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

by SE Moorhead

  Kyra stepped outside the door to check that no one had seen Lomax come in. CarterTech was halfway down a side street, affording some privacy. A black car was parked against the graffitied wall opposite with its bright sprayed slogans of Fair play for the poor! and Smash the money power!

  At least they hadn’t used a prison van.

  Out of the corner of her eye, there was a movement.

  She froze. Further down the street, she saw a black shape was slumped against a wall in the shadows. Was it a man crouching? Was Brownrigg still spying on her? What would the MOD do to her if they knew she was still using the kit? Would they tell Carter?

  Her skin crawled.

  She jumped as a piece of litter blew up in a mini-twister of a breeze.

  Was that a face? Eyes looking at her?

  No, it was only a pile of refuse bags slumped against the wall.

  Get a grip!

  She locked the door carefully, relieved for the time being.

  Jimmy came out of the lab. ‘Take him through,’ he commanded, pointing the direction and the guards led Lomax away. Ignoring Tom, Jimmy focused on Kyra.

  Her heart was thumping furiously in her chest. The lights came on automatically as Lomax and the guards moved along the corridor towards the lab where CASNDRA shone bright white behind the glass.

  ‘I’ll go and start with a few questions and images to get Lomax into the right frame of mind,’ Tom said and followed the others.

  When they were alone, Kyra said to Jimmy, ‘I wasn’t sure you were going to come.’

  ‘I’m your friend and I wouldn’t let you walk home on your own in the dark, so there’s no way I’m going to let you do something like this without me.’ He raised his hands, palms facing her, his face serious. ‘But I don’t really agree with what you’re doing here, Kyra. I mean it’s bad enough breaking into the lab without telling Carter …’

  ‘We’re not breaking in! I’m his business partner … was … it’s my kit!’

  ‘You’re already suffering nightmares and asthma and God knows what else you haven’t told me … It could be the receptors … the ones we injected into you. They should have passed out by now, but there’s always the chance they could still be there, causing problems in your brain.’

  ‘Oh, Jimmy, leave it—’

  ‘No. We need to look into it. Tom needs to know that there are problems, so that he can keep an eye on you—’

  ‘What problems?’ They turned around to see Tom standing there. ‘Sorry, I forgot my coffee.’ He pointed to the cup by the sculpture of the brain. ‘Is there something you omitted to tell me, Kyra?’

  Omitted. Police talk.

  ‘About the asthma, and the soldier?’ Jimmy sounded annoyed. ‘If Kyra’s going to be taking risks for you, then you should know some of the side effects.’

  For you … was Jimmy jealous?

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Jimmy!’ Kyra mouthed.

  ‘Should we be doing this?’ Tom asked.

  Jimmy looked back at Kyra. ‘It’s your call.’

  ‘Yes, it’s my call,’ she said fiercely. ‘We’re doing it.’

  ‘What about a soldier?’ Tom gave her that expression, one that used to be so familiar; the dog with a bone. He wasn’t going to let this drop.

  ‘We’ll talk later,’ she said. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  They moved into the lab. Jimmy made some adjustments on the screen and glanced up to see Tom staring at him. ‘We used to use the computer to read the memories, but the images were far too low grade.’ He passed the VR headset to Kyra and helped her attach a few electrodes directly to her temples. She didn’t look at him, even though he was so close.

  Jimmy went on, ‘We found that the human brain could decipher the images much more accurately.’

  Tom came over to look. Was he trying to smooth things over with Jimmy? She didn’t need them joining forces.

  ‘It’s as though the brain is speaking a language that can’t be fully interpreted by the computer, so we need a human reader. It’s like if you listened to another language you might hear the words and get some of the meaning, but you would miss the nuances, and then it doesn’t make enough sense. The receptors and the headset work together to provide a fuller picture.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’ Tom asked Jimmy. ‘I mean, you said—’

  ‘Considering the clarity of interpretation the human brain can give, it seems to be worth the risk for the quality of information,’ Kyra snapped, anxious to get on. Jimmy had already injected her with receptors. She watched as he injected Lomax with the stimulators and put the needle in the yellow sharps box. ‘Did you ask him what you wanted to, Tom?’

