Roll Call

by Malcolm Rose

  “Good luck,” Owen replied with an impish grin. “You’ll need it.”

  Luke took Malc to the huge gate leading into the aggregates firm. “This is where they started, Emily and the chap who abducted her. They walked east towards the Thames. Scan for anything and everything, Malc, but we’re looking for a blue rucksack.”

  “There is too much debris to analyse individual particles like skin. It is beyond my capabilities.”

  “Just scan and record. If we spot anything worthwhile – like her bag – you can do detailed tests on it. If the mystery man touched it, you might be able to get a print or a bit of skin. That’s the idea.”

  Keeping his eye on the ground in front and to each side, Luke walked slowly towards the river, looking for anything that might be significant. Going past a tall wooden fence, he asked Malc, “What’s on the other side of that?” He imagined that someone could have thrown a bag over it and out of sight.

  Malc zoomed upwards and directed his sensors into the enclosed yard. “It is a builder’s storage area. It appears to be deserted and I do not detect any relevant items.”

  “Thanks.” Luke leaned against the fence and said, “Just a minute.” He yanked off his right boot, tipped it upside down and watched two sharp pieces of aggregate fall out. “I don’t know how stuff gets in, but it always does. It’s a pain.”

  “Smaller particles will adhere to the lining,” Malc told him.

  “As long as they don’t hurt,” Luke replied, slipping his boot back on. He resumed the walk while Malc hovered near his shoulder.

  Two cabs rushed past each other in opposite directions. Blackwall tunnel swallowed one and released another at the same time.

  Luke paused and asked, “Can you go in the tunnel, Malc, and scan around?”

  “No. It is forbidden for any mobile aid to law and crime to enter. I could cause an accident, harming travellers or myself.”

  “If Q’s hot on criminology, he’ll know that,” Luke pointed out. “It’s an ideal place to hide something – like a bag or a girl’s body.”

  “To gain access, you would have to make a request to The Authorities and, if granted, they would temporarily disconnect the power to the tunnel.”

  “I’ll carry on for now. Maybe later.”

  Luke was getting more and more desperate as he neared the Thames. He was not far from the quay where he would call a river cruiser to take him back to the hotel. By now, he realized, he could be well away from the route taken by Emily Wonder and the unknown man.

  He leaned on the rail at the riverbank. Two metres below him, the Thames slapped the muddy shore lazily. To the north, there was a ramshackle jetty. Attached to the waterfront by rusty scaffolding, it was floating at a crazy angle. On the pontoon there was a silo with a chubby seagull sitting on top. Further back from the bank, a tower crane stood silently, stretching its neck towards the darkening sky. Once, the giant had swung its horizontal arm to and fro, loading and unloading cargo from ships. Luke doubted that it would ever move again.

  Malc commented, “If someone living falls in the Thames, the shock of the cold water will paralyse the limbs almost at once and the body will sink. Eventually, the body will resurface. This U-bend is a trapping point for bodies, no matter where they entered the river.”

  Luke sighed and looked south towards the wharf. At once, he pointed to the frame that supported it. “Look!” In the river, caught around one of the tarred wooden posts, something blue bobbed up and down. He ran towards the quayside, shouting, “Use a water-penetrating scan, Malc. There isn’t a girl under it, is there?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Luke found a long wooden pole fastened to the wall of the boathouse. It had a steel hook attached to one end and it had probably once been used to grab boats and drag them to dry land. Luke grasped it in both hands and took it to a point on the walkway that was closest to the rucksack. He leaned over the railing and stretched downwards with the rod. Malc had made sure that Emily Wonder was not under the bag so Luke could lift it out of the Thames without disturbing a murder scene.

  At his third attempt, he got the hook around one of the straps but, when he pulled on the pole, the backpack would not budge. “The other strap must’ve caught round something,” he muttered, yanking again without success. Making sure that he kept the shoulder strap hooked, he walked along the rail so that he could tug on the bag from a different angle, like a fisherman who had snagged his line. This time, when he jerked the pole, the blue rucksack flew up. “Got it!”

