Elise.

  But before I could say any of this, he laughed.

  He told me I was a weak, worthless shite who deserved to die like my little sister.

  And then I couldn’t tell him what I had done. I couldn’t speak at all.

  I pissed myself – right in front of him.

  And I ran away like a child, like the eight-year-old I had been.

  I went out that night and beat a man senseless purely because he looked similar to the bastard. It took me a while to get over the humiliation but, once I had, I promised myself that I would continue to punish him, whatever it took, however long it took.