by Malcolm Rose
Luke slowed to a walk as she glanced fearfully at him over her shoulder. “You’re trapped,” Luke called. “Don’t do anything silly that’d make things worse for you. I don’t want to tell Malc to go into attack mode and you don’t want to be charged with resisting arrest as well.”
Her hood still obscuring her face, the woman looked at Luke and Malc in turn. Then her shoulders drooped and she sighed. “All right.”
“Who are you?” Luke asked, holding out his identity card. “Take your hood off, please.”
Resigned, she flicked it back, revealing a woman in her mid-twenties. But she didn’t speak.
“Have you got an identity card?”
“What do you think?” she muttered.
Luke stayed about two metres away from her. If she produced a weapon and tried to assault him, Malc would stop her before she did any harm. “Hold up your hands so my mobile can scan your fingerprints.”
She began to lift her arms but, instead of displaying her palms, she darted away.
Still not wanting to upgrade Malc’s status, Luke dived at her and flung his arms around her shins. He brought her down with a perfect rugby tackle. Pressing a knee into her back, pinning her down, he said, “Final warning. Do that again and I’ll put my mobile on to you. Then, when you go down, you won’t get up again in a hurry. Now, I’m going to let you up and I want your hands in the air for a scan.”
When Luke scrambled to his feet, she did as she was told.
Trying to catch her off-guard, Luke asked, “What have you done with Libby Byrne?”
“Who? I haven’t done anything to anyone.”
“Are you carrying a weapon?”
“No.”
Realizing that he was dealing with someone slippery, Luke said, “Malc? Scan for weapons.”
“There is a knife in a holster around the shoulder.”
Luke shook his head. “Throw it down,” he said to her.
Muttering to herself, she yanked it out and dropped it unwillingly onto the floor.
“Kick it away.”
The knife clattered across the bare concrete.
“I’m not in a good mood,” said Luke. “I haven’t even had breakfast yet. So, tell me the truth from now on. What were you doing in the stadium?”
“What do you think?” she repeated.
“I could guess all sorts of things. Some, very serious. You’d better just tell me.”
Malc interrupted. “I have an identity confirmed through facial recognition and fingerprint comparison with criminal files. This is Holly Queenan.”
“Ah,” Luke said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
She sniffed. “Why?”
“Because you used to live here. You got kicked out to make way for the Games.”
“So?”
“You must be angry.”
“It was all right round here. Now...” She shrugged. “Hopeless.”
Luke nodded. “I get it. You’re saying it was easy for a bandit before. Good hunting ground.”
She stared at Luke without saying a word.
“Yes, I know about your record. Two convictions for theft.”
“I was one of a local gang. That’s all. And this was our patch. The others moved away. Scattered. I like it here, so I stayed.”
“Pinching brand new computers from the sports stadium.”
She didn’t deny it.
“What else were you up to?”
“Look. Just arrest me, if that’s what you’re going to do.”
Four guards came to a halt outside the sports stadium. Luke called out to them, “It’s okay. Everything’s under control. But stay around. I’ll want you to take her away to a holding cell in a minute.” He turned back to Holly and said, “Have you done anything else in the control room?”
“Like what?” she snapped.
“You might’ve interfered with it in some way.”
She shook her head. “Not my style.”
Talking to Malc, Luke said, “Do her prints match anything in the swimming pool?”
“No,” Malc answered.
“What’s paraquat?” Luke asked her.
“Don’t ask me.”
Malc intervened. “You cannot order a forensic investigator to leave a question out.”
“No, Malc. She answered. She means she doesn’t know what paraquat is.” He gazed at Holly and continued, “I can already arrest you for trespass. When I go back into the control room, your fingerprints will be all over at least one computer. That’ll be attempted theft as well.”
“What are you waiting for, then?”
Some builders arrived and gathered together in a group, eager to start work inside. One of them shouted, “Did she do it? Is she the killer?” Another called, “What’s she done now? Is it safe?”
