by Malcolm Rose
‘We’ll see.’
Five minutes later, having completed one lap, the runner came to a halt nearby, dropped onto the dry grass and began exercising with some press-ups. ‘Goodhart and Lexi Four, presumably.’
‘Yes.’ Troy opted for a casual approach. ‘Enjoying your freedom?’
‘Yeah, man. The only good thing to say about doing time is that I got in shape. Not much to do but work out in the prison gym. Apart from that, Kindale was the pits.’ The major detective stifled an ironic laugh. ‘I reckon the governor spent more on feeding his dogs than the inmates. And when the dogs were sick, they got a visit from the vet straightaway. Prisoners didn’t get to see doctors or medicine unless they were halfway to the crematorium.’ He switched to squat thrusts. ‘And the cockroaches! They crawl all over you at night. I went to bed in gloves to stop them chewing my fingernails while I was asleep. But they still get inside your ears to eat the wax. Sometimes, you’d swallow one. You can feel it moving around in your stomach.’
‘Mmm. Nice,’ Lexi said.
Dominic Varney smiled grimly. ‘No need to ask who’s the outer.’ For a moment, he stopped exercising and took some deep breaths. ‘I like this park. No security cameras.’
‘TRAPT,’ Troy prompted.
‘Ah, yes. The boss said you’d want to know.’ He stood up and began a series of star jumps. On each jump, he rotated so he could survey the whole of the darkening park furtively. ‘Not many members, not well organized, weren’t planning anything illegal. No one planning a massacre. Basically a small, sad bunch of losers and bigots. Best to leave them alone, man.’
Troy walked across the track, onto the grass, and held up his life-logger showing a picture of Precious Austin. ‘Was she one of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘How about … ?’ He pressed keys until he got an image of Fern Mountstephen.
Dominic shook his head. ‘Never seen her.’
‘And this one?’
Dominic didn’t recognize Eric Kiss either. He also drew a blank with Brandon Kane Six. But he hesitated over a picture of Saul Tingle. ‘Er … no. Not at TRAPT anyway.’
‘Have you come across him somewhere else?’
‘Um. He looks vaguely … No. He’s like someone else. That’s all.’
‘Were there any outers in TRAPT?’
‘I’ll answer that,’ Dominic said, ‘in four and a half minutes.’ Then he took off along the path.
When Troy sat down next to Lexi again, she said, ‘I guess you have to be bonkers to do undercover work.’
‘Mmm. You also have to be an expert at deceiving people.’
Lexi frowned. ‘Do you think he’s lying or something?’
‘I’m not sure. He’s hard to read. That’s what makes him good at his job.’
‘What’s bothering you?’
‘He said, “No one’s planning a massacre.” Almost as if he knows about the missing SUMP. But Cheryl McVeigh wouldn’t have told him. She wants it under wraps. Too many cooks spoil the sausage.’
Lexi shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was just a jokey comment – and a coincidence.’
‘He would’ve become a militant separatist to infiltrate TRAPT. I just hope he hasn’t stayed that way.’
A detective often had to think the same way as a crook. Both moved in the margins of society. Especially an undercover officer. But something would have gone horribly wrong if a detective and a criminal had become indistinguishable. The thought brought back unwelcome memories and made Troy shudder.
Only slightly out of breath, Dominic went back down to ground in front of the bench and began more press-ups. He carried on talking as if there hadn’t been an interruption. ‘I didn’t take a DNA testing kit – or ask to see their fingertips – but I doubt it. They didn’t think kindly of outers.’
‘Can you give me all the names you remember?’
Dominic chuckled. ‘Here’s the thing. They never used real names. They gave themselves nicknames. I think it made them feel important and secretive. Like spies.’
‘What was your nickname?’
‘Mine?’ For a moment, the undercover officer seemed taken aback by an unexpected question. ‘Gritty – because of my stamina.’
‘No doubt, it helps to be gritty in your line of work. You must have to learn a whole heap of stuff for every assignment.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you ever had a job in science?’ Troy asked.
