‘In… your arm?’
Fox raised her right hand, wriggling her fingers. ‘Yeah. It’s cybernetic from just below the elbow.’
Andrea’s eyes widened and, for once, Fox saw what looked like genuine concern in her mother’s eyes. ‘When did that happen? The Army?’
‘No, February this year. My arm was crushed by a man with a grudge. MarTech arranged for it to be replaced since I was rescuing Terri Martins at the time. Good as new, maybe a little better and…’ She paused as Andrea moved forward, tentatively taking Fox’s hand in hers, fingers stroking over the artificial flesh. ‘And it’s really hard to tell the difference.’
‘When you went away,’ Andrea said, her voice slow and quiet, ‘I was so angry. And, yes, it was about going against what we believed, but it was worry too. I was worried about this, or a body bag. I didn’t want to see a man in a dress uniform standing on my doorstep one day. When we heard you’d gone into that bunker in Dallas… And then the relief when you got out of it. Now this…’
‘It’s okay. I’m okay. And I’m doing good things, things that matter. My work saved a girl from being raped and murdered, Mom. That was just last month.’
‘I just get worried, that’s all.’
‘Mom, you could be killed walking to the shops. Dad’s out there farming. Have you any idea what the statistics are on agricultural accidents?’
‘I’m all too aware,’ Andrea replied, her tone indicating that that particular argument had been done to death.
‘You don’t want to go there, Fox,’ Jonathan said as he emerged from the garage. ‘I plugged your box in. She’s got a sweet voice, and it’s kind of sweet you two holding hands.’
‘Her arm’s artificial, Jonathan.’
‘Not all of it,’ Fox said. ‘Look, let’s go in and get a drink. Something cold would be good. I’ll tell you the whole story. We have to catch up sometime, I guess, and I need a break before I go visit the Batesons.’
‘Lemonade then,’ Andrea said, turning without letting go of Fox’s hand.
~~~
The Batesons lived in a house about a kilometre to the north, near Big Shunga Park which was where they held the weekly market. A ranch-style house, wood frame with a yard out back. Fox had never been there, but she had met the Batesons once or twice. Dredging her memory, she had come up with vague images of them: a tall, rather stern man and a smaller, timid woman. There were the images, and an odd sense of unease.
She took one of the family Q-bugs up to the house. It was a quad-bike with a fairly powerful electric motor. She took it easy driving the thing because she had not ridden one in years. The on-board computer was just about good enough to handle the navigation task and Kit was exceptionally sarcastic about it.
‘Get me the local dealership, would you, Kit?’ Fox said as she pulled the Q-bug up and cut the engine. ‘I think one of these would go well on Pythia’s vertol, as ground transport. We can get something with a bigger processor.’
‘I think that would be wise, Fox,’ Kit replied, ‘and you can put it on company expenses.’
‘I thought that too. Now, let’s talk to the Batesons. Keep an eye out. There’s something about them… I don’t know. It’s a feeling that comes with the memories of them.’
‘Those are purely organic memories. I don’t have access to them unless you bring them out through your visual cortex.’
‘I know. I want impressions of what they’re like now. We’ll cross-reference later.’
The door opened before Fox got to it and she was presented with the timid woman she remembered: Crystal Anne Bateson, age 37. She looked older. She was a pretty woman, long blonde hair, and a figure which suggested bodysculpting or a lot of personal effort; there were no obvious signs of shaping about her that Fox’s image-enhancement software could pick up, so the lush curves were likely natural. There was, however, something for the imaging software to pick up: a darkening along her high, right cheekbone that was supposed to be covered by the blending foundation she had coated over a face which did not need cosmetics to look beautiful. But then people got bruises and they wore too much make-up. But the blue eyes were clouded, too old for the face.
‘Mrs Bateson, I’m Tara Meridian. I think my parents said I would be coming.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. You’re going to find Sandy.’ Her voice was melodious, probably very nice when it was not flat, a drone of unemotional weariness. Fox decided that the heavy shadowing around the eyes was designed to hide the fact that Crystal Bateson had been crying. Not unreasonable. ‘My husband isn’t here yet. He’s on his way back.’ She looked reluctant to let Fox in without her husband being there.
