“Welcome to the next part of your virtual tour around UKCitizensNet. UKCitizensNet is funded solely by UK taxpayers’ money, and developed by UK company SemComNet on the national 5GSW platform. UKCitizensNet bridges the multimedia divide by offering all the country’s favourite content channels with fully integrated semantic web facilities. No longer is online technology only the domain of computer specialists. eCitTV breaks down the technological barriers and offers the easiest medium for receiving content and integrated UKCitizensNet information.”
The smiling woman’s image faded as the embossed red, white and blue logo of UKCitizensNet on a black background streaked across the screen once more. The woman’s almost hypnotic voice continued as archived footage of the BBC’s Six O’clock news appeared on screen.
“With UKCitizensNet and eCitTV the way you receive your content, whether its news, films, music, games or social networking, is transformed. During any programme simply pressing the ‘Web’ button on your control panel will bring up the UKCitizensNet tool bar at the bottom of your screen. From here you can immediately access further information about the news, see more pictures, or link to previous reports on the same subject. By pressing the ‘Email’ button on your control panel you can instantly contact the BBC, request further information, or air your opinions on one of the many social networks UKCitizensNet has to offer. All while the original broadcast is still taking place. It’s all available at the touch of a button.”
The woman continued her smooth monologue and the pictures changed, demonstrating UKCitizensNet’s capabilities. Tool bars appeared. Emails were typed. Links were shared. Social networks were updated with consumer comments.
Michael attempted to absorb the implications of the new technology as the smiling women’s tone lightened.
“Once you’ve finished checking the latest news headlines why not sit back and watch your favourite film? eCitTV’s many film channels, categorised by style, and semantically integrated with UKCitizensNet, offer the most interactive cinematic experience. Whether you want the romance, action, historical, thriller, comedy or children’s film channel, UKCitizensNet’s web-based information is always available. Just press the ‘Web’ button on your control panel at any time. The UKCitizensNet toolbar can then instantly lead you on a tour of filmographies of the actors involved, clips from their other films, box office performance, reviews from acclaimed film critics and links to other relevant web sites on UKCitizensNet.”
Again the woman’s face seamlessly melted to be replaced by clips from Star Wars Episode III. The UKCitizensNet tool bar blinked at the foot of the screen as an imaginary user searched for a filmography before downloading a 10-second clip from The Empire Strikes Back.
Michael sighed, all the talk of 5GSW technologies and ‘semantically integrated’ content just reminded him how isolated he’d been from so many things in this last two years. He had no idea what all this really meant, and that was frustratingly irritating.
Dismissing the thought he watched as the woman’s focus changed onto the network’s online content.
“By pressing and holding the ‘Web’ button on your control panel you can effortlessly jump from the dual interaction of eCitTV onto UKCitizensNet itself. A sprawling universe of exciting web sites, blogging facilities, instant social networking services, shared video streaming and all standard email services are at your fingertips. Every site and service is safe and approved thanks to our simple to follow content and age rating system. Now you can surf with confidence and security. UKCitizensNet transforms the delivery of important everyday information for everyone, thanks to the development of 5G semantic web technologies.”
There was a brief pause as the UKCitizensNet logo scrolled across the screen before the UKCitizensNet homepage appeared.
Before Michael could take in all the information a box in the top right corner of the screen appeared. The annoying UKCitizensNet representative bleated on.
“From the UKCitizensNet homepage you can control your entire life. By selecting our news content icon you can order daily, national or regional news feeds, blogs and instant messaging straight to your own personal portal. Opening your email will display your favourite news content through the UKCitizensNet browser on eCitTV. Payment for subscription services is made via an online order form using the newest and most secure encryption, developed for use on UKCitizensNet. With added security all your financial transactions and dealings can now be operated safely through UKCitizensNet. Now you can integrate and manage your mortgage, all national and local taxes, utilities, phone, shopping, insurance and entertainment bills securely via your UKCitizensNet email without the need for logging into third party sites. With our completely secure online transactions you will never have to worry about losing your bills or sending off numerous paper direct debit forms. With all national banks, insurers, and businesses part of UKCitizensNet’s Financial Services Alliance, all your finances are processed via your personal portal through UKCitizensNet. Managing your money has never been easier. And with your own personal banking information available at the touch of the button, UKCitizensNet truly offers you the complete online financial service.”
The woman’s marketing presentation continued to sell the delights of UKCitizensNet. But Michael had heard quite enough for the time being.
Pressing the ‘Video’ button on the control panel the smiling woman vanished and BBC daytime ‘content’ invaded the screen.
A smarmy game show host with a fake tan was attempting to extract a nervous-looking woman’s most embarrassing holiday secret rather than playing the game. On the next channel a couple of manic chef’s were cracking jokes rather than eggs. On the next a bad Australian actor was failing miserably at his marriage. Then news, archived sport, a black and white film, a talk show host bearing private details, a futuristic cartoon, adverts, arrogant presenters, boring financial analysis, trashy American soap opera, more chefs, canned laughter.
