by Malcolm Rose
Every five seconds, a drop of leaking water formed on the windowsill and plopped noisily into a bucket of water below. The wooden window frame was rotten and the paint on the wall around it was blistered and peeling.
Luke decided to push his luck. “I heard there was more to your relationship with Anna than that.”
“Than what?”
“Than a disagreement over unlicensed twins.”
“Well, maybe,” Alex replied hesitantly. “We have a history, I suppose. She kept an electronic diary of all her grievances against me and I caught her about to transmit it to The Authorities – an obvious attempt to undermine me. We... argued.”
Luke was not convinced that the manager was telling the whole truth. “Is that all?”
Alex nodded. With a weak smile, he remarked, “Not a motive for murder.”
Luke assumed that he had not yet heard the full story. “You really disliked her. Why?”
Alex wore a look of innocence. “I just told you.”
Luke realized that he was not going to get any further for the moment so he got up. “Oh. Just one more thing. You come from Newcastle, according to my database,” Luke said, glancing towards Malc as the computer recorded the interview. “It’s got a great reputation for producing top athletes, particularly in gun sport.”
“So?”
“You must have done some shooting.”
“Yes,” Alex responded. “But I didn’t like it. I was always more interested in patching people up than putting extra holes in them.”
****
Not knowing how long Luke would be stationed in London, The Authorities had provided him with a suite of rooms in the Central Hotel in Piccadilly. One room had been converted into an office and mini-laboratory. Even though Luke had settled into the suite, he did not feel at home in the south. He was restless and lonely.
In Birmingham, he’d been surrounded by friends and the sounds of school. He could visit Jade whenever he liked. In London, he had only a tin ball – or a flattened sphere made from the best modern non-rusting alloy, packed with electronic gadgets – for company. He always seemed to be on edge, especially after dark. It was much quieter than Birmingham and lawful nightlife seemed to be non-existent. If London had ever had legitimate evening activities, they had long since fallen into disrepute. Most of the time, Luke could busy himself with his investigation but, when the day was over, he felt abandoned.
Every time a branch scratched against his window, every time he heard the ghostly footfalls of another guest, every time an animal cried out, Luke became alert and tense. He could turn on the telescreen and catch up with the news, listen to music or watch a film, but there was no one to join him. He was missing a whole number of things, but friendship in particular. Malc’s fantastic new alloy did not come close to the comfort of flesh and blood, but the floating computer was Luke’s lifeline back to the north.
“Connection to Jade Vernon, please,” he requested.
Within seconds, Jade’s buoyant voice boomed out of Malc. “Hiya!”
“Hi. How’s Sheffield treating you?”
“It’s beautiful. And you wouldn’t believe the gear I’ve got. For audio, it’s ten and a half times better than Birmingham. And... I mustn’t go on. How’s being an outcast down south, FI Harding?”
“About as good as you said it’d be,” Luke admitted. “London’s sort-of evolving from city back into countryside. But the work’s fine. Very good, in fact.”
Malc threw Jade’s image onto the telescreen. She had straightened her hair but in colour it was as chaotic as ever. It was bronze with streaks of copper and pink. On screen, her brown eyes came out as grey but the sparkle was still there. Besides, Luke preferred a two-dimensional close-up of her attractive plump face than no view at all.
“Another creepy murder?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, Luke.” She didn’t have to say any more. Her regret at Luke’s chosen path was absolutely clear.
Changing the subject, Luke said, “Are you making new friends?”
“Yeah. I’m tripping up over them. Actually, I’m going out with some of them in a minute.”
“I see,” Luke replied, hiding his regret. “Any... special friend yet?”
“No.” Jade hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, “There’s a Pairing Committee up here looking into my situation.”
“Oh.” Suddenly Luke felt like a pawn rather than a forensic investigator.
“They know all about me from Birmingham and I’ve told them about you. There’s not much else I can do.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve got a virtual meeting with the London Pairing Committee tomorrow afternoon.”
There was a brief pause in their exchange like a moment of silent respect for their suffocated, expiring relationship. Then Luke said, “What’s all this gear you’ve got, then?”
“Well, you really ought to see it for yourself. A studio crammed with computing power, samplers, and an archive of just about anything ever recorded. I’ve got the technical workshop I used to dream about.”
“Sounds great.”
Toning down her smile, Jade said, “Is London as horrible and primitive as it’s cracked up to be?”
“It’s a bit... raw, but it’s got its good points,” Luke said, eliminating every trace of the lie from his voice.
“Oh? Are you going to give me a list?”
Luke could make people believe anything he said, but Jade was the exception. She could always tell when he wasn’t being truthful. Even so, he carried on with the pretence. “You haven’t got long enough before you’re going out with your Sheffield mates.”
“Hey. How about a visit up here? You’ll love it in Sheffield and I can play you my latest stuff. It’ll be a good break for you.”
“If only. Not in the middle of a murder case, Jade. Maybe when I’ve wrapped it up.”
“See you tomorrow night, then.”
“Hmm. Not this one, I think.”
“Okay,” said Jade. “I’ll download some music into Malc. Something special for you. If you want.”
“Of course I want. Thanks. That’ll be great.”
