by Malcolm Rose
‘As far as we know, no one’s reported her missing. So, maybe she lived on her own. Why don’t we put out a call to shops and anyone who delivers things to people’s houses? Is anyone supplying things to what appears to be an empty house? Is stuff piling up at the door?’
‘Sounds reasonable.’ Fiddling with her life-logger, Lexi said, ‘I’ll do it.’
‘What about your spy cameras outside the transplant clinic?’
‘I looked at the footage last night and this morning – between meditations. Nothing iffy. No unmarked vans pulling up to the doors. Just the comings and goings you’d expect for a legitimate health centre. Gianna Humble, Blade Five, nurses, cleaners, a couple of patients.’
Sucking on a chunk of mint chocolate, Troy nodded. ‘Imagine I run a shady transplant outfit. I’ve got some embarrassing bodies to get rid of. I might well do it near a proper clinic, so it got the blame if someone found what I’d buried.’
‘It’s a possibility, I suppose,’ she admitted.
‘Have forensics found anything interesting in all that stuff they took from the wood?’
‘Nothing that definitely links to the case.’
SCENE 15
Thursday 10th April, Late morning
Goods had indeed piled up outside the large, posh house on the edge of Shepford. The trader who made the regular deliveries had recently become suspicious and had wandered round to the back garden. When she’d spotted a broken window, she’d reported it to Crime Central. At once, Troy and Lexi upgraded the low-priority incident at Olga Wylie’s house to the highest priority.
Troy almost tiptoed through the house. That seemed appropriate and respectful, in case he was now invading a dead woman’s personal space.
‘No evidence of anyone else living here,’ Lexi called out, less sensitive than Troy.
‘I think we can class Olga Wylie as rich and a loner,’ Troy whispered.
They were in her study – the room with a broken window. Lexi examined the dust on the desk. ‘There used to be something on here. Something about the size of a laptop. And, look, an electric cable for charging a computer battery. But nothing to plug it into.’
Troy nodded. ‘Someone broke in and took it, then?’
‘Maybe.’ Lexi bagged some dust because she knew it would contain human skin. With tweezers, she also picked up a hair with a root. She’d extract DNA from both.
‘Just like Dmitri Backhouse. No computer. If I’m right, it means there was something significant on it. When she died, someone got rid of it.’
‘I’ve got a visible fingerprint here,’ Lexi said. Checking on her life-logger for a few seconds, she added, ‘Eighty-four per cent match with L4G#2. It’s not perfect because the body was degraded. Assuming this,’ she said, pointing to the pattern in the dust, ‘belongs to Olga Wylie, we’ve got a name for our second body.’
Sad, but relieved, Troy nodded again. He requested Olga’s medical details and then soaked up the atmosphere while his partner went about her job. Not much seemed to have been disturbed. The burglar hadn’t ransacked the place. That suggested he or she came in for something specific – like Olga’s computer.
Lexi went over to the smashed window and peered closely at it. Then she examined the carpet underneath. Disappointed, she said, ‘I can’t see any blood, fibres or anything from the burglar. We’ll need a detailed search and special equipment. That might show up some traces.’
‘They’re like chickens. Not to be counted till they hatch.’
Lexi did not look up. ‘Don’t worry. If I don’t get anything on the person who smashed the window, I’ll find something else. All it takes is for me to be more thorough than the guy who broke in. Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll get the forensic team to go over the place millimetre by millimetre, if necessary. Every drawer, every nook and cranny.’
Troy didn’t know his partner very well yet, but he had every confidence in her already. He accompanied her as she went methodically from room to room, making notes, using her life-logger. Troy built up a different kind of picture of Olga Wylie. There were no photographs on the walls, no signs of a fondness for family or friends. No signs of fondness for herself. There was one photograph of Olga. It was lying face-down in the living room. Along with the contents of her kitchen, it told Troy that she was an overweight middle-aged woman who ate too much junk food and drank alcohol. Perhaps her lifestyle had contributed to her ill-health. At least the photo confirmed that she was L4G#2.
When Lexi had been in every room, she stopped and said, ‘You know one thing we haven’t found?’
‘A computer.’