  He landed his catch without touching it and laid it on the concrete jetty, as if it were an exhausted fish. His excitement soon gave way to a long weary sigh. “So much for getting a bit of Q’s skin or a hair off it. Or a fingerprint. Everything will have been washed away. That’s probably why he threw it in the Thames. Oh well. Here goes.”

  While he pulled on his gloves, a small pool of water formed around the backpack and Malc scanned its exposed surfaces.

  “Anything?” Luke asked.

  “Yes. Contamination from the river.”

  “Great.” Luke turned it over so that Malc could examine its back.

  Within seconds, his mobile reported, “There is a short green thread caught in the left buckle.”

  “Green,” he repeated. “Like the man’s scarf.” He felt a prickling down his back. “Maybe he stood here somewhere and gave the bag a good swing to chuck it in the water. It could have brushed against his scarf on the way.” Luke mimicked the action and then smiled. “Yeah. That’s possible. One fibre’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. A lot better. And green’s the colour you see all the time at Edinburgh School. Come on. Back to the hotel. I want you to analyse it chemically, and I want to open the bag and see what’s inside.”

  Before the cruiser spun round and headed back towards Westminster, Luke looked downstream. At once he felt glum again. He was wondering if Emily was out there somewhere. If she’d drowned and her body had not become snagged like the rucksack, it could have drifted out to the open sea. If that had happened, it could be months before the tide deposited her remains on a beach. Worse, she might never be found.

  But she could still be alive. Luke felt a great sympathy towards her. He was always drawn to loveable rogues. He was desperate to give her back her life, if he could. What’s more, she could help him. She could identify the man who had snatched her.

  ****

  The contents of Emily’s backpack did not tell Luke anything about Q – if it was Q who had abducted her – but they told him a lot about her sad and simple life. The bag contained two very soggy blankets, a spare set of clothes, and a furry toy. Under the cute cat, there was a mush that had once been bread. These seemed to be her only belongings.

  Luke had not expected to find evidence of Q inside the rucksack but he still shook his head miserably. He was touched by Emily’s pitiful possessions. “Nothing here,” he said to Malc, trying to keep focused on the investigation. “What have you got?”

  “Explain your enquiry.”

  “Have you analysed that green thread?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “And what’s the result?”

  “The infrared spectrum has the distinctive pattern of a synthetic acrylic fibre. Specifically, it is Acrilan, often used as a substitute for wool.”

  “I need to go to Edinburgh School and check it against green fibres there.”

  “That would be valid and beneficial. To aid future comparisons, I have also recorded the visible spectrum of the green dye but this may have been affected by exposure to water.”

  “There’s something else. What do you get if you burn Acrilan?”

  “Under most conditions, carbon dioxide, water and hydrogen cyanide.”

  Luke nodded. “Cyanide. Thought so.”

  ****

  Forensic Investigator Harding went to sleep in a lowly southern city and woke up alongside the plush Princes Freeway. As always, Malc had stayed alert for the entire journey but he had taken the
opportunity to recharge his batteries from the wind-farm supply as they’d sped north. Getting out of the cab, Luke stood still and stretched in the chilly morning, appreciating the centre of Edinburgh. It was as if he’d woken in a totally different world – the opposite of London. The homes, businesses and suppliers in the main freeway were neat and stylish. And they were topped with a thicker layer of snow than buildings in the south.

  “I’ll walk to the school,” Luke announced. “I could use some fresh air and exercise.” He took a deep breath and then added, “I’ll call in somewhere that’ll give me a pomegranate breakfast with a bit of luck, and a shower. Then I’ll catch Clint Garrett before he does anything with his weekend.” Luke felt good. He had a meagre amount of forensic data but he was confident that even a single fibre would point him in the right direction. He just needed to find a match.