“What’s it to be? Chill or thrill?”
“Either. Both would be good.”
“I’ll get onto it. Goodnight, then.”
“Have a nice time,” Luke replied.
He watched her image fade to nothing and then he turned away from Malc. For a moment he became a sixteen-year-old boy again.
Chapter Six
After the previous day’s deluge, the London walkways were warm and steamy. And, as always, they were claustrophobic. Above the sign that read, ‘Venomous Snakes – Warning’, a green tree-snake was sleeping on the bough of an elm. London was not infested with snakes but the invading vegetation provided a lush home for several species. Some occurred naturally, some were escaped pets that had established themselves in the wild. Most were harmless, but a few were poisonous. Thomas’s Hospital had a specialist anti-venom unit to treat the unwary and the unlucky.
Luke Harding and Malc went straight past the hospital, straight past the weather-beaten bunch of lilies that marked the spot where Anna Suleman died, and headed for the looted auto-barge on the south bank.
It seemed to Luke that Anna liked to report misconduct. If she had seen the thieves taking the cargo, maybe she would have tried to report them. Then, a bandit with a rifle might have put an end to her interference.
Even in London, Luke did not carry a weapon. Malc was his weapon. Because the Mobile Aid to Law and Crime was his constant companion, always floating nearby, it would be obvious to anyone that Luke was an investigator. Any attack on him would be recorded by Malc and the robotic computer would simply track the offender until back-up from The Authorities arrived. That threat of any attacker getting caught was Luke’s best defence. Even so, a suspect had assaulted Luke in his first case and any forensic investigator in
the south was going to face danger at some point. Before leaving Birmingham, Malc had been modified to be more than a deterrent. He now had a defensive and offensive capability.
When Luke walked over the gang-plank, a fat rat ran in the opposite direction on one of the thick ropes that moored the narrow cargo boat to the cracked concrete quay. Luke didn’t need his identity card to get inside. The door had been ripped off its hinges.
Luke liked it best when his feet were on solid ground. The barge was not rocking much from side to side, but he found its unpredictable little shifts unsettling. There did not seem to be anyone else on board. The thieves had had their fill and abandoned the boat to rats and snakes. He opened up the cargo hold to find that it had been completely cleared. There were not even any empty packing cases.
Luke sniffed the air and said, “Malc. Analyse that smell, will you?”
“It is a complex mixture containing acetaldehyde, limonene, 2-furylmethanethiol, diallyl disulphide, benzaldehyde and hydrogen cyanide...”
“Cyanide?” Luke was startled by the mention of the poison.
“It is present at too low a concentration to be dangerous. Benzaldehyde and hydrogen cyanide are aroma components of cherries and almonds. Several ripening fruits give off traces of acetaldehyde. Limonene is the odour of oranges, diallyl disulphide of garlic, and 2-furylmethanethiol of roasted coffee beans.”
“So, you’re telling me the barge was carrying fruit, nuts and that sort of thing.”
“Confirmed.”
“Were there any pomegranates?” Luke asked with a grin.
“I have not detected any chemicals specific to pomegranates.”
“Anything apart from fruit, nuts, garlic and coffee?”
“There are traces of hydrogen sulphide, ammonia and butanedione.”
“I remember butanedione. Cheesy, isn’t it?”
“It is characteristic of cheese and butter but I suggest that, when it occurs with hydrogen sulphide and ammonia, its source is likely to be the axillary region of human beings and their intestinal gas.”
Luke grimaced. “You’re saying it’s the bandits’ armpit smell – and worse.”
“Correct.”
“Yuck. Perhaps they were hoping to nick deodorants.”
Luke went forward to the control room. A grey drizzle that threatened to turn into another downpour obscured the view of the river through the window. Even the boat’s computer had been ripped out. Luke examined the brass plate on the wrecked control panel and said, “It’s auto-barge 0579, Malc. Look it up later and find out what else it was carrying.” He glanced around and said, “Are you scanning all this?”
“Confirmed. There is so much evidence that I am in danger of overload. I have recorded hundreds of fingerprints, hairs, fibres, shoeprints, plant matter, small objects and other artefacts.”
“I bet there’ll be a thousand irrelevant things and one vital...”
“Speculation,” Malc replied.
“Yeah, well, log it all. Just in case. Then I’m out of here. It won’t bother you, but I like the ground under my feet to stay still.”
****
The mini-laboratory in his hotel suite was not fully equipped for forensic examinations but some basic apparatus that he needed was there. Item by item, he was going through Dr Suleman’s possessions and getting more and more disheartened. “All I’m getting from this is the fact that Anna Suleman was a doctor who intended to get home in one piece.” Once again, he picked up her pager and looked at it through its evidence bag. “Hold on. This looks more complicated than ones I’ve seen before. It looks like it’s got a transmitter as well as a receiver.”
Malc established a radio link with the pager and, after a minute, said, “Correct. All hospital staff carry this type of always-on pager. Each one continually tracks the location of its wearer and transmits a position signal to the hospital’s central computer.”
“Interesting. What time did Anna’s pager stop moving around yesterday afternoon?”
“Five thirteen.”
