by Malcolm Rose
“Transmitting. What are the tests and how do they relate to the case?”
“The tests involve eating, mainly. And they relate to the case because I’d dissolve in the rain if I don’t have one for breakfast.”
“There is no link between pomegranate consumption and solubility.”
Before Luke could reply, he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. On his right, two men and a boy aged about twelve had come out of an alley into Great Portland Corridor. Without coats, they were drenched to the skin and their saturated hair was flattened against their heads. The men’s straggly beards were dripping wet. All three were carrying sharpened metal poles – possibly railings. They were about to rush across the corridor towards him, grasping their makeshift weapons like spears, when Malc positioned himself in front of Luke. At once, one of them cried, “No! He’s an investigator!” They turned tail and ran back down Clipstone Walkway.
Luke shook his head. “Just think what it’s like for all those people who aren’t investigators.” Saddened by the level of hostility on some of London’s routes, he carried on towards Regent’s Common. “You can see how it happens, can’t you? Someone gets attacked with a stick so, next time they go out, they carry something better than a stick, something sharp they can throw. To trump that, the next one in the chain carries a stinger. Lost Bullet’s escalated it to a rifle.”
“Crime statistics indicate that a stinger is now the most popular weapon.”
Luke paused. “It could’ve been a random killing that got Anna, you know. Simple and awful as that. Maybe Lost Bullet thought she was a threat.”
“The victim was not holding a weapon at the time of death.”
“True,” Luke replied. “But everyone seems so edgy here, maybe they don’t wait to see a stinger or cosh.”
Reaching Marylebone Freeway, Luke stopped and asked, “Which way?”
Malc was equipped with a highly detailed map of London. He could guide Luke to any address. “Left for two hundred and eleven metres. Building on the right.”
Anna Suleman and Dr Coppard lived in a giant concrete tower on the freeway. Luke had chosen to make a visit while Dr Coppard was out of the way, on shift at the hospital. The outside of the tower was decorated with graffiti, clematis and ivy in equal measure. After swiping his identity card through the security reader, Luke entered the accommodation block. By London standards, the inside was well kept, and the elevator was working. Apartments on the north side overlooked Regent’s Common and south-facing quarters like Anna’s had a view over the centre of the city.
Up on the eleventh floor, Luke should have been able to see the full extent of London’s urban decay but heavy cloud cover greyed out the distance. Even so, he could see how nature’s green and brown had trespassed on the builders’ red and black. Freeway signs and walkway lamps had been pushed to crazy angles. Most of the nearby corridors were blocked with shrubs and trees. Displaced by roots, paving stones jutted up like rows of uneven teeth. On the opposite side of Marylebone Freeway, birds flew out of the broken windows of a property that was in the grasp of a plant that Luke did not recognize.
The files stored on Anna’s home computer were protected by a password but that did not hinder Luke. The Authorities required most software to be manufactured with security systems that could be bypassed by mobile aids to law and crime, or when a computer was presented with a forensic investigator’s identity card. Luke used his power of access to print a hardcopy of Anna’s diary and then left without showing it to Malc.
On the way to Thomas’s Hospital, two boys with shaven heads came up to him in Haymarket. They were about eleven years old, clearly unarmed and friendly. They were carrying only a bundle of mushy leaflets each. The first said, “You’re not an investigator.”
“Aren’t I? How do you know?” Luke replied with a grin, pleased to discover that not everyone in London was itching for a fight.
“Too young.”
“You might be right. But, if you are, I must be brilliant at making robots.” He nodded towards Malc. “This one’s not bad but he goes berserk now and again.”
“Really?”
“Mmm. Totally and utterly out of control.”
The boys looked at Malc nervously, thrust one of the pamphlets into Luke’s hand, and then ran away.
“Why did you not tell them the truth?” asked Malc.
Luke shrugged. “Fun, I guess.”
Browsing the leaflet that was headed, ‘God is Brown’, Luke groaned. Muttering to himself, he said, “Religious white-hate propaganda.” He would have thrown the pamphlet away in disgust but instead he shoved it in his pocket. He decided to get rid of it in the hotel’s bin rather than litter the freeway with such literature. He wished that he could banish senseless prejudice just as easily.
****
Luke sat down in Alex Foxton’s office with the printout on his lap and said, “Anna’s diary has got some interesting stuff in it. Very juicy.”
“You’ve been digging around.” Alex did not look like a man who had been found out. He was ready to defend his actions. “What are you going to do with it?”
Luke felt uncomfortable. In every complaint that Dr Suleman had made against her manager, Luke would have sided with Alex. It was clear from the examples in Anna’s diary that Foxton cared for people. He insisted that his hospital would treat the homeless, the unlucky and the crooks in exactly the same way that it treated people who could produce a valid identity card.
Luke forced himself to say, “I haven’t allowed Malc to read it yet but that’s what the law tells me to do.”
“Then what happens?”
“Malc. If you scanned this and spotted some illegal practices, like treating a wanted criminal or unlicensed children, can I instruct you to ignore it?”
“No.”
