by Malcolm Rose
‘Too true. And what about your partner? Do you get on okay with him?’
‘Her.’
‘Her?’ Straining, she let out a grunt as she bent down to lift a large shepherd’s pie from the oven.
Removing his jacket, Troy entered the kitchen with a smile on his face. ‘Yes, her.’
‘Oh, well. And is she … you know … an outer?’
‘Yes. Lexi. She’s cool.’ He draped his coat over the back of a chair. ‘Smells good,’ he said. He hesitated and then added, ‘The dinner, not Lexi.’
Grandma put the large dish down on the table and began to smother the meal in brown sauce. ‘I’ve always thought it’s best not to mix with outers.’
‘They’re just like us, Gran. Give or take the cooked cockroaches. Anyway,’ he added, ‘it’s policy to pair up major and outer.’
‘They commit most of the crime – and a lot of it’s aimed at us,’ said Grandma.
Troy had heard her opinion many times. It was a widely held view in the major community. He guessed that Lexi knew many outers who believed the exact opposite. ‘It’s not true, Gran. The figures say majors commit crimes against outers just as much as the other way round. Major-on-major and outer-on-outer crimes aren’t exactly rare, either.’
‘So you say.’
‘That’s why a major/outer pair looks into all serious crime,’ Troy said. ‘Better to form a duo than sing solo. And there’s something else.’
‘What’s that, honey?’
‘Sorry, but I’ve already eaten. With Lexi.’
‘With Lexi, eh?’ she replied, glancing at him. She didn’t quite manage to disguise the hurt in her expression. ‘I dread to think what was on the menu. Never mind. You can have your share tomorrow. It’ll keep.’
SCENE 9
Wednesday 9th April, Morning
A counsellor had already broken the news to the Backhouse family that Dmitri’s body had been found. Now, Troy wanted to talk to Dmitri’s daughter, Coral. He felt that he could extract a clearer picture of Dmitri Backhouse from someone not far from his own age. But Coral was not at home. The counsellor had advised her to go into school as normal, because he believed that routine and lessons would take her mind off the terrible news about her father.
Shepford was laid out like most other cities. It had a commercial hub and concentric rings of neighbourhoods. At the city’s heart were shops, the entertainment complex, industry, Crime Central, the temple, the sports centre and schools. Separated by strips of parkland, there were six zones of housing. Four were dominated by majors and two by outers.
Approaching Coral’s school, it was clear to Troy and Lexi that there was a scuffle taking place between students on the playing field. When they were close enough to see what was going on, they realized that Coral Backhouse was at the heart of the punch-up. They both raced towards the brawl.
Blessed with superior fast-twitch muscles, outers were better sprinters, even if they didn’t have the strength of majors. Lexi got to the fight first and waded in straightaway. Inside a circle of students, Coral was facing three outer girls and putting up a good fight, despite being outnumbered. Lexi grabbed the leading outer, locking her arms expertly behind her back. At the same time, she yelled, ‘Oi! Stop. Detective!’
Troy arrived and grasped Coral in the same way, defusing the situation. ‘Show over!’ he shouted. ‘Go on. Back to classes.’
‘Except for you three,’ Lexi said to the outer girls.
‘And you, Coral,’ Troy added.
Coral twisted round. ‘How come you know me?’
‘Photographs,’ Troy said.
A teacher flew out of the nearest building and dashed towards the group. ‘What’s going on? Who are you? You can’t just walk in here and …’ Glancing at Lexi and Troy, he noticed their life-loggers and his protest faded away.
With a wry smile, Troy said, ‘Oh, yes, we can.’ He paused before adding, ‘We need to talk to Coral. You can take the other three and get their side of the story.’
The teacher marched back towards the school building, shepherding the outer students.
Lexi laughed. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ she said to Troy. ‘Overruling a teacher.’
Letting go of Coral, Troy admitted it. ‘They told me what to do for years. Now it’s my turn.’ Then he faced Coral and asked, ‘What was that all about?’
‘Nothing,’ she answered.
