Final Lap

by Malcolm Rose

  “Explain your reasoning.”

  “Simple. I’m not convinced it’s a good idea to upset her. If she’s Spoilsport, she’d step up her campaign, and no one wants that. It’d be best to leave it till I’ve got Spoilsport.”

  “Transmitting that advice to The Sporting Authorities.”

  “Just because her kit socks are white, it doesn’t mean her people don’t have other colours. Saskia’s got a sky-blue scarf, so why not sky-blue socks?”

  “Your reasoning is valid.”

  “It’d take me ages to get fibres from every suspect’s socks. There’s Saskia Frame, Yvonne Chaplow, Royston Klein and Libby Byrne, Frank Russell, Holly Queenan, Brooke Adams and Venetia Murray. That’s a lot of socks. So, I want agents to do it – like you arranged for Trevor Twigg. They need to look for evidence of that anti-fungal powder as well.”

  “It may not be necessary to sample Venetia Murray’s socks,” Malc replied.

  “Oh?”

  “When I searched this subject’s medical notes for athlete’s foot, I discovered that she suffers from vertigo.”

  Luke hesitated and then smiled. “I see what you’re getting at. She’s not going to go up on scaffolding to undo bolts.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Okay. Take her off the list.”

  “Transmitting request for remaining suspects.”

  ****

  Malc primed his laser and insisted on entering the Hounslow Residential apartment first, but there was no sign of another threat to Luke’s life. Luke stripped off his coat and then went to the mirror. The colour of his various bruises had lightened to a green-yellow colour, hardly visible on his brown skin. The decomposition of haemoglobin had progressed to the stage of bile pigments and soon his blood would carry them away. He smiled. It was impossible to set a timescale for the fading of bruises. They disappeared far quicker in young people and healthy adults than in the elderly. Sometimes, the colour of old people’s bruises lingered for months. That was one reason why, as an FI, Luke could never use the colour of bruises to work out when a victim had been beaten.

  The gashes in his cheek and neck did not look so angry and swollen now. Both seemed to be sewn nicely like a professional repair of a torn pocket. The small scabs on the rest of his face, hands and arms were beginning to peel away. He still looked a little like a pincushion, but he was no longer racked with aches and pains. He was simply more drained than normal.

  “Connection to Jade,” he said to Malc as he slumped into a chair opposite the telescreen. He hoped that Jade would chase away his tiredness.

  It was plain that returning to the north suited her. She looked bubbly and she’d had her hair dyed the patchy colour of rust. She looked so different that, if Luke hadn’t known better, he could have imagined that she was the sister of the girl who’d said goodbye to him last night.

  Beaming out from the telescreen, she said, “Hi. Listen to this. It’s just the opening bars of the anthem.” Her hand stroked the strings of the electric guitar in her lap and a loud solitary refrain rocked Luke. Somehow, it was towering and plaintive at the same time. “That’s all I’ve got so far. Solo guitar with a touch of feedback to add guts. I’ll mix in other instruments once that’s got everyone’s attention. It’ll build slowly over minutes. From a solitary cry to complete clamour. That’s what I’m aiming for. It’s supposed to suggest one athlete joining other competitors, or an athlete coming together into a national team, or even the stadium filling. Not very subtle, but it’ll be startling.”

  “Breath-taking,” Luke said.

  She continued to nurse the guitar but peered at Luke. “How’s tricks? Are you okay?”

  “Fine. No one else has tried to flatten me. Or Malc.”

  “Yeah, well. Make sure they don’t get another chance.”

  “I just wanted to see you’d got back okay...”

  “Out of Spoilsport’s reach, eh?”

  Luke nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve got a gig tonight. In a Barnsley nightclub.”

  “Enjoy it.”

  Jade smiled at him. It was a wistful wish-you-were-here smile. “You take care.”