“What would you do with it?”
“My programming would require me to transmit it to The Authorities.”
“And I can’t stop that?”
“No.”
Butting in, Alex said, “Okay, okay. I get the picture. You want something from me in return for not force-feeding your computer with incriminating data.”
“To be blunt about it, yes.”
Alex sighed. “What do you want?”
“The full story about you and Anna Suleman.”
Alex sat back and let out a long weary breath. “All right. But I want you to know, this isn’t my doing. You’re bullying it out of me.”
“Go on,” said Luke.
Chapter Eight
Under pressure from Luke, the hospital manager looked older than his fifty years. “It’s all a bit sad,” he began. “And I really don’t want to make it worse for Anna’s partner or put a stain on her memory but...” He shrugged helplessly. “I guess you were bound to find out anyway. The disagreements I had with Anna were only a symptom of what was really going on.” He gazed at the pager on his desk rather than looking up at Luke. “You see, Anna fell for me some time ago – as soon as we met after I got this job. She... er... she’s been pestering me ever since. I think the law would call it stalking. I put up with it for quite a long time but I thought it’d be best to have it out with her and put an end to it. I told her straight.”
“Told her what?”
“I didn’t share her feelings.”
“Does Dr Coppard know about this?”
“No. He thinks he’s got – I mean, he had – a loving wife. And I have no wish to disillusion him.”
Luke asked, “What happened?”
“It all turned sour after that chat I had with her. I guess she bore me a grudge for... you know... not being interested. That’s when she started picking arguments and collecting her grievances against me.” He nodded towards the diary. “I suppose she was trying to get her own back.”
“Did anyone else know about this?”
“A nurse or someone might have noticed the odd look she gave me but I don’t think so. I’m not in the business of humiliating peop
le in public. I kept it to myself. It was between me and Anna. That’s all.”
There didn’t seem to be any point in checking the story with Dr Coppard. Luke was not going to find any solid evidence to prove whether or not Alex Foxton had told the truth. It was down to Luke’s judgement, and Luke chose to believe him.
****
Luke sat in his hotel room while rain pelted the windows, blurring his view of Green Common. “You can’t say I’m overflowing with suspects or clues,” he said, partly to Malc, partly to himself. “Alex Foxton hasn’t got much of a motive. He didn’t kill her to stop her stalking him because he’d already dealt with that. And I bet he’s tough enough to handle the hassle she was putting his way. On top of that, if he’s half as sincere as he seems, he’s not going to be a murderer. I doubt if Lost Bullet is as dedicated to human health as Alex Foxton.” Luke paused and then added, “Dr Coppard’s a suspect, though. If he had found out that Anna was chasing someone else, trying to be unfaithful, he would’ve been very hurt. Maybe that’s grounds for a crime of passion. I bet he could love her and kill her at the same time. And he’d be shattered by it.”
“Speculation.”
“Exactly. What I need is evidence. My best lead’s probably Owen Goode – the patient with a hole in his hand. He might’ve seen someone in the area with a rifle. But how do I get hold of him? Plug yourself into the London network, Malc. I’m going to need information – and lots of it.”
“Standing by.”
“I want you to run a full search for Owen Goode on every accessible database. Births, schooling, pairings, health, deaths, criminal, anything.”
“Processing.”
While Luke waited, his brain wandered back to the striking case of the mother with the conjoined twins. “I wonder what it’s like to be a twin.” Glancing at Malc, he added, “You’ve got lots of twins – in a way. Every investigator has got one of your twins.”
“Correction. A twin is one of two identical, similar, related or connected units. It is not possible to have lots of twins. The definition requires a pair.”
“Yeah. Okay. But you know what I mean. Right now, linked to the network, you’re like a conjoined twin.”
“It is an unhelpful comparison. My capabilities are increased by the connection. A conjoined twin’s capabilities are reduced.”
When Malc had first been built, he’d been identical to every other mobile constructed to the same specification. But his programming allowed him to learn and adapt to Luke’s way of working. Like a human, his experiences were shaping him, making him unique. Luke certainly regarded Malc as an individual.
“While you’re logged on, check out Sarah Toback as well, will you?”
“My systems are fully occupied. I will process the additional task when I have spare resources.”
After another five minutes, Malc reported. “First search completed. Within the parameters you set, there are three people called Owen Goode.”
“Ah. Give me their jobs, ages and districts where they live.”
“Computer technician, aged thirty-four, Tower Hamlets. Secretary, aged forty-two, Bexley. No job, age fifteen, no address.”
Luke smiled. “Who got himself shot? I’ll give you one guess.”
“I do not guess.”
“Work it out, then. Two of them would’ve turned up at the hospital with their identity cards. If either of them had been shot, Thomas’s Hospital would’ve had much more on file. It’s the boy. What have you got on him?”
“Very little. There is no record of him after his birth. I have located only his name, date of birth, parents’ names, and colour.”
Luke looked puzzled. “Colour?”
“He is described as white.”