How many of these awful content channels are there?
Before he could find out the noise of the letter box opening and a dull thud arrested his thoughts. At least some things were still normal and hadn’t been swallowed up by UKCitizensNet he thought as images of emails, blogs, social networks, and self-publishing video sites flashed before him again.
The post consisted of a glossy double glazing brochure, an AA membership renewal form, even though his membership had expired 18 months ago, and a letter. Only the letter didn’t find its way to the bin.
The family solicitor conveyed his sincerest condolences. But then who hadn’t? He was writing to discuss the contents of the will.
Michael already knew most of Colette’s estate had been left to him with a few items being left to her parents, sister, and other remaining relatives. Out of respect for him, those named in the will had agreed not to claim anything until he had ‘fully recovered’, as his solicitor delicately put it.
Fully recovered?
That was a joke. Not after what he’d seen in their house.
Looking up from the depressing letter Michael’s eyes widened a little as he looked at the smooth blank screen of his eCitTV set. The bottom of the screen was changing from its sharply defined black edge to a blurred red colour.
Inside the screen something was bubbling, boiling almost. Michael’s heart missed a beat as a cold sweat enveloped him and his pulse quickened. The vicious red tide lapped feverishly against the inside of the glass screen. His jaw dropped a little as the ebbing mass withdrew from the screen like a wave moving out to sea. Then with thunderous ferocity the bloody tide exploded out through the screen as if it were as brittle as matchwood. The blast cascaded into Michael, whipping up the chair, sending it soaring backwards. Warm blood streaked across his body. Glass splinters tore across his face. Shards of glass embedded in his skin like an overused pincushion.
The back of the blood-drenched chair crashed into the wall, he heard the sound of glass crack. His eyelids shot open. The blood was gone. He was where he shoul
d have been, in his armchair. To his left the eCitTV control was lying face down on the expensive glass coffee table, two yawning cracks running in opposite directions.
He frowned, inspecting the damage.
But as he leant over, gleaming globules of sweat dropped from his forehead, spreading on the cracked glass. For a brief instant the eCitTV set was bubbling red again. He was reliving the nightmare that tormented him every night as his heart pounded like a hammer in his chest. Every night it was the same.
Climbing the stairs.
Opening their bedroom door.
Colette tied to the bed.
Blood staining everything.
Nausea.
Clare.
At least he knew when he woke each morning that it had been a dream. But this was the first time he’d had such an experience - a hallucination - whilst awake.
He breathed deeply, pushing his chest out fully as he exhaled. The words ‘fully recovered’ reverberated around in his head.
He would make an appointment to see his solicitor for as soon as possible.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The faded green box file sat on the dining room table. Michael just stared at it, scratching the several days’ stubble on his chin. He thought he knew everything about her. They had no secrets.
He’d been wrong.
He didn’t know the box file existed. And he didn’t know about the Post Office box either.
His visit to the solicitors had been pretty routine to start with. As he’d expected they’d all been ‘shocked’ and ‘deeply saddened’ by Colette and Clare’s deaths. His expression hardened and his forehead creased with tension.
Well they would, wouldn’t they? Gives you a bit more to do. A few more clients to bill.
There had been no major surprises in the will. Colette’s estate had mainly been left to him. Although, some of it would have gone to Clare if she’d still been alive.
Her parents, sister, and some distant cousins had received family items containing sentimental value. There were no surprises until the solicitor handed him the Post Office key that was with the will for safekeeping.
He could still see the embarrassed surprise etched on the solicitor’s face. He wondered how many other times benefactors of a will had been left an item they didn’t know existed.
Reaching out his hand he gently touched the top of the box. It was comforting to know that Colette had once handled it. It was one of the few things left in the house she would have touched he thought sorrowfully, gazing through the ornate patio doors onto the recently mowed lawn.
Since the parents had re-decorated and re-furnished everything was new and fresh, untouched by Colette and Clare. He didn’t know what was worse. Knowing their presence wasn’t there, or having all the ghastly memories to remind him.
He looked around the pristine room and frowned. Everything was just too new. It no longer seemed like his home anymore.
Turning back to the table, and without a second thought, he flicked the box file open. He really had no idea what it might contain.
Or should that be reveal?
In the Post Office when he first discovered the box file he’d clung to the hope that maybe it contained clues to finding their killers. But then reality had struck. How would Colette have known that someone wanted to kill her, to kill Clare? Unless she’d been involved with something more sinister that he didn’t know about?
No, he knew Colette. He would have sensed if she’d been keeping something important hidden from him.
The box file sat on the table. He hadn’t known about that.
Tentatively, he pulled the open box file towards him. His gaze rested on a stack of papers sealed by transparent plastic wallets. Picking up the papers with reverential care he read the titles of each set of documents.
‘State Network Tender’, ‘Intranet Development Plan’, ‘5 Generation Semantic Web’, ‘Advanced App development’, ‘Cookies’ and ‘Data Storage Devices’.
State Network Tender.
