Roll Call

by Malcolm Rose

“No.”

  “I’ll need a list of your friends and when you were with them.”

  Freya’s face froze. “What are you accusing me of?”

  “Nothing. I’m just checking where all the players were when one of the deaths happened. Where was Emily before the concert?”

  “Sheffield’s her home city. That’s why the performance was so important to her. That, and the fact it was Year Birth. She stayed in Sheffield.”

  “Do either of you read myths?”

  “Emily relaxes by reading them sometimes.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? No.”

  Luke thought about it for a moment. “I could catch up with you, take a look at your computer’s log to see which myths she’s opened, or I could wake her up and ask her in person right now. Either way, it’d be easier for you to download the list to my mobile.”

  “What’s that got to do with these poor women called Emily Wonder? It’s just silly myths.”

  “Yes,” Luke replied. “It’s so trivial, you won’t mind sending me the details.”

  Freya sighed heavily. “All right.”

  Luke regarded Freya as somewhat sinister. He couldn’t put his finger on exactly what made him feel that way, but it was something to do with her relationship with the opera star. She hardly seemed to function independently, without the singer. She reminded him of a parasite living on a host and sucking its lifeblood to survive. But he had no idea why she would want to murder Emily Wonder’s namesakes.

  “Do you know what situs inversus totalis is?”

  Freya shook her head. “Doesn’t sound like the title of a myth.”

  “That’s all for now but I want you to send my mobile a message at the faintest whiff of a threat to Emily.”

  “I can promise you that, Investigator Harding.”

  As soon as Malc broke the connection, Luke said, “I can think of two people – Freya Lamacq and Barbara Backley – who adore Emily the opera star. And there’s Cornelius Prichard, obsessed with EW1. Does this sort of passion ever get out of hand, Malc?”

  “Yes. Studies show that one per cent of people who take an interest in a celebrity are suffering from celebrity worship syndrome. Such obsessives, or stalkers, are prepared to harm themselves or others in the name of their idol. They are fascinated by every detail of their chosen celebrity’s life, they believe the celebrity is their special friend, and they are prepared to commit crimes on behalf of the celebrity.”

  Luke nodded slowly. “Celebrity worship syndrome. Interesting.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Checking with Freya Lamacq’s friends in the Midlands, Luke confirmed that she had been in Birmingham on December 23rd and 24th, but he was not convinced that she had a watertight alibi. By fast cab, it was a quick and easy journey from Birmingham to Woburn and there were two gaps in Freya’s schedule when she could have made a trip.

  Luke’s heart rate accelerated when Malc announced, “I have received the list of myths from Freya Lamacq. It includes Ice Cold.”

  “So,” Luke replied, “if our superstar singer wanted to kill off every other Emily Wonder – making her really unique – she might have taken the icicle idea from the myth and asked someone with celebrity worship syndrome – maybe like Freya Lamacq or Barbara Backley – to do the deed for her.”

  “Speculation.”

  “So where do I go for hard evidence?” Luke jumped up and brushed back his hair with both hands. “I want to know who grabbed Emily from Greenwich.” Putting on his fleece, he said, “I’m going back to her school. What’s the best way of getting there?”

  “It depends what you mean by best. Do you mean the fastest method or the safest or...”

  Impatiently, Luke replied, “Walking would take ages, cabs will struggle to get through. What about the Thames?”

  “It is relatively risk-free to walk to Westminster and call a river cruiser from there.”

  “Right. I want to figure out if Greenwich Emily shares anything with the Wonders who’re dead – apart from the obvious. I mean, why those particular three? If the London one’s the same, she’s up the creek. She may even be dead already.” Luke took a deep breath as he sped down the stairs. “I’d rather find her before she becomes EW4.”

  Luke did not have to ask why children like Greenwich Emily ran away from school. He had only to witness the way of life in the south to see the answer for himself. To some kids, learning a trade must seem like a waste of time. The sooner they were out on their own, the sooner they could learn to fend for themselves in a free-for-all society. They were disillusioned with school, The Authorities, rules, and the prospect of finding a worthwhile job.