‘Perhaps I could look around the outside of the house first. I’ll take a walk over to the market site and come back shortly.’
Relief, a slight smile. ‘Yes, of course.’
Fox heard the door close quickly behind her, ignored that and walked around the side to a gate which let her out onto a patio which ran along the back of the house. A sun lounger was set up there and there were planters filled with brightly coloured flowers. Along the wall of the house, broken by accesses to a door and a patio door, there were fairly narrow borders cut into the paving. Climbing roses went up from there.
Fox looked over the yard, and noted the towel which had been left on the lounger and the fussy, pristine planting. This was Crystal’s zone. She had been out in the sun this morning while her husband was out at work. Now she was back in the house, dressed in a smart, white blouse and a respectable-but-sexy, mid-thigh, pleated skirt, and wearing high-heels.
Scanning the windows suggested that Sandy had the room at the far end, just from the curtains Fox could see in the window: candy-pink did not suit the adults of the house. She walked over, scanning the frame. Since the drapes were closed, she could not see in, but her software brought her attention quickly to a partial bootprint in the soil of the bed under the window. Someone had stood here, perhaps looking in, and not that long ago, but then it could have been a cop doing what she was doing. ‘Kit, contact the local regional office and request an interview with the detective assigned to the case.’
‘Detective Rogers. I’ll send the request immediately, and task Pythia to scan the print, assuming we get permission from the Batesons.’
Fox smiled and headed back around the house and crossed the road. The park, and so the market site, was all of a hundred metres away, accessed via a short road with houses not unlike the one the Batesons lived in. There was a fair bit of similarity about the area: Fox figured this was the suburbia she had seen a few times, but never really been near. Behind the windows of identical boxes, the richer agricultural workers would be living identical lives. Or, at this time of day on a Monday, their wives would be. She could not recall the statistics and did not feel like asking Kit for them, but she was fairly sure the wives who worked in Topeka worked from home while the men went out to the fields. Not that farming was anywhere near as physically intensive now, and not that women could not handle it anyway, but some old habits died hard.
All that could be seen of the market itself now was a few areas of concrete which had been put in to support heavy machinery, Fox figured, and some rows of cut paving stone which had been set into the grass. The rows marked the lines of stalls and there were quite a few. The market had been going for a long time, at least twenty years. Fox remembered it as a small affair, but this seemed as though it had grown and become more regulated. There were camera pods mounted on posts at the ends of each row of paving stones. Those had not been there when Fox had last been to the market.
‘The cameras must put a crimp in some people’s style,’ Fox commented. ‘Local kids used to consider it a game to try to lift a few apples or whatever. The older ones thought this was a great place for meeting members of the opposite sex, especially in summer when the ground was guaranteed dry and the bushes were at their thickest.’
‘Local news media suggests that the cameras were put in six years ago,’ Kit supplied. ‘There
were complaints about a rise in more professional thievery. These were linked to dustbowl dwellers who started coming here more frequently.’
‘Gangs?’
‘This appears to be more like survivalists. Who may belong to a gang, of course. There are no reports of violence associated with the rise in numbers. They appear to be here to trade. In the last three years, some of them have actually begun selling at the market, on official stalls.’
‘Okay. See if we can get the camera data for last market day. Pythia can run through it and see if she can see Sandy. Maybe we can get some indication of her state of mind, and spot friends she may have talked to and anyone trailing her.’
‘Might we return on Wednesday? I believe there is another market on then.’
‘Every week now. It was once a month when it started. We’ll come down and see what’s happening, but I’d like to have an idea of what we’d be looking for by then.’
‘Of course. Detective Rogers has accepted the request and suggests zero nine thirty tomorrow at the precinct.’
Fox nodded, turned, and started back toward the Batesons’ house. ‘Unless it’s changed, it’s not exactly a precinct. Let’s go see if Mister Bateson has come back.’