‘Apart from that.’
‘What?’
‘Her handbag.’
‘Handbag?’
Lexi smiled. ‘An essential piece of equipment for major women. They keep all sorts in them. Rummage in a handbag and you’ll find a forensic treasure trove.’
‘So, what do we do?’
‘We go round again – till we find it. And if we don’t, I put the whole team on the job. Come on. It’ll be tucked away somewhere, but easily accessible. Perhaps with her coats, so she could grab both at the same time.’
Lexi went out into the hall, examining every door, every surface, even tapping the walls and listening to the sound. She found what she wanted under the stairs. The wall panel sounded hollow. There was no obvious way into the cubby-hole, no handle. On the left-hand side, the door didn’t react to Lexi’s push. But when she touched the right-hand side of the panel, it sprang back smoothly.
Reaching inside, Lexi cried, ‘Hey presto! Coats and handbag. We’re in business.’ She put the embroidered bag down on a table, opened it and delved inside. As an outer, she could never leave fingerprints on evidence, but she used gloves to avoid contaminating it with flakes of her skin and smudging traces with sweat. ‘Here we go,’ she declared, lifting out a smartphone. ‘Not as good as a laptop, but I want Terabyte on this.’
SCENE 16
Thursday 10th April, Afternoon
Terabyte had synchronized Olga Wylie’s mobile with his computer. His monitor showed exactly what was on her smartphone. He’d got a short list of phone numbers that she’d used, a very brief history of texts and a record of internet sites that she’d visited. The phone had not recorded any activity after Tuesday 25th March.
‘Just over two weeks ago,’ said Troy. ‘That’s probably when she died.’ He touched his life-logger and said, ‘I got her medical records. She had a weak heart. She’d been on the transplant waiting list for ages but she didn’t get lucky. No one donated a heart that matched her blood type. No one legal anyway.’
‘All these phone numbers and texts check out,’ Terabyte told the two detectives. ‘Nothing shifty. A hairdresser, the online shop she used, the hospital …’
‘Genuine hospital?’ asked Troy.
‘Yes. And the texts are from a bank, shops and that sort of thing. Her emails have been deleted. Not a single one left.’
Troy sighed. ‘Okay. Let’s see the internet sites in her history.’
Terabyte displayed them on his monitor.
Almost immediately, Troy picked out one from the small number of named sites. She’d visited ‘The Solitude Network’ repeatedly. ‘What’s that?’
Terabyte clicked on the link and read from the header, ‘A place for the lonely and isolated to meet and talk.’
‘That’s what we want,’ Troy declared immediately. ‘We need to know who she’s been talking to.’
‘We don’t know her username.’
‘True,’ Troy replied, ‘but I want to see every message on the site for … let’s say … a month leading up to 25th March.’
‘Sure,’ Terabyte said. ‘No problem.’ He stroked a few keys and the information appeared onscreen. Scrolling down the sizeable blog, he muttered, ‘There’s a lot of lonely people out there.’
‘If Olga posted anything, we might be able to work out which one she is, what she put and what replies she got,’ said Troy eagerly. �
��We can narrow it down by eliminating anybody who blogged after 25th March.’
‘And the ones who are obviously men or outers,’ Lexi said.
‘Okay. I’m on to it,’ Terabyte replied. His fingers flew across the keypad and the onscreen list began to shorten.
‘Hold it!’ Lexi almost shouted.
‘What?’
She pointed to an entry on the screen. ‘A post by someone calling themselves Wily Fox. Is that a coincidence? We’re after Olga Wylie.’
Troy said, ‘No, it’s not a coincidence. Look. It’s about health and hearts.’
Samaritan 999: I’ve been thinking. What about alternative medicine? Have you tried anything like that?
Wily Fox: I’ve heard of the crazy stuff like powdered rhino horn. That’s supposed to reduce fevers, but I just think of the poor creatures that get killed. Does any of it really work? Are there any that heal hearts without hurting animals?
Samaritan 999: Let me do a bit of research. I think there is something. Maybe I can put you in touch with someone who could help.
Wily Fox: Thanks. I’ll log back on tomorrow.