  Emily did not have a room at the school any more. Her quarters had been given to another student. But the school had kept her possessions. The caretaker had put them in an out-of-the-way locker.

  Luke pulled on a pair of latex gloves before he went through the sad pile of her belongings. The first item surprised him. It was a photograph of Emily when she was young, standing between her parents. Luke was taken aback because few people kept family souvenirs. “That reminds me,” Luke said to Malc. “Request the most recent picture of her from the school. Download it. I might need it later.” Turning back to the drab locker, there were several computer memory cards that probably contained copies of Emily’s schoolwork, lots of clothes, and a hairbrush.

  Looking closely at the brush, Luke froze. For a moment, he couldn’t speak while his mind churned over a new angle. Then he murmured, “It’s obvious, but I’ve been ignoring it!” He held out the brush towards Malc. “Look. There’s a couple of hairs. Probably some skin as well. You could get her DNA from this.”

  “Correct.”

  Luke was annoyed with himself. The family photograph and strands of hair had seeded an idea that he should have come up with ages ago. “I’ve been thinking of EW1 to 3 as victims with the same name, but I should’ve been asking if they’re related. I know family isn’t a big thing but maybe it is for Q. It is for Emily the IT instructor in Bristol.” Blaming himself, he made a tutting noise with his tongue. “You’ve got DNA profiles from the three victims, haven’t you, Malc?”

  “Confirmed. It is standard procedure for all post-mortems.”

  “Can you compare them with each other and with the DNA in the roots of these hairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Won’t that tell me if they’ve got an ancestor in common?”

  “I am not equipped with the necessary software...”

  At once, Luke said, “You’d better download it, then.”

  “Searching The Authorities’ files for the programs.”

  “When you get them, will the test work?”

  “In theory. It is called kinship DNA searching and analysis. One person will have the same genetic markers as close relatives such as parents, brother or sister. An individual will have fewer markers in common with more distant relations like uncles, aunts and grandparents, but will still share some patterns because of the way that humans inherit genes from previous generations.”

  “Good.”

  “I have located software that will allow me to explore relationships between individuals from their DNA profiles. I am installing. It will take seven minutes and forty-two seconds.”

  “Is it accepted in law?” asked Luke.

  “That depends on the statistical significance of the findings. Some genetic markers are very common in the population and therefore not reliable to establish kinships. Others are rare and allow relationships to be established confidently. DNA profiles with few matches would not be legally sound, but profiles that are similar would be acceptable for case notes. The software I am installing includes the standards required by law. Kinship analysis has been used only once before. A DNA sample at a murder scene was found to be similar to that of a fourteen-year-old boy by kinship analysis. The boy’s uncle confessed to the murder when questioned.”

  “Could you check any scientific results by searching
family trees? Are there records that go back a good few generations?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. I’m going to have to rely on this kinship DNA searching.” He dropped the hairbrush into an evidence bag and sealed it. “Come on. That’s it. I want you back at the hotel where you can concentrate on the test.”

  The small cruiser was still moored to the wharf, just along the river from the seven silvery stumps of the Thames Barrier, poking uselessly out of the water. Luke swiped his identity card through the reader and said, “Westminster Bridge.” At once, the attachments fell away automatically. The boat wheeled round and began to motor upstream. In London, riverboats were less likely than cabs to be ambushed by bandits. Also, snow, wild trees and shrubs would not block their way. Luke stood at the prow and watched the land slip past: the warehouse dome on the left, docks on the right.