  He intercepted the criminology instructor as he was about to leave his quarters in school. “Good morning,” Luke said brightly.

  “Oh... Hello. I didn’t expect... You’d better come in. What can I do for you? I haven’t got long, though.”

  “Let’s get on with it, then. Do you have a green scarf?”

  “Of course. A school scarf.”

  “I need to see it – and take a couple of threads from it.”

  “What?” he exclaimed.

  “I want to test its fibres.”

  Clint looked angry. “I can’t stop you but you’re making a terrible mistake. Besides, just about everyone here’s got a school scarf and, in case you haven’t noticed, all the students have got green uniforms.”

  “Fetch the scarf for me, please.”

  Mr Garrett disappeared into his bedroom and Luke heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing. The instructor returned with the scarf draped over his arm.

  Luke placed a clean polythene bag on the table and then pushed some sticky tape against the scarf to remove a few fibres. He placed the tape on the spotless surface and asked Malc to perform a microscopic examination, and infrared and visible spectroscopy to identify the thread and define its colour.

  “I hope you agree I’m doing this properly,” he said to Clint, “but you haven’t asked me why. Strange. Perhaps you know.”

  “It’s not strange. I don’t need to ask. You must’ve found a green fibre at the scene of one of your murders. But I’m going to tell you it’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “Well, it doesn’t sound as if you’ve got anything to worry about, then. Any second now, Malc’s going to prove you’re innocent.” Luke barely hesitated. “What do you normally do at weekends?”

  “I get away. I go walking. That’s what I’d planned... Hill walking. It’s a hobby. It clears away the cobwebs of working all week.”

  “Is that on your own?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, there’s no one to confirm where you were on Saturday 16th of July and the 24th December.”

  “You can’t expect me to remember those particular weekends but, no, there’s no one to vouch for me.”

  Malc broke into the interview to announce, “The scarf is made of Acrilan. The green dye and diameter of the textile fibre are identical to the thread found in the Thames, taking into account some slight weathering.”

  “Interesting,” Luke said. “It’s not looking good for you, Mr Garrett. I’ve got to bring a team in to search your apartment. Every square millimetre.”

  “But...” Clint spluttered.

  “Yes, it’ll be messy and disruptive. If Malc scans around now, it’ll save you quite a bit of the mess. You see, I want to check your winter coats, trousers and shoes. I’m not going in your bedroom in case I contaminate it, but you could open everything and get your shoes out, so my mobile can do some tests. If you’re innocent as you say...” He shrugged. “I can’t see why you’d object or try to hide anything.”

  “All right,” Garrett snapped. It was probably anger rather than embarrassment that made his cheeks glow red. He marched back into his bedroom and opened his wardrobe door so that Malc could scan the coats and trousers inside. Then he extracted his shoes from under a chair.

  “Put them upside down on the floor,” Luke said from the doorway, “so Malc can analyse what’s on the soles. Right. Thanks. Let’s leave him to it.”

  Back in the living room, Clint fell into a chair.

  Luke asked, “Ever eaten fugu?”

  Clint’s face crinkled into confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Have you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Risky.”

  Mr Garrett denied it. “Not in the hands of a good chef who knows how to prepare it properly.”

  “Some people still get TTX poisoning and die.”

  “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Clint muttered.

  “Can you get pufferfish round here, then?”

  “Yes. If you know the right place to go.”

  “I heard you were into marine life.”

  He nodded cagily.

  Suddenly it dawned on Luke that Clint could be holding back. “Are you qualified to cook puffer by any chance?”

  “It’s a little hobby of mine. Yes, I am actually.”

  Luke smiled to himself and changed tack. “How many scarves have you got?”

  Mr Garrett shrugged. “Four, I think.”

  “All green?”

  “No. Only one.”

  “What do you really think of Emily Wonder – your favourite criminology student?”

  Garrett sat upright with a jolt. “She’s all right, isn’t she? She hasn’t...”

  “As far as I know, she’s fine,” Luke said.