‘I was always having fights like that – over nothing I’d admit to a teacher. But I’m not a teacher. My name’s Troy, by the way. And you were giving it some welly with a nifty right-hand jab.’
Surly, she didn’t reply.
‘Let me guess,’ said Troy. ‘They were outers, right? And if they heard about your dad … Were they teasing you about him?’
She didn’t utter a word, but there was surprise in her eyes. She almost gasped at Troy’s insight.
‘Not all outers are like that,’ Lexi told her. ‘Not many at all.’
Coral glanced from Lexi to Troy. Apparently persuaded that she had a sympathetic audience, she muttered, ‘The counsellor said he didn’t kill himself.’
‘It’s true,’ Troy replied. ‘I’m sorry, but we’re a murder investigation.’
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t murder,’ she insisted. ‘He’d been threatening to do himself in for ages. I bet he got someone to do it for him.’
‘That’s still murder,’ Troy told her. ‘Have you got anyone in mind?’
‘No. He didn’t have any friends and no one in the family would’ve … you know.’
‘What about someone he’d met on the internet?’
‘I don’t know but, near the end, he spent a lot of time online. It’s what he did instead of sleeping.’
‘I’d like to get my hands on his computer,’ said Lexi.
‘Mum told the police. His laptop’s gone. He took it with him, I suppose. All we know is, he called himself Backdown online.’
‘How did you get on with him?’ Troy asked.
‘He wasn’t the easiest … I hated the long periods of silence and panic attacks, but … He’s my dad. Was my dad, I mean.’ Coral shrugged. ‘No one gave me a choice.’
Troy nodded. ‘You love what you get, though, don’t you?’
‘Sort of. Yeah.’
‘You’d want to know who killed him and why.’
‘Yes.’
‘So,’ Troy said, ‘you can help me and Lexi sort it out. Think back to just before he disappeared. Anything unusual happen?’
‘What sort of thing do you mean?’
Troy took a long breath. ‘Anything. Maybe he said something strange. Any weird behaviour? Did you see him surfing any freaky sites?’
Coral leaned her head to one side while she thought. ‘Well …’
‘What?’
‘I lost my mobile and I was desperate to see an email. Dad wasn’t around so I turned his laptop on. I didn’t really look but there was a message about fishing.’
‘Phishing with a ph,’ Troy asked, ‘or fishing with an f?’
‘The watery sort. Only, I don’t think he’s ever done it before, so it was kind of freaky. But I thought … Whatever. It’s not against the law if he wants to torture poor defenceless fish.’
Troy nodded slowly. ‘Thanks. That’s … interesting.’
Lexi glanced at her partner. He had clearly seen some link with the case.
‘The message came from … I don’t know, but Angel was part of the name. It caught my eye.’
‘Charon Angel?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘That’s useful as well,’ said Troy.
‘Is that it?’ Coral asked. ‘Because I’d better go in and find out how much trouble I’m in. By now, those girls will have made up all sorts about me.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Troy replied, ‘after I’ve had a few words with the Head.’
‘Will you?’
‘Promise. You’ve been punished enough already.’
&
nbsp; Before leaving, Troy told the head teacher about the death of Coral Backhouse’s father. He insisted that Coral had been provoked into reacting. She needed support more than punishment.
Walking out of the school grounds with Lexi, Troy was still thinking about Coral’s troubled relationship with her dad. He said, ‘We’re all victims of our parents’ failings.’
‘Not me,’ Lexi replied. ‘Not any outer.’
‘Oh yes. What’s it like not to have a real mum and dad?’
Lexi shrugged. ‘What’s it like to have a real mum and dad?’
Getting into the car, Troy didn’t answer. Instead, he said, ‘It must be weird to have paid people looking after you.’
‘Huh. Professional nannies are paid because they’re good at it. They don’t have failings. A mum and dad might be rubbish at bringing up children. I doubt if Dmitri Backhouse was great.’
‘Even so …’
Lexi butted in. ‘Outers are cooperative breeders – we share out caring for our babies. You do it in families – even ones that aren’t any good at it. You just let them get on with it, instead of changing things to make it better.’