  The cruiser navigated the crazy curves of the snaking river, sometimes heading north, sometimes south, as it chugged past Canary Wharf’s tower blocks and Rotherhithe. Most of the large docks and smaller jetties that had once been at the heart of a thriving industry were rusting and empty. The heart had stopped beating long ago. There were several sunken wrecks, only their bridges and masts revealing their positions. The working boats were following the zigzags of the Thames only so that they could make their way to the Midlands and beyond. In the centre of the city, Southwark Bridge and Waterloo Bridge had collapsed. Great chunks of the stone had been dragged to both banks of the Thames to leave safe passage for auto-barges.

  Making another sweep to the south, Luke was heading for the Houses of The Authorities. The crumbling Westminster Bridge would probably be next to take an unplanned plunge into the river. The cruiser glided to the jetty under the bridge and engaged the attachments. Luke jumped out and, followed by Malc, made for Birdcage Walkway, Green Common and his hotel in Piccadilly.

  Back in his room, Luke lay down on the sofa and listened to Jade’s music while Malc carried out the genetic tests, unhindered by fatigue or emotion. They had an ideal partnership, Luke and Malc. One provided inspiration and understanding, the other supplied facts and figures.

  After three hours of kinship DNA searching and analysis, Malc turned down the volume of the music and stated the result. “There is a sixty-five per cent chance that EW1, EW2, EW3 and the missing Emily Wonder shared a distant relative.”

  His spine tingling, Luke swung his legs over the side of the settee. He did not allow himself to celebrate a breakthrough, though. “Sixty-five per cent,” he muttered. “I’d have preferred ninety-five.”

  “Your preference is irrelevant to the conclusion.”

  Luke smiled. “Yeah. I’ll make do with a sixty-five per cent chance that I’ve got myself a new motive to work with. Not just the same name but the same family. Have you entered it into case notes?”

  “Confirmed.”

  Luke hesitated and then said, “This relative they’ve got. How distant is distant?”

  “There are very few genetic markers in common but one of them is scarce, improving the degree of confidence. Close relatives would have many more of the same markers. Therefore, the findings suggest a common forebear several generations ago.”

  “All right, Malc. Here’s what’s next. I want DNA samples from all forty-three Emily Wonders. Get The Authorities to send agents out again. I want to check if any more of them are related. If they are, they’ll need protection. The others might not be in Q’s sights.” He paused, thinking, before he added, “The first one I want is the instructor in Bristol. If she’s got the same DNA markers, I’m in luck because she’s already done some family-tree research. She’d be useful. The second one’s got to be the celebrity singer.”

  “Transmitting request.”

  “Make it a demand this time.”

  Malc replied dryly, “You can demand to interview suspects and witnesses but you cannot demand from The Authorities. It must be a request.”

  Luke shook his head. “Okay. Make it urgent and impolite.” Then he sighed sadly and said, “You know what this means for the eleven-year-old from Greenwich. She’s got a link with the other three victims, so she might well be EW4 – or will be as soon as her body turns up.” He picked up the printout of her picture, taken by the school when she was ten. Her smile, straight into the camera, was cheeky, as if she knew something spicy about the photographer. Even if Luke had not been told, he would have guessed from her face that she was mischievous and likeable. “I hope I’m wrong but I’m worried for her.”

  Malc replied, “You would not be human if it did not affect you.”

  Luke put down the photo and stared at his mobile in surprise. “It’s not like you to be understanding. You even sound sympathetic.”

  “No. It is a fact about human beings.”

  With a wry smile on his face, Luke said, “What else have I got on Q now? He’s a he, according to Owen’s witness who saw him walking away from the warehouse with Emily, and he’s been looking into the Wonders’ family tree. I already know he can lay his hands on TTX and he’s got the hang of situs inversus totalis.” He paused and then, tapping the photograph, he added, “You know, I fear the worst for Emily, but I’m getting somewhere now. I’m beginning to get a feel for Q. Does the IT instructor in Bristol have a brother, Malc? Is there a Mr Wonder?”

  It took Malc a minute to find the answer. “Confirmed. He is a writer.”

  “Ah. Now we’re flying. Maybe he’s the Ice Cold man. Has he posted any work on-line?”