From the looks of it, he had. There was now a large, 4x4 truck parked up in front of the house. The flat bed at the back was empty and very clean, and the vehicle seemed like overkill, but having a big car for no reason was only a crime against common sense.
The door opened ahead of her again, but this time Crystal stepped back almost immediately to be replaced by Malcolm. The man was big, tall, and powerfully built, with a moderately handsome face, though it had looked better in Fox’s memory. It looked like he had had his nose broken since Fox had last seen him, and he was the kind of man who would have taped it over and not worried about it. He had the kind of solid, lantern jaw that masculine men were supposed to have, short dirty blonde hair, and cold, blue eyes which scanned over Fox as she approached.
‘You’re Jonathan Meridian’s daughter?’ Malcolm asked before she could speak.
‘That’s right. They asked me to come over and see if I could locate your daughter.’
‘You’d better come in.’ He turned, vanishing into the hallway beyond and leaving his wife to lead Fox through to the lounge, on the right, in his wake. ‘Napper detective says she’s probably run away,’ Malcolm went on without even waiting for Fox to properly enter the room. He had positioned himself in front of what was presumably a large, mock fireplace: mock because no one burned wood for heat in the home, not even in Topeka. He stood there with his arms behind his straight back. ‘He’s hunting in Chicago and Detroit. Wouldn’t believe me when I said she’d been taken.’
‘Why do you think she has, sir?’ Fox asked. No one had asked her to sit and he was still standing, so Fox remained on her feet. And noticed the slash of Malcolm’s eyes. Anger? If so, why?
‘She went missing last Wednesday, market day. They’ve been coming here for the market for the last couple of years. I’ve seen them, watching girls. I’ve seen them watching Sandy.’
‘She went missing from the market?’ He looked at her for a second. ‘I’ve not seen any of the police reports. I’m fresh eyes on the case.’
‘She was taken out of her room, Wednesday night, Thursday morning. She was in bed at eleven. I checked in on her. In the morning, she was gone.’
‘Did Detective Rogers check her room?’
‘He looked it over. Said there was no sign of a break-in or a struggle.’
Fox nodded. ‘I’d like permission to run a full forensic sweep of the room. Maybe there’s something there to suggest how and when she went. Something that’s not obvious which would confirm your opinion. It’ll take a few hours. I can come back and set it up first thing tomorrow, if you’re agreeable.’
‘You’ll find evidence of who took her?’
‘If there’s any there, I’ll find it. My parents asked me down here because I have access to the best technology in the world for analysing crime scenes, Mister Bateson.’
‘All right. I’ll be gone at eight. Crystal can let you in after that.’
Fox nodded. Was he not fond of women, cops, or having his time disturbed? ‘Did Sandy have any friends?’
‘Of course she had friends.’
‘It would be useful to talk to some of them. Any of them particularly good friends? A boyfriend, perhaps?’
He scowled. ‘She didn’t have a boyfriend. Crystal, what was the name of that girl? The one that comes round here sometimes?’
‘Um, Trudy. Trudy Shane. She lives five doors up the street.’ Fox glanced around to see that Crystal was also still on her feet, standing there in silence until spoken to. The woman’s hands were clasped in front of her hips, fingers twisting together nervously. ‘Sandy doesn’t have a lot of friends,’ Crystal added. ‘Trudy was probably the best.’
‘She’s quiet, a good girl,’ Malcolm stated, drawing Fox’s attention back to him. ‘My Sandy’s a good girl.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ Fox replied. ‘How about a diary? A lot of kids keep a diary on a wearable or implant–’
‘Sandy’s a good girl. She doesn’t have a personal computer of any kind. I don’t believe in implants and the internet’s just full of… inappropriate behaviour.’
Fox smiled. ‘Yes, of course. All right, Detective Rogers is chasing the runaway angle. Let me be clear that I’ll be checking any other possibilities. There’s no sense in duplicating effort, but… Can you think of any reason why Sandy might have wanted to leave? Anything. Maybe she was being bullied, or had some other problem.’