  The screen faded to grey and Luke closed his eyes. At least he didn’t have to worry about Jade’s safety any more.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was late on Tuesday evening when Malc received the first results from The Authorities’ agents and the forensic laboratory. “Trevor Twigg has one pair of sky-blue woollen socks that match the fibres found in the site manager’s work shoes,” he told Luke. “However, the material is common so the match may be coincidental. There were no traces of zinc oxide and chlorphenesin adhering to any of this suspect’s socks.”

  Fully dressed, Luke was resting on the bed with his fingers interlocked behind his head. “Pity.”

  “The findings do not prove his innocence or his guilt.”

  “True. Have you got any other feedback yet?”

  “Yes. Neither Frank Russell nor Holly Queenan has socks that match the found fibres and none had residues of the anti-fungal dust. A chiropodist has examined Brooke Adams. Blistering and irritation are common to athlete’s foot and pesticide poisoning, making diagnosis unsound.”

  Fighting against the weight of his eyelids, Luke replied, “Haven’t you got anything positive to tell me?” Not even the conversation with Jade had managed to revive him. He fell into a deep sleep before he absorbed Malc’s negative answer.

  ****

  There was little warmth in the sunlight that shone over the Aquatic Centre and into the middle of Hounslow on Wednesday. But it was very bright. Luke screwed up his eyes as he walked towards the clinic where Brooke Adams was still a patient. At first, he didn’t see the figure standing by a great big hole in the ground because the man’s motionless frame was lost in the glare.

  Malc began to alert Luke to his presence at the same moment that the man turned to scurry away. The movement caught Luke’s attention. “Stop!” Luke yelled, shading his eyes with a hand on his brow. “Forensic Investigator!”

  There was no need. In an attempt to get away from Luke, the intruder ran straight into the arms of two burly builders. He muttered an apology and then turned to face Luke.

  “You’re a long way from home,” Luke said to Trevor Twigg. “What brings you here at this time of the morning?”

  “I came to see the latest foul-up.” Trevor pointed along the trench that had been dug yesterday from the airstrip to the heart of the development. “It’s a scar. And this...” He ran out of words when he pointed to the hollow that a digger had gouged for the foundations of the auto-carrier station.

  “What’s wrong?” Luke asked.

  “Don’t you see?” he snapped. “This is pure vandalism of the past. There was a lot of archaeological evidence here.”

  “Now they’ve dug it out, can’t you study what you want?”

  The cavern was crisscrossed with steel rods that would strengthen the concrete when it was poured in.

  Trevor was so angry, he was virtually shouting. “What? You investigators drop history far too early at school. This is an excavation in the same way that a bomb’s a way of stripping wallpaper from a house. It destroys more than it reveals. Proper digs are slow and painstaking.”

  Luke glanced down at Trevor’s shoes. They were lighter than the reinforced footwear of a construction worker. “You were going to run away from me. Why?”

  “No reason. I just didn’t think I’d be welcome.”

  “I’ve got physical evidence linking you to a violent protest.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I’m not going to arrest you,” Luke said. “Not yet.”

  Trevor’s laugh was malicious. “I thought you’d have trouble landing that skate. Sounds like you’re getting desperate.”

  ****

  The roof and guttering of Hounslow Medical Centre were nearing completion but the final touches seemed to generate more noise than ever. Brooke Adams was sitting in a chair next
to her bed and watching the screen of a computer terminal that had been wheeled into the gangway. The colour and texture of her face must have improved because the normal skin around each eye did not stand out so much. Yet she still appeared rough and wrinkled, red and blue. Her tongue was plainly sore but it was much less bloated. Her speech was unmistakably clearer.

  “You look quite a bit better,” said Luke.

  She nodded and smiled. “I feel it.” She hesitated before adding, “But you look like you’ve been through it as well.”

  Luke shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  Brooke took a last glance at the sport on the monitor – some swimmers on the final length – and then turned it off with a sigh. “I’m not sure I’ll be back in a pool any time soon. Even if I could...”

  “What?” Luke asked.

  “It’s all in the mind,” Brooke said. “I’m not sure I’d have the confidence... you know. I’d be worrying about the water more than swimming. A psychiatrist is trying to straighten me out but...”

