“Yes.”
“We only found one glass. Isn’t that a bit odd?”
“Oh.” Claire looked hard at the top of the desk. “I have the glass. Byrne liked to…well, he poured some on me.”
“I see. Did he say if he was meeting anyone else after you left?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Had he met anyone before you arrived?”
“I don’t know. He never said.”
Amanda sighed, resisting the impulse to reach out and grip the girl’s shoulder in reassurance. “Sounds like you’ve had a pretty rough few months.”
“It wasn’t that…I know it all sounds awful. He really liked me, though. You must think I’m some dreadful cheap tart.”
“I don’t think that at all. But what I’d like to do is refer you to a counsellor. I think you could do with someone to talk to right now.”
“Maybe. Do I have to?”
“No. But I’d like you to think about it.”
“I will. Can I go now?”
“Just about finished. I’ll need a DNA sample from you to eliminate any traces we find at the apartment. After that you’re free to go.”
“Why do you need that?”
“Because this is now a murder investigation.”
“Why is it murder?” Vernon asked.
“Claire claims the air-conditioning was operating normally when she left.”
“Tyler could have changed it.”
“We’ve been over this. That temperature isn’t one you can live in. The only reason to change it is to fudge the time of the murder. And the controls were wiped. The murderer did that.”
“All right, damnit. I’ve done some background datawork for you. He was insured by his management agenda and we now have reasonable doubt. I’ll squirt the appropriate information off to them. We should get a response fairly quickly.”
“Thank you. I’d like a scene-of-crime team to look at the apartment, and a full autopsy.”
“I can give you that now.”
“Great. I’ll also need full access to all of Tyler’s financial and personal data. Alison can start running it through some analysis programs.”
“Okay, I’ll have a magistrate sign the order this evening.” Vernon fixed her with a thoughtful stare. “Did the girl do it?”
“She certainly had the motive. She was there around the time it happened. Unless we can put someone else at the scene, she’s the obvious choice.” She caught his troubled expression. “What?”
“I don’t get it. She was smart enough to lower the temperature, so she must have realized everyone would find out she was sleeping with Tyler. Why not simply say he slipped, that it was an accident?”
“Guilt. Plain and simple. Trying to cover her tracks. You can see it in the way she talks. She’s cautious about every word that comes out of her mouth, as if she’ll give herself away just by speaking.”
“Okay, Amanda, if you say so.”
The next morning Amanda caught the Tyler story on Globecast’s breakfast news. She was smoking an extremely illicit cigarette, trying to calm herself for the day to come. Tyler didn’t rate much time: archive footage of him arriving at some glitzy party with Tamzin on his arm; the fact they were engaged, and she was believed to be flying home to be with her family; and a mention that the police investigation was ongoing, hinting that officers considered the circumstances unusual.
How do they find out so quickly? she wondered.
Amanda checked in at the station first, mainly to make sure there were no problems with Alison’s analysis. The probationary detective gave her a grumpy look from behind her desk. Four terminal cubes were full of what looked like Inland Revenue datawork as she used her court access order to pull in details from his accountant, agent, solicitor and banks. Apparently Byrne Tyler’s financial affairs were complex to the point of obscurity, not helped by the way showbusiness used accounting methods unknown to the rest of the human race. Amanda told her to concentrate on finding out if he had any large debts, and to confirm that he had bought the Ingalo for Claire.
With that part of the investigation on line she was ready to drive up to the apartment and supervise forensic’s sweep. Vernon brought Mike Wilson to see her before she could get away. Wilson was from Crescent Insurance, who provided cover for Tyler. A real smoothy, she thought as they were introduced. Late thirties, in a smart blue-gray business suit at least two levels above a detective’s price range, ginger hair neatly trimmed, a body he had kept in condition without being an obvious gym-rat. She didn’t think he’d had any cosmetic alteration, his cheeks were slightly too puffy; but he certainly used too much aftershave.
“How much coverage did Tyler have?” she asked.
“His agency had taken out a full investigatory package,” Mike Wilson said. “Whatever it takes to get the culprit into court and secure a conviction.”
“Sounds good to me. Just give us your credit account details, we’ll invoice you.”
Wilson’s smile was tolerant. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. We like to see first hand what our money is being spent on.”
She gave Vernon a tight you’re-kidding-me look. He smiled in retaliation. “Mike Wilson will be assigned to your team for the duration of the investigation.”
“As what?”
“I have worked on a number of police cases,” Wilson said. “I appreciate you don’t want what you regard as outside interference—”
“Bloody right I don’t.”
“—however, the facts are that I can offer immediate access to considerable specialist resources such as forensic labs and database mining, which the police have to outsource anyway. And I’m certainly happy to finance any reasonable police deployment, like the scene of crime search. That goes without question.”
“How active do you see your helpful role?”
“I only offer advice when I’m asked for it. It’s your investigation, Detective.”
Her terminal bleeped for attention. Mike Wilson and Vernon Langley watched expectantly. Without making too big a deal of it, Amanda sat behind her desk and pulled the call through. It was Denzil.
“I have good news and good news,” he said. “From your point of view anyway, if not Byrne Tyler’s.”