  ‘Yes.’ He held up his mini-screen to show her, then put it into his leather bag.

  Lomax lay, still cuffed, and strapped for extra security. Jimmy had sent Danielsson and the female guard back outside the lab, on the other side of the glass, where they could keep an eye on him but not overhear the details.

  ‘Cosmo, prepare for transference,’ Jimmy commanded and the bed on which Lomax was lying began moving into CASNDRA’s centre.

  ‘Welcome to the jungle, Doc!’ Lomax boomed. ‘Enjoy the show!’

  9.18 p.m.

  I remembered the woman with the dark hair from all those years back. She seemed to sense me outside the door when they took him in to CarterTech. The website is a mish-mash of techno-bullshit and crass slogans: Where Imagination and Innovation come together. They do tracking chip work. Is that why they brought him here? But I don’t think it is official business as the guards weren’t in uniform.

  After the girl in the ice, it became like second nature to follow people. I followed the women that I chose. I followed the police officers. I watched their confusion about the connection between the two women, until they found the box.

  I saw them picking around the corpses like carrion birds, looking for clues.

  All the time I was there.

  I followed the psychologist. I even saw them together, alone, her and the policeman. I hid in the everyday ordinariness of life. I didn’t stand too close. I didn’t look too long. I always kept my distance.

  Before that I had only followed the bastard – knew his every move. I knew where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. How else was I to trap him? He could never be punished for what he did to my family, but I could get him punished for something else.

  I chose the victims carefully. I chose the time and place carefully. It had to be when he was around, when it could be proven by witnesses, by CCTV, that he had been there. The DNA was more tricky, but for everything else it looked as though he had done it.

  I knew it would take time for him to be caught. But I was prepared to wait. I had waited for my revenge since I was a child, hadn’t I? What difference would a few more years make?

  But I remember her. Kyra the psychologist. I was in the cafe that night. I had been following her, some might say coincidence, some might say destiny, fate. I sat close to her – at the next table. Then a woman and a child came in. A beautiful little girl, like my Elise. I even patted her on the head as I walked past her in the cafe and she gave me a radiant smile, but the women hardly noticed me, they were so deep in conversation.

  Later, when the deed had been done, and the rush had dissipated, I thought back to that little girl, how I had left her motherless.

  And I cried my heart out.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  SUNDAY 4 FEBRUARY 2035

  9.28 p.m.

  A glass flew over Kyra’s head in a poorly lit, stuffy bar and splintered against a bare plaster wall. She watched as her fist, Lomax’s fist, smashed into a man’s face. She heard the crunch of contact and the man flew backwards, an arc of blood and saliva spraying from his mouth marking his trajectory as he fell. A cheer went up all around, animals honouring their pack leader.

  She took the headset off for a moment and rubbed her face. Jimmy gave a thumbs-up sign, his face concerned.

  Don’t let
your fear hold you back. Think of Isabel, think of Riley. She gave the thumbs-up in reply and then, like someone about to dive into murky water, took a deep breath and replaced her headset.

  She shifted on the recliner, agitated. Come on, Kyra. You can do this!

  When she tuned in again, the blood, barstools and smell of beer had disappeared, replaced by a worn leather sofa, cracked with age, a table set for dinner, a small sprig of freesia in a tiny, clumsily made pottery vase. What was that she could smell? Chicken and herbs? In front of her she saw Lomax’s hands again – one gripped a woman by her shiny black hair as she cowered in front of him on her knees, her eyes squeezed shut, waiting for the blow, her hands up in surrender. Lomax’s other hand was a white-knuckled fist.

  Looking through his eyes under the table, nearly invisible in the darkness, Kyra saw a young child, a boy trembling in the shadows. Then another child’s face appeared from behind him, a little girl, no more than a toddler, her eyes wide with fear. The boy pushed her back down. Kyra’s instincts to protect the children boiled as she watched the ugly scene unfold.