  “At least you want to get back into it. Good for you.”

  “If I do, it’ll be too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Brooke answered, “The youth games, of course.”

  “What event would you have done?”

  “One hundred and two hundred metres breaststroke.”

  Luke nodded sympathetically. “What were your chances? There aren’t many surprises in swimming. It normally works out according to personal bests, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d be up for a medal in the one hundred metres. Maybe just miss out in the two.”

  Somewhere outside, there was a bout of hammering.

  “Is Yvonne Chaplow your coach, by any chance?”

  “I know she’s trying to recruit some swimmers – promising to improve PBs – but, no, she’s not mine.”

  “What sort of swimmer are you? Do you look forward to races for the opportunity to win or do you dread them in case you let yourself down? Is it the joy of winning or the dread of losing that fires you up?”

  Brooke stared at him for a moment. “You’re into sport, aren’t you? You know how awful it feels to lose.”

  “Yes. I’d do anything to avoid losing,” he lied. “What about you?”

  “I know what you mean. But don’t get me wrong. I love competing. It’s just that... It’s tough if your form’s off or you know you’re not going to win.”

  Luke had learned what he’d come to find out. If Brooke believed that she was not going to do well in the Games, she might prefer the swimming to be cancelled rather than put on a poor performance. She might welcome the excuse of injury. “Hey,” he said, looking at his watch, “I’d better leave you in peace or your doctor will tell me off. Look after yourself.”

  “Have you caught him yet?”

  “The one who poisoned the water? No. But I’m closing in on him – or her.”

  ****

  In the pit that would soon become the foundation of the auto-carrier station, the interlocking metal rods looked like a bizarre climbing frame. Instead of assembling the playground apparatus from the ground upwards, the builders had sunk it into the earth. The oblique sunlight could not penetrate every corner of the deep hole. Luke thought that he heard a whimper from the gloom. If there was something small but alive down there, he hoped it could get out before the cavity was filled with wet concrete. Otherwise, it would suffer a truly horrible death.

  “What’s down there, Malc?” he asked.

  Malc did not need floodlighting to probe the cavity. “It is a network of steel...”

  “I mean, is there anything alive?”

  Malc hesitated while he completed his scan. “A fox and a Nile monitor lizard. The fox has injuries consistent with falling through the steelwork and the lizard appears to be sickly.”

  “Call in the vet,” Luke said. “Maybe he can do something. I’d hate to think of them getting covered in concrete.”

  “The lizard would not suffer in the way that a human would...”

  “Just send a message to Ian Pritchard. There’s an old man who’d be delighted to see a Nile monitor lizard if it can be saved.”

  “Transmitting. I have also received several significant reports on the other suspects.”

  Luke turned away from the pit and stood to one side while a construction vehicle trundled past. “Let’s hear them. And I hope there’s something positive this time.”

  Malc replied, “It is all negative. No matching fibres or anti-fungal treatments have been discovered on the socks of Yvonne Chaplow, Saskia Frame, Royston Klein, Libby Byrne and Brooke Adams. Chiropodists failed to diagnose athlete’s foot on Yvonne Chaplow, Saskia Frame, Royston Klein, Trevor Twigg, Frank Russell or Holly Queenan.”

  For a moment, Luke was stunned. “What you’re saying is, I’ve just lost all my major suspects.”

  “Incorrect. They remain suspects but you have failed to find evidence against them at this point.” Unlike Luke, Malc was not agitated by the setback. “I have been sent another result, but it is not valid for case notes because it cannot be linked to a suspect or victim.”

  “What is it?”

  “An extensive analysis of the soil samples taken from the cab terminus has been completed. No drugs were detected in the soil under the syringe barrel or in the water used to clean it. However, there were small clumps of clay inside the barrel. Clay has the property of binding many organic compounds. When these substances were freed from the clay, mass spectrometry revealed two drugs: tiletamine and zolazepam.”