Troy said, ‘Scroll back in time, Terabyte. She must have blogged about her heart problem before. Can you isolate all her posts – and the replies?’
‘That’s a manual sorting job. It’ll take a while.’
‘How long? Hours?’
Terabyte shrugged. ‘It depends how much there is. But, no, I mean minutes, not seconds.’
‘You’re a genius.’
‘I know,’ Terabyte replied. ‘But I’ll get it onto your life-loggers quicker if you’re not breathing down my neck and talking to me.’
‘Hint taken. We’ll leave you to it.’ Pushing his luck on his way out, Troy said, ‘Afterwards, you could contact whoever hosts this site. See if they’ll tell you anything about Wily Fox and Samaritan 999.’
‘Okay.’
‘Thanks.’
Walking away with Troy, Lexi said, ‘Some spare minutes. Great. I’m going to switch off. I guess you’re going to do the opposite.’
Troy nodded. ‘Thinking time.’
Half an hour later, they were both reading Olga’s entries on The Solitude Network. Quickly, they focused on the posts that had something to do with her health and read the first one.
Wily Fox: Normally I don’t mind being on my own. Love it really. I’m not your typical lonely heart and I’m not after a date. It’s just that there are times when it would be great to have someone to sympathise.
Take a Break: I’m with you on that, Wily Fox. What’s the problem?
Wily Fox: Illness, I’m afraid.
Take a Break: I know precisely what you mean.
Samaritan 999: Me too. Is it the silly niggling things or something serious that gets you down?
Wily Fox: Let me put it this way. I’m not so much a lonely heart as a failing heart.
Samaritan 999: That’s not so good.
Take a Break: You have plenty of sympathy here. Virtual hugs and kisses.
‘The follow-up chat was interesting,’ Troy said. ‘The bit about alternative medicine and putting her in touch with someone who could help.’
‘Yeah. I wonder what Samaritan 999 means by “alternative”. If your heart’s clapped out, that’s it. You need a new one. A few herbs won’t fix it.’
Troy agreed. ‘I think Samaritan 999’s trying to be subtle, nudging her towards the black market in new hearts. That’s definitely alternative. And she could afford it all right.’ He turned back to the screen. ‘Where did they go afterwards?’
Wily Fox: Breathless and tired today. Nothing from the hospital.
Samaritan 999: What are you actually waiting for?
Wily Fox: A heart. I mean a real heart. I’m not talking about courage. Though courage would be good as well.
Samaritan 999: A transplant?
Wily Fox: Yes. Apparently I’ve exhausted all other treatments.
Samaritan 999: Maybe I can help. My friends in the alternative medicine business have a transplant clinic. It’s not free, though.
Wily Fox: Money’s not a problem. I just want a normal life.
Take a Break: Be careful, Wily Fox. There are some dodgy doctors out there.
Wily Fox: But I don’t have long if nothing’s done. Desperate situations call for desperate measures. I’ll try anything.
Samaritan 999: If you send me your email, I can fix you up.
[Next entry deleted for a breach of security rules: email address detected.]
Troy sat back in his chair. ‘Now that’s a cat let out of the bag. I think we can assume Olga got in touch and used her cash to jump the queue. She had a transplant in some rogue clinic. Things went horribly wrong and she got an outer’s heart. Then this underground organization tried to cover it up by burying the evidence, knowing she was a loner. They reckoned no one would come looking for her.’
Lexi nodded. ‘Can’t fault the logic. And it reminds me of Dmitri Backhouse arranging things through a chat room.’
‘I’d like to meet Samaritan 999 and Charon Angel. One trawls for lonely people that no one will miss and the other stalks possible suicides online. Maybe they’re the same person.’
‘Huh. Don’t forget Charon Angel – that’s Sharon Angie – came across as perfectly innocent in her last message.’
Troy hesitated before replying. ‘Don’t you forget Sergio Treize could have told her a detective’s prowling around. Maybe that’s why she changed.’
‘But if you live in Switzerland, you can’t murder people in Shepford. And that’s that.’