‘No,’ Malcolm said, and there was the flash in his eyes which, this time, Fox was sure was anger. ‘If she was being bullied by anyone, I’d have known and dealt with it. She was home-schooled. Didn’t want to go to college. She was happy here, with us.’
‘Good, then we can concentrate on finding out where she was taken. I’ll come back tomorrow with my equipment.’ Fox turned as Malcolm nodded and found Crystal already leading the way out.
‘Do you really think you can find her, Miss Meridian?’ Crystal asked as she showed Fox out through the door. Her voice was low, almost inaudible, as though she did not want her husband hearing, but it could have been worry for her daughter…
‘I’m very good at what I do, Mrs Bateson. If she can be found, I’ll find her.’
‘She’s my only child. I can’t have more. She…’ Crystal trailed off.
‘I’ll find her, Mrs Bateson. I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Yes. I’ll see you then.’
~~~
The first stop on the way back was a local fabrication unit where she put in an order for several changes of clothes, waited for one of those, a dress for the party her mother had foisted on her, and then headed out to the dealership Kit had found.
She pulled up her bug in the customer parking area of a large lot, stepped off, and swept her gaze over the array of SUVs, lighter ground cars, light trucks, and a moderately large selection of Q-bugs.
‘Kit, can you check their stock and find something suitable?’
‘There is an online catalogue with stock levels. I can go through it.’
‘I’ll deal with…’ She trailed off as the face of the salesman grinning brightly at her as he approached began to push at memories.
‘Good afternoon, miss,’ the man said. ‘In the market for a new bug?’ He was good: the grin looked genuine, maybe even was. He was tall, slim, lightly muscled, and handsome. The hair, she thought, was dyed blonde, and those eyes were a brighter blue than she remembered. He had had a little work done on his face too: his nose had been thicker and the jawline had been tightened, sculpted.
‘I might be, Simon, yeah. No part-exchange though, it’s my Dad’s. I need a new one.’
His grin turned puzzled and then brightened again as she saw his eyes flick to her hair. ‘Fox? Fox Meridian? Shit! You’re back in Topeka?’
‘It’s
temporary.’
‘You were in the Army. And then the Lensmen, right? Are you on a case?’
‘Left the UNTPP, joined NAPA. Left NAPA, now I’m with Palladium Security Solutions. I was asked to work a missing persons case. What the Hell happened to your face?’
‘Huh.’ He lifted a hand to rub over his jaw. ‘Pays to look good in this line of work. You want to come look at some bugs?’
‘Sure.’ Fox followed him across the lot to where the quad bikes were set under a low, metal-framed structure designed to keep both sun and rain off them. Not that there would be much of the latter for a while.
‘I take it you know this gentleman?’ Kit asked inside Fox’s head.
‘Simon Tailor. I knew him when I lived here, though he looked a little different.’
‘We want the Hunter-Benz Sand Viper. Uprated motors, one of MarTech’s latest AI-capable embedded computers. The standard AI is quite capable.’
‘Okay.’ Fox scanned the vehicles, looking for the one Kit had mentioned.
‘Well, this is the range,’ Simon said. ‘We’ve got a couple of GM Panthers, like the one you’re riding. I can let you have one of those for five and a half.’
‘I need something with a little more processing power in the on-board.’
‘Right.’ He walked over to a slightly larger vehicle, patting the saddle. ‘This is the Komodo. Little slower, but it pulls more, and the computer’s upgraded to something better than a pocket calculator. That’s going for eight thousand.’
‘Not bad.’ She pointed to a sleek, wasp-like vehicle set a little apart at the back. ‘What about that one?’
‘The Sand Viper?’ He sounded a little surprised. ‘Oh, well, that’s pretty new. Uprated motors, good pull, goes like a fucking rocket, uh, if you’ll pardon my French.’
‘Pardoned,’ Fox replied, flashing him a grin. ‘You never used to swear.’
‘Yeah, well, I grew up, I guess. Computer on that’s the size of a paperback, but it’s got an AI accelerator and the embedded AI’s almost as smart as me.’
‘Didn’t you fail math?’
‘Not the second time.’
DeathWeb (Fox Meridian Book 3) Page 14