‘About a year ago. A pharmaceutical company that was shipping some illegal pills.’
‘Did you have to get to grips with chemistry?’
‘Yes. A nightmare. Not the most exciting topic.’
Troy laughed. ‘I’m with you on that. But sorry, I’ve strayed. Back to TRAPT. Where do they meet?’
‘The community centre in Shepford’s second quarter. The one dominated by majors. It was always booked under a variety of names. Never TRAPT, of course. Sometimes it was the Shepford Political Debating Society. Not a name that got people queuing at the door.’
‘And you definitely didn’t come across anyone thinking about atrocities against outers?’
‘No.’
‘Not even someone saying, “I could murder the lot of them,” as a sort of joke?’
‘Not that I heard.’
‘Okay. Thanks for your help. Enjoy the rest of your holiday.’
As soon as Dominic pounded towards the park exit, Troy murmured, ‘Slippery customer.’
Troy wasn’t sure if Dominic Varney was a hero or a villain. Had he sacrificed a normal life for the public good? Had he ventured so far undercover that he was no longer a functioning police officer? Had he gone rogue?
‘He made the TRAPT people sound harmless,’ said Lexi.
‘Yes. Like little angels with strange ideas.’
‘Are real people like that? Me, I’ve threatened to throttle every major.’
Troy nodded as they got up and trudged back to the car. ‘When they’re having a strop, young majors say they could murder their parents, brother or sister. Everyone lets off steam now and again. That’s another reason I don’t know what to make of him.’
SCENE 20
Wednesday 16th April, Evening
The journey from the park to Shallow End Laboratories took fifteen minutes. The perfect time for Lexi to refresh her mind by turning off and meditating. Troy stared out of the window and wondered. Later, he would sleep while Lexi kept going.
In the technical supplies department, Lexi picked up some cardboard packaging and said, ‘Does a lot of your glassware arrive wrapped in this?’
‘Not all of it, but quite a bit, yes.’
Scanning the speckled card with her life-logger and using pattern recognition software, Lexi came up with a ninety per cent match with the roll that Precious Austin used in her smoker and the background for the words in the video.
‘You must have an awful lot to get rid of. What happens to it?’
‘We leave it out for recycling – in the big bin at the back – but the staff who’ve got a use for it take it home.’ He shrugged. ‘Re-using is better than recycling.’
‘Who takes it?’ Lexi asked.
The technician shrugged again. ‘I’m just pleased to see the pile’s smaller in the morning.’
‘Have you seen Precious Austin recently?’
‘Not for a while, no. But, now you mention it, she used to take quite a lot. Building up a stock of it for some reason.’
SCENE 21
Wednesday 16th April, Night
Back at Crime Central, Lexi said, ‘Okay. Time to pull together all the information we’ve got into a spreadsheet. I can tidy it up overnight while you’re dreaming about sausages or whatever.’
Troy smiled. ‘You get itchy without an orderly gathering of the facts.’
‘I get itchy when someone’s threatening every outer with imminent death. So, let’s lay it all out properly. That way, I can see where we are much more clearly. And I’ve got all the facts at my fingerti
ps.’
Outers did not have fingerprints so Troy could not resist saying, ‘No jokes about you not having anything else at your fingertips.’
‘Huh. No one knows why majors have got fingerprints anyway. They don’t have a purpose – apart from giving you away at crime scenes. Come on,’ she said. ‘Motive first.’
‘Easy. It’s about keeping the human races apart.’
‘More than that,’ Lexi replied. ‘It’s about genocide with an unstoppable poison from Mars. For some strange reason, nature’s decided to let all you majors off. Your body’s evolved so it’s not affected.’
‘As far as we know.’
‘Yeah, okay. But it’s certain ours would take a hit. Nature got the design wrong.’
‘Both are brilliant designs really.’
‘Are they?’
‘The body’s a miracle of engineering. And … ’
‘Go on.’
‘Miracles are what God does,’ said Troy.