Lexi’s life-logger vibrated with news from Olga Wylie’s house. The forensic examination was continuing but the team had found evidence of the intruder. A single faint impression in the flower bed at the side of the house matched Unknown Shoeprint 1 left by the burial site in the wood. Size 12, trainer-type, with Adibok’s logo incorporated into the design of the tread. She looked up at Troy and asked, ‘How many women – outer or major – do you know who wear size twelve shoes? That’s 29.6 cm from toe to heel.’
Troy shrugged. ‘Probably none.’
‘Okay. It’s almost certainly a man. He’s been near where the bodies were buried and now he’s been poking around Olga Wylie’s house.’ She paused before adding, ‘Time I went back to the wood.’
SCENE 17
Thursday 10th April, Late afternoon
The log cabin in the wood seemed to be deserted. ‘Huw!’ Lexi shouted loudly. ‘Hello?’
No reply. Just the sound of birds calling.
‘Not here,’ Troy said. ‘Which doesn’t mean a lot on its own, but …’
‘What?’
‘Everything’s exactly the same as it was on Tuesday,’ Troy observed.
The large axe and fishing rod were still propped against the cabin wall and most of Huw’s woodworking tools were still laid out on the table.
Lexi glanced around. ‘Now you mention it …’
‘That’s a spanner thrown in the works. If he’s gone, is he another victim or a suspect we’ve scared off?’
‘He’s a suspect if he’s got size twelve feet. A very strong one. That’s why I’m here. To find out.’ Staring at the ground, Lexi took a deep breath. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She pointed her life-logger at a clear impression of a left boot outside the cabin door and then said, ‘Small feet. Size eight. And a match with Unknown Shoeprint 2. The one with a bit of rubber chipped off.’ She sighed. ‘All that proves is he wanders around the wood. But he could be an accomplice. He helped out here with the bodies but didn’t go to Olga’s.’
‘Possible,’ Troy replied. ‘But I saw him as a loner, a free spirit, not partnering anyone.’
‘More likely a victim, then.’
‘For his sake, I hope he’s neither. Maybe he just didn’t like the intrusion. You and me asking questions and a forensic team trampling over what he’d see as his territory. Maybe he’s just upped and off. I don’t suppose it takes him long to plan a move. Not a lo
t to pack.’ Troy took his life-logger in his hand and said, ‘I’ll still get a team to go through the wood, looking for fresh digging.’
‘Talking of people on the move, I’ll get someone to find out if Olga bought any travel tickets just before 25th March. No doubt we’d be interested in where she went.’
Walking back towards the car parked in the narrow lane, Troy said, ‘It’s sad, isn’t it? We – the people – shouldn’t need laws at all. We shouldn’t have to be told it’s bad to be nasty to each other. It should be pretty obvious.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You’d think us humans would know what’s right and what’s wrong. Especially majors.’
‘Why especially majors?’ Lexi asked with a frown.
‘We’ve got an inbuilt brake on behaviour – our religious code.’
‘You don’t need a god to be nice to each other,’ Lexi objected. ‘Everyone’s got moral instinct. Outers included. We all know killing and removing someone’s organs is a bad thing to do. Anyway,’ she added, clearly offended, ‘even with all that religion, majors do horrible things.’
Troy nodded. ‘What do you think would happen if we got rid of you and me – the law – tomorrow?’
Shrugging, Lexi said, ‘All countries have laws. That tells me everywhere goes crazy without them.’
‘That’s what I mean. It’s really sad.’
‘I guess ninety-nine per cent of people would still be nice to each other.’
‘That leaves one per cent who’d turn us into a lawless mess. One per cent too many.’
Reaching the car, its door unlocked for Lexi. ‘Let’s ignore the one per cent right now,’ she said, ‘and just concentrate on one person. Our bad guy.’
Settling inside, both of their mobiles began to ring at the same time. The caller was the same as well. Terabyte.
‘Hi,’ Lexi said. ‘How did you …?’
‘I’m a genius with phones as well. Anyway, I wanted to speak to both of you. I got hold of The Solitude Network supervisor. After Samaritan 999’s last chat with Wily Fox, he was banned from the site. He kept asking for contact details of people who didn’t want a date. Three strikes and you’re out, apparently. A waste of time if you ask me. He could log in from a different device under a different username.’