Luke gazed at Holly and raised his eyebrows. “Well? Have you sabotaged anything?”
Wary of the group of restless builders, Holly looked distraught rather than defiant. “That wasn’t me! I don’t... No. You can’t get me for that. I just wanted a computer.”
“Mmm.”
It was turning into a circus. Neil Gladwin, the site manager, ran up to the stadium entrance and gasped, “What’s going on? Have you got her?”
Behind Luke, Jade arrived and muttered, “Is it always as exciting as this?”
Trying to defuse the situation, Luke said to Holly, “I have sufficient evidence to charge you with trespass and attempted theft.” Then he signalled for the guards to take her away while he had a quiet conversation with Neil. “You might want to send a team in to check everything’s okay before you open it up for work. Just in case. I found her in the control room. That’s probably the place to start. But I don’t really think she’s your saboteur.”
Neil seemed reluctant to accept Luke’s opinion. He was desperate to blame someone for the sabotage. “If you lock her away and everything settles down – no more incidents – you’ll have to change your mind.”
Luke smiled. “Maybe.”
“By the way, I’ve just received a request to bring some sort of specialized scanner on site. Apparently, you asked for it.”
Malc replied, “I have already given permission. The scanner will be delivered to the indoor sports arena in an estimated thirty minutes.”
Neil frowned. “What on earth are you doing with it?”
“I’m going to scan the front of the building. If it throws anything up,” Luke replied evasively, “I’ll let you know.”
“Well, be careful in and around the arena this morning. There’s an infestation of rats and a controller’s coming in today to get rid of them.”
On the way back to the apartment block, Jade nudged Luke and said, “Go on. Tell me. What’s this secret scanner for?”
Luke screwed up his face. “You don’t want to know.”
“It’s something to do with a body, then.”
Luke nodded.
“It’s probably gruesome.”
“Sure is.”
She shivered. “In that case, you’re right. I don’t want to know.”
Chapter Eleven
When Jade left for a tour of Hounslow with her official guide and bodyguard, Luke walked to the indoor arena. He was troubled by the idea that Libby Byrne could have been knocked unconscious or drugged early on Monday and placed in one of the moulds outside the grand entrance. Unknowingly, a builder could have poured wet concrete over her later in the day. Worst of all, Luke wondered if she might have woken up to witness her own burial. He shuddered and cursed his imagination. It would have been an awful death. Fully conscious, she would have died of asphyxiation before the concrete solidified around her.
Like Malc, the scanner could sustain its own weight by hovering. It was slightly smaller than a mobile aid to law and crime but, while Malc had multiple functions, the device was dedicated to the task of scanning dense solids. Like an X-ray machine probing through skin and tissue to picture the underlying bone, the scanner could search for anything in the interior that was
unlike the rest.
“All right,” Luke said with a sigh. “Let’s get it over with. Program it to check the entire height of the first pillar. I’m looking for a discontinuity inside. Something about the size and shape of a human being.”
The unit spiralled very slowly up the pillar, downloading the data directly into Malc.
Luke wasn’t the only person standing there, studying the scanner’s progress. A man carrying a large holdall stopped on the steps and, shielding his eyes from the sun, watched what was going on. Plainly curious, he approached Luke and asked, “What’s that? What’s happening?”
“Who are you?”
The man held out his identity card. “Ian Pritchard. Vet. Sadly, not curing anything today. They want me to exterminate their rats.”
Luke nodded. “Yes, the site manager told me.” He waved a hand towards the scanner and said, “I’m just looking for faults in the structure.”
“Faults?” Ian seemed alarmed. “Is it safe for me to go in? You can’t be too careful, can you? Not with... everything going on round here.”
Luke smiled. “No. It’s fine. Not that sort of fault.”
“Good. Thanks.” As he made for the door, Ian glanced once more at the scanner as it lowered itself to the ground.