For several long moments he stared at the plastic wallet, re-reading the title. Sordid newspaper headlines came rushing back to him.
‘Computer company executives slain’
‘Green activists blamed for brutal double murder’
The familiar numbness he felt when reminded of their murders engulfed him. Firmly closing his eyes he fought back the dark shadows of his subconscious.
Rising from his chair, and clasping the plastic folder tight to his chest, he crossed over to the eCitTV set. As the picture snapped into life he slumped into the dark blue armchair. The new furniture definitely wasn’t to his taste.
As daytime content smothered the screen he reached for the control panel.
Let’s see just how useful and informative eCitTV really is. If Colette was involved in developing this technology it must be pretty damn good.
Pressing the ‘Web’ button on the screen of the console the familiar UKCitizensNet toolbar appeared, clinging to the bottom of the screen. Pressing the ‘Search’ icon the pictures vanished as the red, white and blue logo appeared on a fresh page.
He typed tentatively, his fingers perspiring.
‘Colette AND Clare Robertson’ the keys spelled out.
Within an instant the search had been completed and the screen blinked again. A pale grey screen advertising various information channels on UKCitizensNet slid down the right side.
‘Your search has returned 231 matches for ‘Colette AND Clare Robertson’ he read.
The information was split into sections. On the left was an ordered list of ‘Topic folders’. Quickly scanning the folder titles, he ignored the numbness seeping through his body.
‘Robertson case’, ‘Police investigations’, ‘Green activists’, ‘Anti-net campaigners’
On the right of the screen was the entire depressing list of 231 news articles on the murders. All the grisly facts and theories preserved for posterity somewhere in the depths of cyberspace. Or at least in the depths of UKCitizensNet.
One article stabbed at his consciousness first as he read the title.
‘Green activists implicated in double murder’
The small cursor hovered over the link and within seconds the news story from the Independent Online filled the screen. To the right of the text was a picture of the front of their house. Police tape cordoned off access, preventing the hungry hacks from absorbing the true horror.
Michael read the painful text, his mouth getting drier with every word. He’d selected this particular story because he knew he couldn’t face the crass sensationalism of one of the online tabloids.
The tone of the Independent’s news coverage was far more sombre, and a smiling photo of Colette and Clare taken on their last holiday to St. Tropez accompanied the piece. Michael had no idea how they’d obtained the picture. He’d certainly not provided it to the press.
“The ongoing investigation into the recent murders of Colette and Clare Robertson in the village of Hersham in Surrey took a new twist yesterday. Initial forensic details released by Surrey Police have revealed the discovery of fingerprints other than the victims at the crime scene. Forensics experts have also taken samples of a distinctive soil type exhibiting particular pH levels and nutrient contents only found in certain parts of Surrey owing to historical farming methods once used in the area.
“As part of the widening investigation Surrey police are keen to speak to Green activists who have been protesting at the proposed destruction of local woodland in nearby Brookwood to make way for commercial development. The site is to become the headquarters for UK company SemComNet who recently successfully tendered for the new national state network. Colette Robertson prior to her murder worked for rival company, SW Technologies, who had also bid for the same contract. Surrey Police have confirmed that a set of fingerprints found at the crime scene belong to a known Green activist who has been arrested for numerous public order offences in the past. Although refusing to name their suspect at this stage,
a warrant has been issued for his arrest.”
Michael’s gaze dropped to the smiling faces of Colette and Clare, and in his thoughts he heard their laughter as pleasant, sun-drenched memories of their holiday came flooding back. When they finally ebbed away Michael re-read the date at the top of the screen. It was well over two years since the warrant had been issued and still they hadn’t caught the butcher. He shook his head, feeling his tears begin to well up again. As they gently rolled down his cheek he steered the cursor to a link at the foot of the article: ‘Related stories’.
With one click the screen blinked and more macabre reminders appeared. The seemingly endless stream of news coverage careered off the bottom of the screen.
He scanned the words, their meanings barely registering.
Why am I torturing myself like this?
His gaze fell on one of the headlines: ‘Profile of police suspect’
The screen changed again. A mugshot of a man taken at a road-building protest at Twyford Down near Winchester some years before appeared. The protest had been about the motorway carving its path through the hills at Twyford Down. To the right of the picture was a history of the man Surrey Police had eventually provided to the media, presumably from previous arrest records.
Name: David (Davey) Wilkes)
Also known as: Digger
Age: c.40
Job history: none
Political affiliations: environmental activist and campaigner - known involvement with environmental protests at road developments at Newbury, Winchester and Leytonstone
Previous convictions: multiple arrests for disturbance of the peace, affray and grievous bodily harm
Custodial sentences: three
Michael held his head and winced. The air in his lungs felt as if it was being sucked away by oppressive force as he exhaled noisily.
Davey Wilkes. Digger. Davey Wilkes.
The name thrashed about in the confines of his mind. The monster had killed his wife and daughter and the police still hadn’t caught him.
The Codex File (2012) Page 7