‘That’s the nonsense I thought you were heading for. But how many people do you know with bad backs? Then there’s giving birth. Ask any major mother what she thinks of the way it’s done. And us outers can’t do it at all any more. Not naturally anyway. Is that really a miracle?’
‘An imperfect miracle, but still a miracle. Look at the human brain. It’s amazing what it can do. It can even come up with spreadsheets. No other animal makes spreadsheets.’
‘You’re stopping me making one as well. Come on. Suspects. The obvious ones are all majors. Agreed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right. Name. Do they have the motive? Do they know enough about science? Do they have access to the BSL4 lab? Alibi for Sunday evening. That’s five columns. I’ll start with Precious Austin. She’s got enough of a grievance against outers and she’s a separatist. She’s probably got enough knowledge of science. She’s not on the Shallow End site any more but could have sneaked into it and she’s trained to go into containment level four. No Sunday evening alibi. Surely she’s our number one.’
Troy nodded. ‘There’s something we need to find out. When did she leave the labs? Did she work on SUMP or even know about it? Because our bad guy certainly does.’
‘Next is Saul Tingle,’ Lexi continued. ‘No known motive, probably not enough of a background in science, but he could go into the high-security lab and his alibi for Sunday evening isn’t strong. Eating with his family.’
‘What about Fern Mountstephen?’ said Troy.
‘Yeah. She doesn’t like outers and majors to get as close as Julia Nineteen and Eric Kiss.’
‘But she’s a Friend to the Integrated Games. Or was, when they were still on. That suggests she approves of mixing.’
‘Yeah. And she sounded … comfortable with outers. She talked about having outer friends. So,’ Lexi said, ‘not much of a motive. But she’s probably up enough in science to make the sticky tape. And she’s a regular at handling poisons in BSL4.’
‘A solid alibi for Sunday, though,’ Troy reminded her. ‘I checked with her gym. She was there all evening.’
Lexi sighed. ‘Eric Kiss. He distracted the lab supervisor at the time of the deaths.’
‘But where’s his motive? He seems to like outers – or at least one outer. He wouldn’t try to kill Julia Nineteen.’
‘If he’s not faking it with her. Anyway, he’s got the scientific know-how and access to the lab, and his Sunday evening alibi is weak. He was hiding out with Julia.’
‘I want Dominic Varney on the list.’
‘Really? A serving police officer?’
‘Yes. Not our top suspect, but he researched chemistry and worked in a pharmaceutical lab. He’s been exposed to separatists and maybe he got radicalized.’
‘You didn’t ask him what he was doing on Sunday evening.’
‘I didn’t want to ruffle his feathers. I needed him to think he was a witness, not a suspect.’
‘Okay. Sunday evening alibi – unknown. What about access to Shallow End’s lab?’
‘Mmm. That’s another unknown.’
‘Anyone else? Anything else?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Okay. I’ll write it up and work on the paint sample – and anything else I can think of. You go and rest your poor exhausted major body.’
SCENE 22
Thursday 17th April, The early hours
Lexi liked working through the night. At night Crime Central wasn’t cluttered with majors. Almost everyone was an outer. Most of the scientists were conducting forensic tests. A few were meditating in quiet rooms and quiet corners. No one interrupted the cleansing of their minds. No one made jokes about sleeping on the job. Lexi’s fondness for the night-time shift didn’t make her a separatist. She liked being with her own kind, but she also valued the input of majors – at least from the ones that were good at what they did. Sometimes, she felt, a job would be given to a major to keep the numbers equal when an outer would have been a far better choice.
She peered down the microscope at a few of the shiny flecks of paint from the graffiti at the sports stadium and took a few close-up shots. At first sight, the shavings looked similar to a lot of glossy silver paints, but she knew that the light reflecting from each type gave a distinctive range of wavelengths. She used microspectrophotometry to record the signature colours.
Revealing the chemical composition of the paint would tell her more. She prepared a piece for X-ray analysis. Afterwards, she burnt a few of the fragments and analysed the gases by chromatography to identify the resin and pigments. She finished her examination with infrared spectroscopy to confirm the organic constituents.