Over the last few hundred years, the population of outers had crashed because outer women slowly lost the ability to carry a pregnancy. Their numbers began to increase again only when they learnt to reproduce differently. Compatible eggs and sperm were brought together in an artificial womb, nurtured into outer offspring and raised by nannies. For outers, friendship and romance were nothing to do with producing the next generation.
‘Anyway,’ Lexi added, ‘what about your parents? What are their failings? What have they passed on to you?’
Uneasy, Troy glanced at her and said, ‘Let’s get back to the case.’
Lexi instructed the onboard computer, ‘Shepford Crime Central.’ Then she gazed at Troy for a few seconds before saying, ‘All right. What’s the fishing angle all about?’
‘Look. I’m Dmitri Backhouse, thinking of killing myself. You’re someone who knows about me from the internet and you want body parts. What are you going to do?’
‘Set up a meeting.’
Troy nodded. ‘Where?’
Lexi thought for a few seconds. ‘Somewhere without witnesses or cameras.’
‘Like the place where you go fishing. A reservoir with platforms at the edge, maybe.’
Lexi smiled. ‘Okay. I see where you’re going. But …’
‘That’d be the reason you know it’s a good place to bury a body. That’d be the connection I was after.’
‘So what? Even if you’re right, how does it help?’
‘I’m no expert,’ Troy replied, ‘but I think you need a licence to go fishing.’
‘So you want a list of everyone around here with a fishing licence that covers Langhorn Reservoir?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What if this internet friend’s fishing illegally – without one?’
‘I just think he’ll have one. He wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself – or herself – by getting caught for something trivial.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘If we got a list, I bet you’d want to examine all their shoes.’
‘That could be hundreds – or even thousands. Anyway …’
‘What?’
‘It’s all speculation,’ said Lexi, as the car pulled up outside Crime Central.
‘True,’ Troy agreed. ‘Maybe it’s a stick I’ve grasped the wrong end of.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s down to your fancy forensics to prove me wrong or right.’
SCENE 10
Wednesday 9th April, Midday
‘I’ve got a list of people with fishing licences for the Shepford area,’ Lexi reported. ‘But I’m told Langhorn Reservoir isn’t very popular. There are far better places, apparently.’
‘That fits. Our fishing fanatic, suicide chat room stalker and body part trader wouldn’t get disturbed by other people if it’s out of favour.’
‘He’s a fictional fishing fanatic, suicide chat room stalker and body part trader at the moment.’
‘I’m working on it.’ Grinning, Troy added, ‘I’m fishing as well. Casting about in a suicide forum.’
‘Caught anything?’
‘A few sympathetic posts. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m going to try again.’ He spoke as he typed. ‘No one even notices me and what I do. I might as well not exist.’
With a wicked expression, Lexi replied, ‘Very believable. It’s a cry that could come from any major.’
Spinning his chair round towards her, Troy ignored her comment. ‘So, how many people hold fishing licences around here?’
‘Too many. Hundreds. If one of them’s our killer, we need to filter out a lot of others first. I could use foot size, but we don’t have grounds for going round checking people’s shoes and treads. We’d be doing it on a wild hunch.’
‘And I suppose we don’t know for certain that the shoeprints belong to the bad guy.’ Troy hesitated and then said, ‘Is there a Huw on the list?’
‘No.’
‘That fits as well. He’s not the sort to bother with a licence. Are any of them Dr Something? Like a transplant surgeon?’
‘I thought you’d never ask. We’ve got two doctors who go fishing. Neither’s got anything to do with transplants, though. I’ve already checked. One’s a doctor of physics and the other’s a retired baby specialist.’
Disappointed, Troy glanced at his computer screen and uttered a little cry. ‘Hey. Charon Angel’s online again. Remember? Coral said someone called Angel left her dad a message as well. Listen. “No one is worthless. Even if it seems that way. You have value.”’
Suddenly interested, Lexi said, ‘You should put, I’m probably worth more dead than alive.’
‘Let’s make a deal,’ Troy replied with a smile. ‘I won’t tell you how to analyse clues if you don’t tell me how to handle suspects.’