“What did you find?”
“Narcotic toxicology was minimal, except for a very recent infusion of Laynon. Our boy was improving his bedtime performance that night, but nothing more. But there were plenty of residual traces. He’s a regular and longtime user of several proscribed drugs. However he didn’t have enough of anything in his bloodstream to impede locomotion or cause disorientation at the time he died.”
“The champagne?”
“Minimal alcohol level, he couldn’t have drunk more than half a glass.”
“Thanks, Denzil. What else?”
“Dried saliva trails on his skin. And small scrapings of skin under two fingernails.”
“They must be from Claire.” She glanced up at Mike Wilson, raising an eyebrow. He gave a small bow. “Run a DNA comparison for me, Denzil.”
“Yeah, I heard we got money.” His image vanished from the screen.
Wilson gave Vernon a meaningful look. “If it is the sister, the tabloid channels are going to have a feeding frenzy.”
Amanda made an effort at conversation on the drive up to Bisbrooke. It wasn’t that Wilson was unlikable; but her instinct was that he had no place on the investigation. Of course, intellectually, she appreciated his presence was due to social injustice rather than politics. External funding was a factor she would have to accept, especially in the future.
With the body gone and the air-conditioning back to normal, the apartment had lost its cheerless quality. Two scene-of-crime officers were moving methodically through the ground floor, examining every surface with a variety of sensor wands. Rex was out in the courtyard, taking statements from the neighbors.
“What do you need to move for a prosecution?” Mike Wilson asked as they took a look at th
e cast-iron stairs.
“Basically, a lack of any other suspects. I expect the prosecution service will accept she changed the air-conditioning. She is a medical student, after all.”
“So you’ll interview his friends to see if anyone threatened him?”
“Friends, his agency, people he worked with. The usual. I’d love to try and track down his supplier, as well. But that would really cost you—they don’t exactly rush out of the woodwork at times like these.”
He gave a small grin. “I know.”
“Previous case?”
“Crescent insures a lot of celebrity types. Having dealt with them before, I can see why we set the premiums so high.”
“Really?” Amanda was wondering if he was going to let any gossip loose when her cybofax bleeped. Denzil’s face appeared on the screen with an indecently malicious expression. “What?” she asked cautiously.
“The saliva is Claire’s. The skin under the fingertips is not.”
“Oh bugger,” she groaned. Even so, some part of her was glad Claire had possibly been cleared. Although she was still convinced the girl was hiding something. “Run a match through the central criminal records at the Home Office.” She didn’t even consult Mike Wilson with that one.
“Already running,” Denzil said. “Plot getting thicker, huh?”
“Yeah, right.” She ended the call.
Wilson was looking up at the top of the stairs. “So what do you think? Skin scrape from whoever pushed him.”
“Looks that way. One last desperate grasp as he started to fall.” She walked over to the red outline of the body on the terra-cotta tiles, and turned a full circle. “So what else have we got? No sign yet of a forced entry, which implies either the security ’ware let them through or it was a professional hit and they could burn through the system without a trace.”
“Pushing someone off the top of the stairs isn’t a widely used assassination method. It’s heat-of-the-moment. Which fits.”
“Fits what?”
“Someone turned up just after Claire left. A friend, or someone he knew. He let them in. There was an argument. It would also explain the air-conditioning. If it was a professional hit, then whoever did that wouldn’t need to confuse the time of death, it wouldn’t matter to them. For some reason, our murderer still cares about messing with the time.”
“Still doesn’t fit. If it was a friend, then the security ’ware would have an admissions record. There was nobody.”
“We’d better have it checked very thoroughly, then. Get into the base management program and see if there’s any sign of tampering.”
Amanda nodded. “You have somebody who can do that?”
“Oh yes.”
“While they’re at it, make sure they enhance the surveillance picture of the Ingalo when it left, I’d like to confirm no one was inside along with Claire.”
“Fair enough. What else do you need?”
She gestured out of the window wall. “Unless it was a real professional who yomped in over the fields, the only way to get here is to drive through the village. And believe me, that’s not so easy. Bisbrooke is small, and confusing. The villagers would know all about strange cars. I want a door-to-door enquiry asking if any of them saw anything that night, any cars they didn’t recognize, as well as full interviews with the neighboring apartments.”
“That’s a lot of labor-intensive groundwork. Could we just wait and see if the DNA register comes up with anything first?”
“Okay. We need the other angle anyway. This will give us some time.”
“Other angle?”
“The motive, Mike. Personal, or financial, or professional jealousy, whatever…We need to start the good old-fashioned process of elimination. So, you get your expert here to examine the security ’ware, and I’ll get back to the station and give Alison a hand with Tyler’s finances.”
It was late afternoon when Alison slapped a hand down on her terminal keyboard with a disgusted sigh, canceling a search program. “He doesn’t have bloody finances, you’ve got to have money for that. All Tyler has are debts.”