Then, armed with the exact colour and the chemical components of the paint, she began a search through databases to see if she had enough information to find its manufacturer. She also sent her results to the Paint Research Department to see if specialists could provide any extra help.
After her second meditation of the night, with her mind especially sharp, she pinpointed the source of the silver paint. Her data matched a specialized product designed to give a mirror-like chrome effect to almost any surface. It was used mostly by motorcycle enthusiasts. Shortly after her conclusion, an expert at the Paint Research Department contacted her with the same result.
Most road vehicles had become driverless years ago. But not motorcycles. They’d kept their reputation as the ideal way for free spirits to travel. Motorcyclists still weaved in and out of traffic, speeding along congested roads, tackling tracks too rough or narrow for cars. Somewhere out there was a free spirit that Lexi and Troy would like to interview.
Lexi also requested a trace on Dominic Varney’s phone. It didn’t take long. The mobile had been stationary at his house on Sunday evening.
She looked up details on the pharmaceutical company that Dominic had infiltrated last year. It specialized in drug treatments for infectious diseases. And at once, Lexi drew in a breath. She searched the company’s website for details of its facilities. She smiled when she found what she wanted. To develop cures for contagious bacteria and viruses, their researchers had BSL3 and BSL4 laboratories.
Lexi sat back. Maybe her partner was onto something. Undercover, Dominic Varney may well have learned the skills needed to work in a high-security laboratory.
Bringing up her spreadsheet on her monitor, she altered Dominic Varney’s entries. Tracking his mobile phone had not provided him with a strong alibi for Sunday and his undercover work may well have set him up to enter the Shallow End site and gain access to the crime scene.
She sent her results to Troy Goodhart’s life-logger.
SCENE 23
Thursday 17th April, Early morning
As soon as Troy saw Lexi’s overnight results, even before breakfast, he arranged to meet her outside Precious Austin’s house. ‘To catch a worm,’ he said on the phone, ‘you’ve got to be an early bird. Bring your evidence bags and something to scrape paint.’
Waiting for his partner by the front garden, Troy watched
bees investigating the wallflowers and primroses. When Lexi arrived, she asked, ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘Didn’t you see what Precious had at the bottom of her back garden?’
‘No.’
‘A motorbike – with plenty of chrome.’
Lexi smiled. ‘I’ve always fancied riding one. I like the way they take corners. I’d like to feel that sort of speed with one knee centimetres from the road surface.’
‘Just scrape the paintwork, not your knee.’
Precious Austin was not pleased to see the two detectives again, but she didn’t seem surprised. ‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘I use a chrome-type spray paint. I like to keep the bike looking good. Why?’
Ignoring her question, Troy asked, ‘Have you still got the spray can?’
‘No. Do you want to go into my workshop to prove it?’
‘No. Lexi will just take a sample off the bike.’
‘What?’ She looked horrified.
‘A tiny scrape will do. No one’ll notice.’
Precious glanced at Lexi. ‘Do you have to?’
‘No. I could take a great big bit instead. A scratch that everyone’ll see.’
Precious scowled at her. ‘You know what I mean. Are you being deliberately provocative?’
Troy smiled to himself. His partner was being deliberately provocative. She wouldn’t admit it, though. But it was what Precious deserved.
Lexi said, ‘I’ll take as much as I need – which isn’t very much.’
While Lexi went for the sample and Precious eyed her carefully from the window, Troy asked, ‘When did you leave the Shallow End job?’
‘Three weeks ago. Friday the twenty-first of March.’
‘Are you going to tell me when the members of Two Races Apart are getting together?’
‘I’ve got no idea.’
‘But you’re a member. I’ve got a witness who says so.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘A reliable witness. There’s no doubt.’
‘In that case, yes, it’s tonight at eight thirty.’
‘The community centre in the second quarter? Not far from here?’
‘So I’ve been told,’ she replied.
Afterwards, Troy looked at the small evidence bag in his partner’s hand and its streak of silver paint. ‘If it matches, it’s yet another piece of evidence against her. But does it make her look more guilty – or more innocent?’