  Hardcore pornography filled her mind immediately – violent jabbing, writhing bodies, cries of pain. Her stomach roiled, but then an anger rose in her. Lomax would want her to see this. He was taunting her.

  Suddenly, she was standing alone on a dark road – wide, smooth black Tarmac underfoot. THE CROXLEY ESTATE was proudly emblazoned in wrought-iron fence-work above the red-brick boundary wall, silhouetted against the yellow light of the few remaining street lamps on the other side. Kyra glanced down at her body – at his body – the tattooed arms, the grey prison sweatpants.

  In front of her lay derelict chaos, full of KEEP OUT signs: some printed onto shiny boards belonging to the council, some made by the residents themselves, a mixture of spray paint and swear words. The graffiti also indicated which sordid and illegal services could be bought where. It was easy to tell the sex-workers from the Lè addicts – the addicts ducked into the doorways to hide, but the male and female prostitutes suddenly came to life, showing off their wares like a mechanical puppet display. It was as though an architect’s drawing of the ideal estate – a sunny place with people walking hand in hand in brightly coloured clothes, blossoming trees and shiny cars – had been plunged into a nightmare.

  It was sickening for her to be in his body; it was as if an infection was travelling into her. Kyra could feel his powerful strides as he moved along, the weight of his being. She could sense his sexual desire, built up after so long incarcerated, his predatory instincts, as he made his way over to a stick-thin woman – frail and vulnerable – his excitement rising. The thin woman stood in the doorway, she inclined her head to the front door, beckoning.

  He cut across the patch of rough earth that might have served one time as a lawn and moved towards the house. A candle glowed softly in the window, and Kyra could smell incense, patchouli and roses. Soft music travelled through the door out onto the night air, contrasting with the stark brutality of the estate.

  As Lomax approached the door, Kyra heard footsteps, someone running along the pavement nearby. Lomax’s body tensed. He moved his head slightly, as though he was an animal using echolocation.

  The noise stopped close by and Lomax turned slowly, shoulders relaxed, chin up.

  A hooded man, smaller than Lomax, stood motionless facing him. The top of the nearby street lamp dangled, his face was hidden in shadows.

  ‘Fuck off, I was here first.’ Lomax moved to go to the house but noticed that the man stayed in the same spot and Kyra felt her body, Lomax’s body, stiffen.

  ‘You wanna pay to watch, mate?’ Lomax growled. She could feel the rage growing in his guts.

  The man swayed slightly from foot to foot, clenching his hands into fists and then releasing. ‘I’m not afraid of you!’ the man shouted.

  Lomax took a step forward and then began to laugh. ‘You’re fucking joking?’

  Did he recognise the man? His voice, maybe? Was it what he said?

  When the stranger didn’t move away, Kyra could feel irritation in Lomax, mixed with an instinct for brutality and she knew this was a dangerous cocktail for the woman waiting in the house for him.

  With a grunt, Lomax moved towards the other man. His opponent stood his ground, but Lomax grabbed him by his top and swung him with great force so the man rolled over and over on the road and finally came to a stop. He lay still for a moment and Lomax shook his head and went towards the house. As he got to the door, he looked back over his shoulder; the man was back up on his feet, coming closer. His face was grazed, his forehead bleeding down onto one eye which flickered with the drips, the blood black in the darkness. His hooded jacket was torn and hanging from one shoulder.

  Kyra saw that under his top he wore a T-shirt with a familiar logo – the two snakes wrapped around a winged staff – that she had seen frequently at the hospital, on ambulances; all the doctors and nurses wore them on their uniforms. Was he a medical worker? He was no match for Lomax, that was certain. He stood, clenching and unclenching his fists again, stepping from one foot to another.

  Lomax barged into him, leaning down to press his forehead against the man’s. Kyra could feel the man’s resistance, his skull hard on Lomax’s. She tried to take in details of his face, but it was difficult as she was too close. Under the cut on his forehead, his left eye was sticky with blood.

  Lomax spun quickly and caught the man on the side of the face with a ferocious punch. He fell hard and Lomax went into the house and shut the door.