“White,” Luke muttered thoughtfully. He went to his coat, fished around in the pocket and dragged out the white-hate leaflet he’d been given in Haymarket. He slapped the sodden paper and said, “I don’t understand this stuff. It’s silly. What difference does colour make? It’s just skin. Jade would still be Jade even if she was green – like her name. And her hair sometimes.”
“Prejudice against whites and albinos is very uncommon, according to statistics.”
Luke was examining the small print on the pamphlet. “According to The World Church of Eternal Vision, whites are an abomination. Their whiteness is an extreme disfigurement handed down by God for an extreme sin committed by the very first white.” He looked up and said, “And there was me thinking it was a harmless genetic difference.” Shaking his head, he put the handout down. “If Lost Bullet shot Owen Goode, it wasn’t a war on whites because he went on to shoot Anna Suleman and she’s brown. Unless the campaign includes doctors who’ve treated whites. Just in case The World Church of Eternal Vision’s got something to do with this, Malc, search for information on it. And check records for crimes against white people. I want to know if there’s any sort of pattern to it.”
“I have now collated information on Sarah Toback.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Again, there is very little. She died a month ago at the age of eighteen. An investigation concluded that it was an accidental death in Euston Plaza following a snake bite. There was no evidence of murder.”
“I thought Thomas’s had an anti-venom unit.”
“To be successful, anti-venom has to be administered within an hour or two. The body was found in a disused building roughly three days after the bite.” Malc’s flat tone did not convey sympathy. It did not convey anything but fact.
“She didn’t happen to be white, did she?”
“No.”
“What happened to the twins?”
“There is no record of them.”
“Is there anything on their father?”
“No.”
“Where did she live?”
“Unknown.”
Luke said, “Her parents should have had another child.”
“Rachel Toback is her younger sister.”
“So, if the twins survived surgery, they could be with their father or Rachel, maybe.”
“Speculation.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Forget it. It’s probably got nothing to do with the case anyway. What else have you got for me?”
“The World Church of Eternal Vision is a small illegal organization with groups in London, Bristol, Manchester and Edinburgh. Its members call themselves Visionaries. Their numbers are uncertain but few. Little is known about them but they believe in a mystical supreme creator called God.”
“A creator who is brown,” Luke added.
“Invariably. Any other colour is deemed wicked.”
“Charming. Where do they hang out?”
Malc hesitated. “I have no record of them hanging out.”
“I mean, where do they meet?”
“They move premises at regular intervals to avoid detection. Each new address is kept secret.”
“Thinking of meetings,” Luke said, “does London’s white community get together? Do they have meetings? If they do, I want to be at the next one. Owen Goode might be there.”
“Searching.”
“Have you got anything on crimes against whites yet?”
“I have extracted data from all London’s mobile aids to law and crime where a victim was stated to be white. There may be other cases where skin colour was not specified. There is no evidence for systematic murder or assault on the basis of skin colour. The last casualty reported to be white-skinned was murdered fourteen months ago. However, there is a pattern of property damage, mainly arson. There may be a campaign to drive whites out of some neighbourhoods in London.”
“Interesting. Store that information, Malc, but it doesn’t get me closer to Owen Goode.”
“There is no accessible data on meetings of the white community.”
“Pity.”
Malc said, “I have received an order for an immediate virtual meeting with the Pairing Committee. Sending video to the telescreen.”
Luke glanced
at his watch and muttered, “Spot on time.” At once, he sat up straight as if he were on trial.
Chapter Nine
The telescreen came to life with a panel of four people. Like the pairing process itself, they were very carefully balanced. Sitting behind a long table, the two women were aged about thirty and sixty and the two men were roughly forty and fifty years of age. The older woman, the chair of the committee, got to her feet. First, she introduced herself as Shetal Darke and then named the others on the panel.
Shetal smiled. “I think I can call you Luke. Yes?”
Luke nodded. “Sure.”
“I should welcome you to London. You’ll find it different from Birmingham. Still, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay and, of course, help us out.”
“Thanks.” Luke waited nervously for the real purpose of this link-up. He waited for bad news.
The image occupied most of one wall of the room so it seemed that the committee’s chamber had been bolted on to his living quarters. Luke felt as if he could reach out and touch the members.
Shetal glanced down at her notes. “I have here the plans made by the Birmingham Pairing Committee before it was overtaken by an unfortunate event in your last case. We have examined the policy in some detail and agree that Georgia Bowie, currently a biologist in Dundee, is an ideal match for you, Luke. We cannot see any good reason for changing these arrangements. Come The Time, you will be paired with Georgia. This committee will now ratify...”
Luke did not have the time to be dismayed by the decision before he was overwhelmed by horror.
First, all four members of the Pairing Committee looked to the right simultaneously. Of course, Luke could not see what had distracted them. All that he could see was their reaction. Shetal’s mouth opened in shock but no words emerged. The younger man threw himself under the table, but the older one froze in terror. The other woman put her hand over her mouth. From behind her palm, she let out a stifled cry. “No! Please. No.”
To Luke – watching from afar yet seeing it close up – everything seemed to happen in slow motion.