Malc announced, “No irregularities detected.”
“Try the next one. And keep going if it doesn’t spot anything. All four pillars and then the plinth.”
Really, Luke should have set it to work on the pedestal first. It was broader than the pillars and it seemed more likely to provide a permanent hiding place for a body. Being less well made, there was even a chance that an amateur – like Spoilsport – had poured the concrete in. But Luke was dreading a positive result. He was putting it off as long as possible by asking for scans of the ornate pillars first.
He couldn’t avoid it indefinitely, though. When the machine drew a blank with all four pillars, it moved to the plinth and Luke held his breath.
Because the base was squat, the examination did not take long. Within a couple of minutes, Malc announced, “There are two pockets within the structure. One measures twenty-three cubic centimetres and the other is fifty-seven cubic centimetres. They are probably composed of air and they are far too small to conceal significant parts of a human being.”
“Nothing else?”
“Confirmed.”
Luke felt relieved. His worst fear had come to nothing. But he felt thwarted as well because a good theory had also come to nothing. “Okay. At least I know where Libby isn’t. You can get an agent to take the scanner away. I’ve finished with it.” For a moment, he stood outside the arena and thought about his next move. Then he said to Malc, “Come on. I’m going inside. I want a quick word with that vet.”
“It is not possible to conduct an interview using a single word, irrespective of the speed of delivery.”
“Right. By the time I’ve found him,” Luke said, going up the steps two at a time, “I’ll have thought of some whole sentences with a bit of luck.”
Luke discovered Ian Pritchard crouching in the corner of a pool room with his arm poking down a hole between the floorboards and the wall. He was making a tut-tutting noise with his tongue.
“How’s it going?” Luke asked.
Ian yanked his arm out and dusted himself down while shaking his head. “I’ve put a bowl of poison down there and it’ll kill a few, but...” He sighed. “While the place is still in this state – convenient little holes everywhere and the builders leaving half-eaten sandwiches around – there’s no hope. It’s a rat magnet. I’ll take care of one lot and then the next’ll move in.” He held up a clear plastic bag containing two dead, mangy rats. “You know what got these, don’t you? They love electric cables. They like chewing the plastic insulation. These two sunk their teeth in too deep, contacted the live wire, and electrocuted themselves.”
Luke was unable to muster much sympathy for the disease-ridden pests. “Saves you the effort,” he replied.
“I suppose so.” He tied the bag and dropped it into his holdall. “Not the nicest of this earth’s creatures, are they?”
Really, Luke wanted to talk to him about William Underwood and he spotted the opportunity. “Not many keep them as pets. I know an old Hounslow man who used to have his own reptile house. He kept an interesting selection of snakes and lizards. Even gave them names.” He let out a little laugh. “Do you know him?”
Ian shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“He was called William and he asked for a vet to help him with them when the builders moved in.”
“Hang on a minute,” Ian said, getting to his feet. “Was this out near the runway?”
“A couple of years ago. Yes.”
He began to nod slowly. “A long time. I’d forgotten. I suppose I’ve done a lot since then. Anyway, yes. That was me. He called me out but, by the time I got there, the place was being flattened. Terrible. He was distraught, as I remember. Like he’d lost his partner. Poor old chap.”
“Poor old reptiles as well.”
“Yes. A few would have survived, I guess. The bulldozer would have done for most of them. The weather would’ve killed quite a few survivors. The rest might’ve adapted.”
“How was William Underwood, apart from distraught?”
“How do you mean?”
Luke shrugged. “Was he fit and well, ill, angry maybe?”
“Angry, yes. Very. Threatening all sorts, he was. I don’t remember him being ill, but he wasn’t exactly a youngster. It was his partner who was poorly, wasn’t it?”
“Elsie.”
Ian shook his head. “I can’t remember names. And certainly not the names of his reptiles.”
Luke’s spine was tingling. “When you say he was threatening all sorts, what do you mean? What sort of thing?”