Which wasn’t strictly true. Amanda glanced at Tyler’s bank statement again. To think, she always worried about her monthly salary payment arriving in time to satisfy her standing orders and credit-card bill. Some people obviously operated on a higher plane. Although he owed close to quarter of a million New Sterling, the banks just kept extending his credit limit. Why he didn’t pay it off she couldn’t understand. His cashflow was more than adequate. Of course, neither she nor Alison could track down where half of the money actually came from, and in most cases where it went. One account at a bank in Peterborough was used just for withdrawing large sums of hard cash.
Amanda looked over at Mike Wilson who was studying some of the details himself. “I think we might justifiably request a qualified accountant at this point.”
He ran a hand back through his hair, looking at a twisting column of numbers in one of the cubes with a perplexed expression. “I think you might be right.”
Denzil came in and grinned at the blatant despondency in the room. “Having fun?”
“Always,” Alison said sweetly.
“I have a positive result.”
Amanda sat up fast. “What?”
“The skin scrape is definitely nobody we know of. No record of that DNA in the Home Office memory core. I even squirted the problem over to Interpol. They don’t have it either. And before you ask, neither does the FBI.” He gave Wilson an affable smile. “You’ll get the bill tomorrow.”
“I live for it.”
“You want me to look elsewhere? Most countries will cooperate.”
“I think we’ll have to,” Amanda said. “After all, that DNA is our murderer. Mike?”
“I agree. Although, I’d like to suggest widening the search parameters.”
“How?”
“Organizations such as Interpol and the FBI simply store the DNA of known criminals. If it were a professional hit, I’d say search every police memory core on the planet. However, we favor the theory that this was a heat-of-the-moment killing, do we not?”
“I can go with that,” she said.
“Then our murderer is unlikely to be listed.”
“It was always a long shot, but what else can we do?” She pointed at the cubes full of financial datawork. “If we can find a motive, we can track the murderer that way.”
“Crescent has a DNA-characteristics assembly program. I suggest we use that.”
Denzil whistled quietly. “I’m impressed.”
“I might be,” Amanda said. “If I knew what you were talking about.”
“The genes which make us what we are, are spaced out along the genome, the map of our DNA,” Mike Wilson said. “Now that we know which site designates which protein or characteristic, like hair color or shape of the ear, it’s possible to examine the genes which contribute to the facial features and see what that face will look like.”
“You mean you can give me a picture of this person?” Amanda asked.
“Essentially, yes. We can then ask Tyler’s friends and acquaintances if they recognize him…or her.” He waved a hand at the busy terminal cubes. “Got to be easier than this, quicker, too. Crescent can also run standard comparison programs with the visual images stored in our data cores, and with the security departments of all the other companies we have reciprocal arrangements with. I think you’ll find they’re considerably more extensive than the criminal records held by governments. For a start, between us, the insurance companies have copies of every driving license issued in Europe. And we already decided the murderer drove to Bisbrooke.”
Amanda studied him. This was suddenly too easy. Something was wrong, and she couldn’t define it…apart from an intuitive distrust she had for the corporate machinator. And yet, he was helping. Solving the crime, in all probability. “How long will it take?”
“If we courier a sample of the DNA over to Crescent’s lab in Oxford this
evening, the program can crunch the genome overnight. We can have the picture by morning.”
“Okay. Do it.”
Amanda hated working Sundays. No way around it this week, though. And maybe, just maybe, she might get overtime, courtesy of Crescent.
When she arrived at the station there was an unusually large crowd of people in the main CID office for the time and day, uniform division as well as detectives. Alison gave Amanda a wry smile as she came in.
“The scene-of-crime team found something interesting,” she said in a low voice, suggesting conspiracy. “No shortage of volunteers to go over this lot for us.”
“What?” Amanda asked. She edged through the group to look at the flatscreen they were all absorbed with. It was a split-screen image, three viewpoints of the main bedroom in Byrne Tyler’s apartment. Tyler himself was on the bed with a girl, their naked bodies writhing in animal passion.
Alison held up a carton full of memox crystals. “There’s a lot of them. Over sixty.”
“Okay.” Amanda walked over to the AV player and switched it off. “That’s enough. This is supposed to be a bloody police station, not a porno shop.”
They moaned, one or two jeered, but nobody actually voiced a complaint. The group broke up, filing out of the CID office with sheepish grins and locker room chuckles.
“They found three cameras in there yesterday,” Alison said. “Quite a professional recording setup. Looks like Tyler was something of an egotistical voyeur.”
“Was he recording Wednesday night?” Amanda asked sharply. At least that explained why he didn’t have a top sheet on his bed, she thought.
“No. Or at least, there was no memox of it. The AV recorder the cameras are rigged to was empty.”
“Pity.”
Alison rattled the carton. “Plenty more suspects: all the husbands and boyfriends.”
The little black cylinders rolled about. Ten-hour capacity each. Amanda found herself doing mental arithmetic. Assuming they were even half-full, Tyler had been a very busy boy. Popular, too. “Is there an index?”
“Yes.” Alison flourished a ziplock bag containing several sheets of paper. “In ink no less—I guess he didn’t want to risk this list getting burned open by a hotrod. Mostly just first names, but he got some surnames as well; and they’ve all got dates. They go back over two years. There’s quite a few personalities I recognize.”
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