  “I feel enormously sorry for her. Nature’s not fair.”

  “Have you been trying to make up for that?”

  Again, Clint looked puzzled. “I don’t know what you...”

  He was interrupted by Malc who glided into the room and announced, “I have not completed the scan yet, but there is a highly significant find.”

  “What’s that?” Luke asked eagerly.

  “At the bottom of the wardrobe, there is a contact lens that matches the prescription for EW2.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “If you can’t explain what the contact lens is doing in your wardrobe, you’re in deep trouble,” Luke told the instructor.

  Clint Garrett shook his head helplessly, lost for words.

  “Do you wear contact lenses?”

  “No.”

  “The second victim did, and one of hers went missing. Now it looks like it’s turned up in your apartment.” Luke hesitated before asking, “How do you explain that?”

  “I... I don’t. I can’t.”

  Luke stared at him. “If you were me, what would you make of it?”

  Garrett was speechless again. He merely shook his drooping head.

  “All right. I’m suspending this interview until my mobile’s finished. I want him in here to record video as well as sound.”

  Malc made a second find that added to the case against Clint Garrett. A few concrete chips had lodged in the tread of one pair of his shoes. “Concrete is made of cement and aggregate – gravel or sand usually,” Malc explained. “Almost all of the concrete in Edinburgh uses beach sand. All the grains have similar dimensions because waves separate the sand by size. The grains also show microscopic triangular marks where waves have pounded sharp sand particles onto their faces. Several samples adhering to the soles of Mr Garrett’s shoes do not bear scratch marks and consist of a mixture of very different grain sizes. They are not typical for Edinburgh. They match the aggregate extracted in North Greenwich. Chemical analysis will identify the source rock and confirm or deny the match.”

  Luke reached down and yanked off one of his own boots. “I walked through lots of the stuff the other day. Is there any on mine?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Compare and contrast, please, Malc.”

  Letting Mr Garrett stew for a while, Luke sat in silence. He sho
uld have been tingling with pleasure. He should have been celebrating internally. All of the pieces were falling effortlessly into place. It was like the moment when he solved a school exercise. And that was what was bothering him. Somehow, it was too neat. The real world was much messier than a school project.

  Clint Garrett barely looked up. Distraught, he buried his face in his cupped hands and murmured, “I don’t believe it. This can’t be happening.” Damp patches of sweat had begun to appear on his shirt.

  Keeping his eyes on Mr Garrett, Luke produced the photograph of the missing girl and asked, “Do you recognize her?”

  The instructor looked at the likeness and shook his head. “No.”

  Malc came back into the living room and delivered his verdict. “The ratio of the minerals zircon and staurolite is identical. The aggregate on Instructor Garrett’s shoes is the same as that on FI Harding’s.”

  Luke looked piercingly at Clint. “That means your shoes have been in North Greenwich recently.”

  “I can’t... This isn’t happening to me.”

  Speaking to his mobile, Luke said, “Were there any fingerprints on the shoes?”

  “Confirmed. Only one partial print does not belong to Mr Garrett. It is not in my database.” Then Malc added, “There is sufficient evidence to charge Instructor Clint Garrett with the murder of Emily Wonder in Woburn and the abduction of a different Emily Wonder in London.”

  Astonished, Mr Garrett stared open-mouthed at the robot.

  Luke did not react straightaway. He sniffed and thought about his next move. Then he shook his head and said, “No.”

  “The Authorities require you to arrest and charge this suspect.”

  Instructor Garrett could have been on the edge of his seat at a tennis match. He gazed in anguish at Malc, and then turned towards Luke before glancing back at Malc. He seemed to be willing Luke to win the contest.

  “Mmm. But I’ve made my decision.” Talking to Garrett, Luke said, “I want your identity card. I’ll get the school secretary to downgrade it so it can’t be used outside. That’s it. For now, I’m not arresting or charging you, but I’m confining you to the premises.”