  As Lomax grabbed the woman roughly by the shoulders, Kyra took in every detail of her face; the sharp cheekbones, the hollow eyes, the overly plucked eyebrows and heavy make-up. She had never seen this woman before. It wasn’t one of the Mizpah Murderer’s victims. She knew each and every one of their faces in detail. It certainly wasn’t Caylee Carmichael. It must be the prostitute who had given Lomax his alibi.

  Lomax pushed her out of the way and leaned over to look out of the window.

  The man was nowhere to be seen.

  Where had he gone? He didn’t seem to have had a vehicle. Did he live nearby? Was he known to Lomax? Kyra willed Lomax to go back outside but he was intent on the woman now.

  Kyra was revolted by the feelings of sexuality that were seeping into her from Lomax; the moment the violence began, reeling with nausea and disgust, she pulled her headset off and threw it across the floor.

  Immediately there was a screeching in her head, like white noise, which threatened to rip her skull apart. She grabbed her head in her hands as the noise seemed to increase in pitch, and then finally it subsided. When it fell silent, she leaned forward on the recliner and vomited, splattering the floor in front of her, startling Jimmy and Tom.

  ‘Side effect of transference,’ she told Tom, once her nausea had quelled.

  Jimmy passed her some paper towels. ‘You look like death warmed up. Are you okay?’ He had never appeared so anxious about a transference before. Should she be worried too?

  The awful pain in her brain began to lift a little and she muttered, ‘Don’t fuss, Jim.’

  She took a few deep breaths. Her eyes had a pre-migraine halo and her mouth was dry. ‘Water.’ She pointed to a nearby jug and glass that Jimmy must have put there earlier.

  ‘God, yes, sorry,’ Tom said as he took a glass, filled it with water and passed it to her.

  She sipped at it, wiped away the cold sweat with some of the paper towels she was holding and then sat back, trying not to vomit again. She was embarrassed; Danielsson and the other guard were stood watching everything.

  Lomax was snoring now.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Tom.

  She lay back on the recliner. ‘He’s been to The Scrambles for a prostitute,’ her voice cracked. God, her head hurt. ‘He beat a woman in front of her kids. He has a particularly niche taste in porn. But I didn’t see any of our women. He was wearing his prison sweats, so it was the right date. He’s a nasty, violent bastard, but ther
e’s nothing that said he killed any of our victims.’

  ‘You don’t think he saw Caylee or was with the body?’ Tom asked more urgently.

  ‘I didn’t see anything like that, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he didn’t.’

  ‘Fuck,’ Tom said, scratching at his scar.

  She wanted to get up but felt too woozy. ‘I was hoping we’d get more than that too, Tom.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’

  She knew Jimmy too well. His expression was one of: was it worth it?

  ‘I should have stayed longer … but I … couldn’t do it …’

  ‘No, you did well to stick it out,’ Jimmy reassured her. He rubbed her shoulder then pointed to her glass. ‘Drink your water.’

  She sipped at it again.

  ‘There was a man watching him when he went to the woman’s house,’ she told Tom. His eyes narrowed.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Lomax said, “I got here first” and hit him.’

  ‘Could you identify him?’

  Somewhere in her mind, she knew she had seen a specific clue – what had that been? For the moment she couldn’t recall. Was it his face? No, that had been covered in blood. Was it his T-shirt? Yes, that was it, but she couldn’t pinpoint it; it was as though she was reaching into a dark cupboard to find something that was just out of grasp of her fingers. Was memory loss going to be another side effect that she would have to suffer? She wasn’t going to let on to Jimmy.

  ‘No, it was dark. I couldn’t see his face.’

  Jimmy pointed at her glass and she drank again.

  ‘But they didn’t seem to know each other?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell. It was very brief. But Lomax laughed when he saw him.’

  ‘Laughed?’

  She shrugged and looked over to Lomax lying at the centre of CASNDRA, a huge hulking brute, fast asleep.

  ‘He’s a nasty bastard, but I didn’t see anything to say he was a killer.’

  She tried to get up, but Jimmy put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Take your time. Sit there until you feel better.’