Luke smiled. “Log that as the time of death.” He brushed a big, ugly bluebottle off his desk.
“You should note that the main hospital computer also registers when two or more such signals are in close proximity.”
Luke sat bolt upright. “It gets better. You’re saying the hospital logs the time and date whenever staff wearing pagers get together?”
“Correct. It is essential information if it takes a while to establish that a patient is infectious. The medics taking care of that patient may catch the illness and pass it on, but all of their contacts can be traced very quickly and isolated or treated to stop the spread of the disease.”
Luke nodded. “I like it. Check the hospital log for thirteen minutes past five yesterday afternoon. Were there any other pagers near her when she was shot?”
“No.”
Luke sighed. “Pity. If there’d been one five metres away, I’d have it solved.”
“Irrelevant,” Malc replied.
“I know,” Luke said. “The system doesn’t even prove that another member of the hospital staff wasn’t around at the scene of the crime. If a doctor wanted to murder her, he would’ve taken the precaution of leaving his pager behind.”
“He or she.”
“Yeah, I know, but I can’t keep saying that. When I say he, I think he or she. It’s usually a he, though.”
“Of all solved murders, 84.7 per cent were committed by males,” said Malc.
“All right. I’ll give him – or her – a codename. That’ll help. From now on, he’s... Lost Bullet. And, if Lost Bullet’s one of the hospital staff,” Luke reasoned, “he would’ve left his pager somewhere so it would be stationary.”
“I have already checked for pagers that were motionless between five o’clock and five fifteen. All doctors’ pagers were moving at the time of death.”
The fly that settled on Luke’s hand began to annoy him. He flicked it away. “Would it be easy to hack into the system and give a pager a new history?”
“Extremely difficult. It is a secure system.”
“So, if Lost Bullet wanted his pager to move around when he was outside with a rifle, it would be easier to attach the pager to an unsuspecting person, let it hitch a ride, and reclaim it later.”
“Speculation.”
“True. How about Alex Foxton? What was his pager doing at the time?”
“He is not a doctor. His pager was stationary at his desk.”
“Which doesn’t necessarily mean Alex Foxton was at his desk as well.”
“Correct. However, I did not detect gunshot residues on his hands or clothing.”
“He could’ve worn a medical gown or a coat – and washed his hands thoroughly afterwards.” Barely pausing, Luke said, “Anyway, download something into case files for me, please, Malc. I want to know which members of staff met Anna Suleman in the last week, where and when.”
“Processing.”
“Right now, I need to test your new capability. You see that fly buzzing in the window? Zap it, will you?”
Malc manoeuvred himself into the ideal position, one metre away from the target. A narrow guide-beam pinpointed the insect perfectly, then Malc fired the miniature laser. Immediately, it boiled the bluebottle’s innards and the exploded fly fell dead onto the windowsill.
“Thank you. Test completed. Your system seems to be working fine.” Luke paused before asking, “Have you got the contents of that looted barge yet?”
“Confirmed.”
“Give it to me, then.”
Malc hesitated, apparently unsure about Luke’s request.
“I don’t mean I want you to supply me with the fruit. I want to hear a list of the cargo.”
“Do you wish to know quantities or simply identities?”
“Just tell me what was on it.”
“The cargo consisted of pineapples, cherries, plums, mangoes, apples, oranges and kumquats, coffee, peanuts, brazil nuts and almonds. There were
miscellaneous non-food items: shoes, sheepskin coats, memory sticks, chairs, toasters and kettles.”
“No garlic?”
“No.”
“Interesting.” Luke got to his feet. “Right. I’m going to Anna’s apartment. I want a copy of her electronic diary – the one with all her grievances against Alex Foxton.”
Chapter Seven
As Luke walked towards the exit, the hotel receptionist called after him, “FI Harding.” The man’s jet-black hair and beard were immaculately trimmed and groomed. “I’m sorry – so sorry – but we don’t have any more pomegranates. Chef says you ate the last one this morning.”
Returning to the desk, Luke asked, “Didn’t you order some more?”
“Yes. Days ago. But chef says we’re always at the bottom of the queue in London. Never a priority. Sorry, sir.”
Luke looked down at his nameplate. “All right, Mr Morgan. Leave it to me.”
“Can you get some?”
Luke smiled. “I’ve got an idea.”
Mr Morgan’s expression changed from panic to pleasure. “We’d be so grateful, Forensic Investigator.”
A mist as dense as smoke blew down the freeway. It smeared everything in its path with moisture. All of the buildings on the way to Regent’s Common were saturated. Here and there, Luke had to walk through great puddles. Only the plant life was refreshed by the endlessly soggy conditions. Everything else looked dull. Water was running down Luke’s cagoule and soaking into his trousers. With his hood pulled up, his top half was dry but his legs felt as if they’d been wrapped in cold wet blotting paper. His shoes were waterproof but his feet were still damp because rain had seeped from his trousers into his socks.
Trying to cheer himself up, he said, “Malc. I need to do some urgent forensic tests on pomegranates. Order me a crate from a reliable Birmingham fruit supplier. High priority. Get them delivered to the hotel today or tomorrow at the latest.”