The vet let out a long breath. “I’m not sure. He was ranting and raving. He definitely talked about flattening the site manager to see how he liked it. Or was it a she? Anyway, he was all for getting his own back by pulling their buildings down on them.” He stopped and smiled wryly. “We all say things like that when we’re upset, don’t we? That’s what a shock does to us, isn’t it? He didn’t really mean it. At least, I don’t think he did.”
“Thanks,” Luke replied. “That’s helpful.”
As soon as he was outside, Luke said to his mobile, “Urgent task, Malc. I want to know if anyone was due to take the plane that crashed but didn’t turn up for it. In other words, search for an original passenger list, not the actual list of people who flew.”
“Task logged.”
“And I think it’s time I talked to Trevor Twigg, the historian. With a bit of luck, he’ll be at home on a Saturday. Plot me a route.”
“Complying.”
****
The rickety pier stretched out over the dull grey English Channel. There had been two huts half way along the weather-beaten jetty but, a month ago, a tsunami had demolished them in seconds. Now, the pier was reduced to a long line of wooden slats – and some of those were missing. The far end had collapsed into the sea. Only the most daring anglers still picked their way along the sea-scarred structure to a good fishing point.
Luke stood at the entry to Brighton pier, on the last bit of firm ground, and watched two distant fishermen holding their rods against the warped rail. “Well, according to his partner, Trevor’s one of them,” Luke said. “And it’s too cold to wait.” He looked down at the pier, groaned and stepped onto the first plank. “If it’s safe enough for them, it’s safe enough for me.”
“Illogical,” Malc replied. “A forensic investigator is more valuable.”
Luke laughed as he set out along the jetty. “Just scan ahead and tell me if you detect any weak points.”
Through the gaps between slats, Luke glimpsed waves churning up sand below him. A bitter wind was turning the restless sea into spray. It felt like rain but the water on his face tasted salty. Treading carefully, making sure he ste
pped over the missing boards, he reached the first fisherman and asked, “Are you Trevor Twigg?”
The man nodded. “I’m still allowed to fish here, aren’t I?”
Luke held out his identity card in a gloved hand. “No idea. I think it should be banned myself. Far too cold. Maybe in summer.”
“What are you here for, then?” Trevor asked.
“I want to talk to you about Hounslow.”
“Ah. Hounslow.” An expression of sadness and resentment flashed across his face, reddened by the cold wind.
“You made yourself a nuisance,” said Luke.
“Nonsense. I wasn’t the nuisance. That was the developers. I just resisted a silly initiative.”
“Why silly?”
“More destructive than silly.” Trevor shuffled the fishing rod in his hands. “You might think I’m mad, but I liked the old Hounslow. And I like it here in Brighton. People should appreciate the imperfect. Far more interesting than the spotless. You see, places in the south have a feeling of being lived in, a real sense of history. They’ve seen so much. Restoring and preserving Hounslow would’ve been better than sweeping it away. Such a pity. It needed tender loving care, not demolishing and starting again.”
“Have you been back?”
“Now and again. I can’t resist taking a look at what they’re doing. Crazy.”
Luke glanced down at a spare rod and tackle, a plastic tub of squirming lugworms, and two cod lying on aluminium foil near his feet.
“Dinner tonight and breakfast in the morning,” he said. “Fish doesn’t get fresher than that.”
“Do you know Libby Byrne?”
“Site manager. Vandal-in-chief.” He kept his gaze on the sea. When he wound in his line a little, his hand was shaking. He was either nervous or cold.
“Do you know what’s happened to her?”
“No.”
Luke thought it was odd that Trevor didn’t ask what had prompted the question. Maybe he knew, but wouldn’t admit it. “What’s paraquat?”
Trevor glanced at him with a frown that transformed into a smile. “Is this a chemistry lesson all of a sudden? It’s a weed killer.”
“What exactly was your problem with the regeneration?”