‘What’s wrong with what I said?’
‘It’s too obvious. If Charon’s running a scam for spare parts, he’s going to be suspicious. You’d make it sound like I’m setting a trap. We’ve got to be more …’
‘Crafty?’
‘Yes.’ As Troy typed, he said aloud, ‘Thanks, Charon. I’m tired of visitors just telling me not to do it. You put a different slant on it. But I feel like I’m dead already. All that remains is to make it official.’
‘Don’t rush into anything,’ Charon Angel replied at once.
‘If I’ve made my mind up,’ Troy typed, ‘why not?’
‘Because I might be able to help,’ came the response.
‘What do you mean? What sort of help?’
‘I might be able to help you realize your value.’
Troy looked up at Lexi. ‘Tricky, isn’t it? He might be trying to persuade me I have a worthwhile life, or he might be working out how much cash he’s going to make after he’s helped me die.’
‘It’s your crazy language again,’ Lexi complained. ‘It’s down to how you interpret “realize your value”. How are you going to find out which he means?’
Troy hesitated. ‘I don’t want to ask to meet him. I want to see if he does that.’ Turning back to the keypad, he wrote, ‘I’ll think about it.’
There was a delay of a few seconds before the reply appeared on screen. ‘Thinking before acting is wise. You can’t do it afterwards. I’ll look out for you on this site. If you come back, I’ll be here. Remember: there are always people who care – and who benefit from you.’
Turning away, Troy muttered, ‘He’s right. There’s probably a queue of transplant patients.’
‘Charon Angel must know that you – or anyone else – could just volunteer to be an organ donor,’ Lexi said. ‘Giving your bits and pieces for nothing.’
Troy nodded. ‘Not enough do, I suppose. That’s why there’s a black market. Anyway, if Charon’s in that game, he wouldn’t want me to give my heart or anything else away. Perhaps he’d persuade me the money would come in useful for fa
mily or friends – or some cause I believe in. Then, after I’m gone, he’d run off with it.’ Troy twisted round and logged out of the chat room. ‘I want to play hard to get. I want him – or her – to sweat for a bit.’
‘Everything they’ve written could be innocent,’ Lexi said. ‘They might genuinely be worried about you.’
‘They?’
‘I know,’ Lexi said. ‘It’s not my fault, though. It’s the language again. If you don’t know whether someone’s a he or a she in English, a lot of people just say “they” instead. I do it myself sometimes. “They” can mean one person! Ridiculous. On top of that, it can mean just about anybody as well. When someone says, “They’ve arrested your best friend”, it means us: the police or detectives. But you’ve got to figure it out for yourself. “They say it’s going to rain” means weather forecasters.’ Frustrated, she shook her head.
‘It might mean old folk like my grandma, who says she can feel it in her bones.’
‘Quite. Not a clue.’
‘Anyway,’ said Troy, ‘I’m stopping for a bit because it gives us time to find out who the site administrator is.’
‘You’re hoping they’ll tell us who Charon Angel is.’
‘Exactly.’
They both began to check out databases and directories.
After half an hour of research, Lexi announced, ‘I told you I was the methodical one. The administrator’s called Sergio Treize, based in … Switzerland.’
‘Switzerland?’ Troy exclaimed. ‘Excellent. The world’s best chocolate. I’ll grab my skis.’
Lexi smiled. ‘Don’t bother. Our laws don’t stretch that far. If he doesn’t want to cooperate, he doesn’t have to.’
Tapping the computer screen, Troy said, ‘You’ve got enough info here for me to put in a video call. What time is it in Switzerland?’
‘I think they’re an hour ahead of us,’ Lexi answered.
‘That’s all right then.’
The first three attempts failed, but Troy got through to Sergio Treize at the fourth try. The outer’s head, shoulders and chest were displayed on Troy’s screen. In his thirties, he wore a sweatshirt with an abstract image and logo, prominent white-rimmed spectacles and he was bald. Oddly, he shook his head from side to side at least twice every minute, giving the impression of trying to dislodge a fly from his cheek without using a hand. Troy assumed he had a nervous tic.