  “He has several pieces available via telescreen.”

  Luke jumped up. “Bob’s your uncle!”

  “It is true that his name is Robert, but otherwise you are incorrect.”

  “That’s more like you, Malc. Normal service is resumed.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “How about this, Malc?” Luke said, fresh enthusiasm in his voice. “You get a known piece of writing by Robert Wonder and compare it, sentence by sentence, word by word, with Ice Cold. Can you tell if they were written by the same person from the writing styles?”

  “There is a five-point scale of certainty in writing comparison. One: total certainty that the same person wrote the pieces. Two: highly probable, when there is very strong positive evidence or when it is very unlikely that the pieces were written by different people. Three: probable, when evidence is significant but not conclusive. Four: inconclusive. Five: no evidence. Only the first three categories are adequate for trials and they require analysis of handwriting and ink. Data from your suggestion will fall into categories four or five because people can change their writing styles at will or type instead.”

  “Pity.”

  “I suggest you ask Robert Wonder if he wrote the Ice Cold myth.”

  “Thanks for telling me my job,” Luke replied with a grin. “But people come in a five-point scale of reliability as well. One: always honest and truthful. All the way to five: permanently set to lie and cheat.”

  “I have not been programmed with this scale.”

  “That’s because I just made it up. Crooks don’t tell the truth, Malc. I bet Q’s a category five. Still, you’re right I’ve got to speak to Robert Wonder – in case he’s Q. Where is he?”

  “He lives and works in an artists’ commune in Leeds.”

  “Pretty much in the middle of the four crime scenes.” Luke settled himself in front of the telescreen but Malc could not establish a link with the writer. He was not at home. “All right,” Luke said, feeling frustrated. “We’ll get him tomorrow. For now, start downloading everything you can find out from The Authorities’ files about the families of the four Emily Wonders.”

  ****

  There was something wild in Robert Wonder’s eyes. To emphasize his untamed nature, his long hair was deliberately messy and his green jumper scruffy. He was powerfully built, broad-shouldered and about thirty years old. He looked puzzled at Luke’s intrusion, but remained cool. “Hi. What can I do for you?”

  Luke decided to plunge straight
in. “Did you write a myth called Ice Cold?”

  Robert grimaced. “A myth? No. I don’t know who told you that. I write serious biographies – the life stories of special people. Great artists, musicians and scientists, the big guns of business, and sporting heroes. Maybe one day I’ll tackle the heroes of forensic investigation.”

  “Investigators aren’t heroes,” Luke replied. “We’re just people who want to do something about crime.”

  Robert grinned. “Fantastic. You’ve just given me my first quote.”

  “You must have to do a lot of research into families.”

  “Not really. I’m into individual greatness. That doesn’t get passed down in the genes. It’s something the determined fight for.” He paused before adding, “You want to talk to my sister, Emily. She contacted me. For some reason, she’s got it fixed in her mind that family background’s important.” He shrugged.

  “You’ve worked on scientists, you said. You must’ve had to get to grips with a lot of science.”

  “Sure do. I immerse myself in each and every subject. Research is the key. Look. I’m... er... very busy. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “TTX.”

  “Tetrodotoxin,” Robert replied. “It’s a poison in various marine creatures. You could look it up or consult a biologist. I don’t know why you ask me.”

  “I bet you know where you could get hold of some.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to. I’d be petrified of the stuff.”

  Luke changed tack again. “You must travel around quite a bit, like me, to interview people.”

  “Telescreens are okay but face-to-face is best. Travelling and meeting interesting people are big perks of my job.”

  “I’m going to put a picture of a ten-year-old girl on your telescreen. Do you recognize her?” He nodded towards Malc.

  Robert squinted at the screen and then shook his head. “Never seen her.”

  “Okay. It doesn’t matter,” Luke replied. “I’ve already talked to your sister. Have you had anything to do with her family obsession?”