  Feeling upbeat again, Luke said, “I’ve never heard of them. What are they?”

  “Tiletamine is an anaesthetic and zolazepam is a tranquilliser. Together they are called Telazol, which is used to immobilize large animals. At its usual concentration, ten millilitres of Telazol is sufficient to tranquillise a polar bear.”

  Luke frowned for a moment and then grinned. “It’s cold, but not that cold. I haven’t seen any polar bears.”

  “I refer to polar bears as an example of large animals,” Malc replied without a hint of impatience. “Telazol has also been used to immobilize seals, rhinoceroses, horses and hippopotamuses while veterinary operations are performed or tagging devices attached.”

  Luke thought about it for a few seconds. “Would people use this drug?”

  “No. It is not licensed for use on humans. It is considered too powerful. It is restricted to veterinary applications.”

  “All right. I need to see my darts-playing mate. Has Ian Pritchard got that request to come here?”

  “His computer has registered the callout, but the veterinary surgeon is currently carrying out an operation at his clinic.”

  Luke fingered the lumpy scar on his cheek. “Take me there.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The animal clinic was housed in a modest property but at least it was in reasonable condition. Behind it, there was flat open countryside. Nothing like the spectacular scenery of the north. Some trees formed a screen for a small crematorium and the garden was a fitting and peaceful destination for the ashes of pets that had come to the end of their lives. By the time that Luke entered the surgery, Ian had finished treating one of his patients and was seated at his computer terminal. When Luke opened the door, Ian quit the program and turned towards his visitor. “Ah. I was just reading your message,” he said. “A wounded fox and an uncared-for lizard, is it?”

  Luke nodded. “Do you know where the moving walkway’s going to end?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to climb down to them, I guess.”

  Ian smiled. “It won’t be the first time I’ve had to clamber around. Up trees, down holes, under cabs, in sewers. And you’ve seen me with an arm under floorboards.” He shrugged. “I’ve done it all.”

  “Do you use Telazol?”

  “Not on a fox, no.”

  “I mean, generally.”

  “Of course. It’s my standard for immobilizing hefty animals if
I have to. Why?”

  “I found some. By Hounslow cab terminus. It must be yours.”

  Ian hesitated for a moment and then nodded knowingly. “I wondered where it’d gone. I was on my way to Battersea Green Animal Sanctuary. They’d got a sick hippo. I lost a vial of Telazol en route.”

  “So, you couldn’t do the operation.”

  Ian shook his head. “I’ve learnt from long experience to carry a spare of everything in case of hiccups.”

  Luke glanced at Malc, expecting him to object that a case of hiccups – even in a hippopotamus – would not require a surgical procedure, but he said nothing. Luke had forgotten that he’d added a new definition of hiccup to Malc’s dictionary. His mobile now accepted that it could mean a mishap.

  “It’s not just me losing things,” Ian continued. “Sometimes an animal doesn’t react according to the instruction manual. I might’ve needed two tranquilliser darts to bring her down. Then again, I could’ve missed with one dart. As it happened, everything was okay with the one dose I had left. Hippo back in business. Thick-skinned but lovely creatures.”

  For a moment, Luke felt glum again. Another clue that he thought was significant seemed to have a perfectly innocent explanation. But he hadn’t quite run out of ideas yet.

  “Well,” Ian said, getting up, “I’d better go and rescue your fox and Nile monitor. Or put them down if they’re too far gone. I hope not.”

  “I don’t suppose you get asked to take care of lizards much.”

  “Plenty of people keep snakes but fewer lizards. But I’m something of a specialist in reptiles and amphibians. If there’s a sick one, I’m normally the vet they ask to kiss it better.”

  Luke grimaced. “If this one’s okay, you’d make William Underwood a happy man. He might even know its name. He lives in Ealing now, but his nurse – Venetia Murray – would come and collect it from you. If it’s his.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Ian grabbed his coat. “I’d better tell the site manager what I’m up to. I don’t want to be down there when they start to lay the foundations, do I? That wouldn’t be much fun.”