by Matt Doyle
“I see. And you work for the police, do you?” she replies, her voice dripping with disgust.
“With them,” I clarify. “I’m a Private Investigator. Have you…”
She cuts me off with a snort and says, “A Private Investigator? So, someone who simply wasn’t good enough to become a proper policewoman, then. Well, that doesn’t surprise me at all. If you were any good at your job, you’d already know that someone like me wouldn’t be seen in public with some criminal .”
“Is that so?” I smile sweetly. “I notice you’ve decided he must be a criminal, though, which completely disregards the possibility he could be a witness to a crime who’s just too scared to come forward willingly. But then, maybe you’ve got a good eye for criminals. You did say you wouldn’t be seen in public with one, but there are plenty of non-public places about, eh? Your bedroom, perhaps?”
Was that a little unnecessary? Yes. Was it worth it to see the woman turn so red that I expect smoke to come out of her ears before she storms off? Absolutely. Unfortunately, the next few shoppers I approach are equally as unhelpful. If I had more time, I’d try to get access to the security footage again, but given how big this place is, I’d need a full team to go through it. So, I switch tack and start questioning the floor staff in the men’s stores selling similar suits to the one Castleford was wearing when I saw him last. By the time I come out of the fifth store, I’m about ready to give up.
“Excuse me, my dear.”
I turn towards the voice and see an elderly lady sitting on a bench in front of the store. With her curled grey hair, slightly over-sized glasses, shoulder shawl, and walking stick, she’s about as close to the typical granny as you can get. She smiles at me and pats the spot next to her. Well, it’s not like I couldn’t do with a quick break .
I sit down and return the smile, and the woman says, “You know, when you reach my age, you really need a hobby, or the days just start to run into each other. Me, I quite enjoy people watching. This place is always full of so many people that it’s a virtual paradise for it. Well now, I’ve been people watching today, and do you know what I’ve seen? I’ve seen you running up and down showing passersby a photograph and asking if they’ve seen someone.”
“Good hearing,” I comment.
“Of course, dear, I’m old, not deaf. Now, let’s see. You’re Cassie Tam, aren’t you?”
I blink and let out a little laugh. “I guess you must have seen one of the news reports.”
“Yes, but that wasn’t where I recognised you from. We’re quite a closed community up on Forster Street, you see, and we’ve all sort of adopted young Miss Redwood as our token reminder of our youth. Jennifer Albright,” she says and offers a hand.
I shake it and smile but, to quote Lori at the start of this whole mess, feel totally spied upon now. “I don’t think I’ve seen you up there before?” I try, a little more nervously than I’d like.
“Oh, you wouldn’t, dear. I’m a fair bit subtler than Edna. That’s the lady who lives next door to Lori. Ah, but Lori does speak fondly of you. So, as I’ve been here all day thus far, how about you show me that photograph of yours and I’ll see if I can help at all.”
“Sure,” I reply and pull it back out of my pocket. I pass it over and the old lady nods a few times, humming some old tune to herself.
“Yes. Yes, I know that one. He’s not been around today, at least not that I’ve noticed, but he has a storage locker near my own. Is he in some sort of trouble? He’s not what I would call talkative, so I wouldn’t really know what to make of him.”
“He could be,” I reply. “If I don’t find him, he could be in even more trouble.”
“Hmm. Would it be of use if I were to show you to his locker? I know the code if it’s needed.”
“That might help a lot, actually. But…how do you know his code?”
Jennifer Albright winks and says, “I’m old, dear, not blind.”
I laugh and push to my feet. Looks like I’m gonna have to be extra careful up on Forster Street from now on .
THERE ARE SEVERAL sets of storage lockers in the New Hopeland Mall, with multiple sitting on each floor. They can be used for personal storage, or you can set them up as pseudo-PO boxes for deliveries from online companies if you don’t want items delivered to your home. The adverts say they’re ideal for surprise birthday presents and so on, but the more cynical people of the city say they’re even better for receiving and storing items you don’t want your partner knowing about.
By the time we reach the lockers at the back of the first floor, I’ve learned that Mrs. Albright is ninety years old, and lives with her husband Gary, who is five years her junior. He is apparently only absent today because he’s off helping to promote a charity boxing event over in Ogden. Oh, and in her own words, Mrs. Albright is well aware of personal boundaries with her spying on people, she just doesn’t much care for them.
Anyway, just as she promised, Mrs. Albright taps in a code, confirming it as “A-A-7-9-D-8” as she goes, and Castleford’s locker clicks open. The smell that creeps out gets instant recognition from me; the sewers. It’s not as strong as when you’re actually down there, but it’s bad enough. Mrs. Albright seems unfazed. Maybe her sense of smell is leaving her out of jealousy for her sight and hearing .
I cover my mouth and nose with one hand and reach into the locker. At first it appears to be empty, but then, right at the back, I find something only a little bigger than my hand. I pull the item out and turn away from the still open locker. It’s a small motherboard, loaded with a small processor, a memory card, a wireless network adapter, and a small light display. Both lights on the poorly soldered attachment are lit up red.
“What is it?”
I glance at the inquisitive old lady and reply, “Honestly? I don’t have a clue.”
“Ah, that’s a shame, dear. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”
“No, no, you’ve saved me a lot of time. Thank you.”
“Quite all right dear,” she says. “Well, I’m going to get back to my people watching. If I happen to see your missing person, I’ll be sure to call you on the number on your website.”
“Thank you. That’d be appreciated.”
“Not at all,” Mrs. Albright replies and starts shuffling away, leaving me to stare at the strange electronic device in my hand. The motherboard, processor and memory card mean it’s running some sort of system, and the adapter means it’s transmitting. From the lights, it obviously has a power source too, though I can’t see it. Maybe it’s built into one of the attachments?
The problem now is what to do with it. I don’t want to risk leaving it here, just in case it’s important and Castleford comes back and destroys it. At the same time, if he comes back and finds it missing, he may react badly, which is what I’m trying to avoid. Unfortunately, that means I’m going to have to put it back for now and hope my luck holds. As I reach into the locker, the smell hits me again, but it’s much weaker this time. I frown. It’s dissipating pretty quickly. Come to think of it, Charlie didn’t mention the stink on me when she found me in her basement either. She could be used to it, or maybe it just…
I push the locker door shut and lean back against it, facing out into the mall. The locker must be airtight, or someone would have caught the smell escaping before now. Either he had the thing down in the sewers with him, or he got here pretty quickly to check on it after leaving the sewers. That would mean…
I grab my cell and dial Charlie’s number. She answers after four rings. “Caz? Is it important? I’m about to head out to try to sort this Castleford mess.”
“Yeah, me too, I think. Don’t worry, I’ll be quick. Do you know if all the supply tunnels open out into the sewers?”
“Most of them do, why?”
“I’m chasing a hunch here,” I say, ignoring the question, “but would I be right that you don’t get much wireless connectivity down there?”
Charlie sighs and replies, “You do if you’re cl
ose to a property, but we have systems to monitor hot spots like that. Outside of those areas, it’s about as good as it is in the sewers, so weak if at all.”
“Okay, last question. Is there a supply tunnel entrance in the New Hopeland Mall?”
“You think he’s still down there, don’t you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t know if he’s more likely to be in the tunnels themselves or the sewers.”
Charlie goes quiet for a moment then says, “I’ll make some calls and get the Sweepers to box him in.”
I close my eyes and tap my hand nervously against the lockers. The Sweepers are the hired security for the Dealers. They’re efficient enough to be offered other jobs, but the Dealers get priority for their time, even if it means cutting other stuff short. They’re also pretty scary, which makes them a risk here. Not to mention that boxing someone in is usually the first step towards putting them in a box. “Thanks, but I don’t think the Sweepers are the best way to handle this.”
“Why?” Charlie asks slowly.
“Because my new client thinks that if he’s cornered, then Castleford’s likely to let loose with something that would be bad for everyone. I don’t know what Castleford has, but I believe my client on this one.”
Charlie sighs. “I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here, Caz. If he’s gone AWOL with the intent of spilling the details of…” She swallows audibly and continues, “I’m pretty clean personally, but there are enough things going on that all of the Dealers would be dragged down if it came down to it.”
“And if I told you I think he’s only after my client?”
“Who’s the client?” When I don’t immediately answer, she repeats, sternly, “Who is your client?”
“Allen Fuerza.”
“Jesus, Caz! Who the Hell has anything to gain from dicking with Allen Fuerza?”
“I believe him, Charlie.”
Charlie groans. “Your instincts are normally good on stuff like this, but you’re so, so wrong on this one.”
“And what if I’m not?”
“You are.”
“But what if I’m not? Then what will you do? Execute someone needlessly?”
Charlie is silent for a moment, then asks, “You’re really certain about this, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“If there’s any chance he’s going to be publicising something potentially dangerous, then I have to assume the worst and tell the others. I’m sorry, Caz, but there’s no way I can avoid that, the risk is too great. This is gonna be a tough hour. For both of us. Just…just don’t go looking for a janitor’s closet at the back of the surplus stock storeroom at the back of the Mall.”
She hangs up before I can thank her, and I start moving, dialling Sunglasses as I go. “Miss Tam?” he answers after a single ring.
“I’ve screwed up. I’m pretty sure he’s either in the sewers or one of the Dealer Supply Tunnels near the Mall, but the Elites are gonna send the Sweepers in. If he’s in the right place, he’ll still be able to send whatever he wants wherever he wants.”
“How long until they reach him?”
“An hour, I think. Maybe a little more. If there’s any way you can keep them off my back…”
“That won’t be a problem. I’ll track your location and ensure that you don’t run into any unnecessary obstacles.”
“Track my location? How?”
“The message I sent with the number for this phone contained a small file. That installed a tracker on your phone. Don’t worry, it will delete itself once this handset is destroyed.”
No time to get annoyed about that one, Cassie. Keep moving. “Fine.” I grunt and hang up.
THE STOREROOM AT the back of the mall is as large as a small modern warehouse, but the closet Charlie mentioned is easy enough to find. Once I remember the tracks on the bottom of the generator in the sewer entrance, it becomes equally as simple to find the table that operates the door mechanism. I crawl through the small opening and come out into a room even smaller than the janitor’s closet. It’s well lit and surprisingly clean given that the only thing in the room, a manhole cover, likely leads down into the murky depths.
Moving with urgency, I haul the cover open and drop down onto the ladder below, taking the first the few rungs quickly before stalling to pull the cover back into place. What can I say? My parents always said to leave things the way I found them. That and if he isn’t down here and does come this way, I don’t want him to realise he’s not alone. I hit the bottom of the ladder and give my surroundings a quick glance. The area looks almost identical to the Western sewer tunnels, which means poor, albeit marginally better, lighting, but not too many offshoot paths. I can’t get to the other side of the swirling mess of stench and miscellaneous excrement without wading through it and Castleford shouldn’t be that desperate yet. Or I hope he’s not anyway. That stuff smells worse than the last lot, somehow.
“A Bert, a Bert, my Glock for a Bert,” I mutter, passing the third side turning without any way of knowing whether I should check down it or not. He would have been a risk in the Mall, but his tracking skills would have been great down here. “Shame it’d take him too long to get here now.”
I keep moving forward and pass another two tunnels, all the while muttering to myself about what I think I’m doing down here. I need to think of something because right now I’d be doing just as well standing still and waiting for him to come to me. If it weren’t for the combination of the smell and what I just saw floating by in the water , I’d be tempted. With a sigh, I keep moving on until I come to a metal bridge. Well, that’s just great. Now which way do I go?
Up until now, I was safe in the knowledge that Castleford could only have gone one of two ways, forward or down one of the turnings I skipped. This means that his options are now forward, down a side tunnel, forward on the other side, back on the other side, or down a side tunnel on the other side. If I was right that he came down here at all. “I can’t just stand here.” I groan and start walking out onto the bridge. “Maybe I’ve fallen into a TV show and he’ll have conveniently dropped something to give me a clue.”
Of course, there’s nothing on the bridge that can help me. So, I stop and rest on the railings, staring ahead and trying to think. There’s no point in doubling back now, so that leaves going forward. But which side? And do I take any of the tunnels or stick on the main path?
Up ahead, I can count two tunnels on the right, each illuminated faintly by lighting only a little better than those in the Western sewer tunnels. Still, better at least means I can see them. On the left-hand path, where I’ve been walking up until now, I count one tunnel that’s illuminated. With the way the system is laid out, there should be another tunnel further ahead and in line with the second tunnel on the right, but the lights must be out. I’d say that’s weird given the functionality of the other lights, but this is a sewer system, not a five-star hotel. “Whatever.” I sigh and start heading back towards the path I was already on. “No lighting is all I’ve got to go on right now.”
I make my way up the walkway until I come to the darkened tunnel and immediately turn down it before I can overthink things and second guess myself. About halfway down, I come to a small generator. There are no tracks under it, so it’s not a door mechanism, but there are some extra cables sticking out of the back of it. I take hold of them and follow along in the darkness until they start to reach down to the wall and off down a floor level grate. I squat because screw getting on my hands and knees unless I have to, and peer through the thick metal bars. My view is obscured by something, but there’s a dim light at the end of the room and I can hear something in the background. A female voice, I think, and one that’s sort of familiar. The dark shape ahead of me moves and I realise I’m looking at the silhouette of a pair of shoes.
I smile and stand up. A few more quiet steps ahead, I come to another turning and start making my way up it, keeping my hand on the damp wall for guidance. Partway up the tunn
el, I find the entrance to a small room. There are lamps in each corner, providing a little extra illumination to accompany the dim glow of the normal sewer lights. The power cables from each have been daisy-chained around the room towards what looks like a homemade battery pack of some sort. With the haphazard way it’s attached to the generator cables, it definitely wouldn’t pass a health and safety check. Next to the battery is a faded red armchair pushed up against where the grate should be. The source of the feet silhouette is no longer there, however, because he’s stooped over at the other end of the room, giving an old television a series of hard slaps.
The picture stabilises, and the audio comes back. The voice I heard was a news reporter, which is why it sounded familiar. “There,” Malcolm Castleford says with a smile. He takes one step backwards, then stops, his smile dropping when he feels the barrel of my Glock pressed against the back of his head.
“Malcolm Castleford,” I say, and nudge my gun a little tighter to his head. “Walk slowly forward and place your hands flat against the wall.”
Castleford does as he’s told and doesn’t flinch when I start to frisk him for any weapons. “You don’t sound familiar,” he says. “Hired from the outside, I assume?”
“Something like that,” I reply, pulling a small pistol from the holster on his belt.
“That’s better, in a way. There’s something big going on here, bigger than you could ever imagine. Now, if you found me down here, that means you have some intelligence, hmm? A smart girl like you could be rather useful in the days to come.”
I turn him around and thrust my knee into his stomach, causing him to double over. “Flattery will get you nowhere asshole. I don’t cut deals with people who think dogfights are…”