Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Pandora?’ he says, finally.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Mr Blake from now on. And this stays between us.’

  Pandora nods, looking slightly hurt. Jeff watches her leave, hoping she’ll look back. But she doesn’t. Instead she pulls out her smartphone, tapping away as she leaves the bar.

  She played you like an organ grinder. Jeff curses himself. It’s not her fault. She’s just young. Seeing what her options are. Wouldn’t you?

  He takes a seat closer to the bar. ‘Another for me.’

  But she didn’t have to be cruel.

  An hour or so later, Jeff staggers back to his room, flopping drunkenly onto his bed.

  Finding it impossible to sleep, he worries over the consequences if this gets out. He racks his mind to try and recall precisely what has happened. He has deleted Pandora’s messages from his replacement phone and unfriended her on Facebook. That’s always a bit awkward, having to work with someone you’ve unfriended. He considered blocking her but didn’t want her to get upset. He needs a distraction. He deserves a treat. He’s earned it, after all, given all the long hours he has put into his work. But he’s still feeling guilt, and then finds a way to justify the treat as a favour to Robbie. Sure. Do it for Robbie. Something he can share with his son, just like a proper father.

  He types in ‘Skin’ on Google and hits the link to the WadeSoft website. There are three Skin packages available: bronze, silver and gold. Jeff studies what each offers. Bronze is the cheapest package by far, providing basic visuals and audio, but is non-immersive and is based on limited interaction with a headset and two gloves. He decides to look at the silver package screenshots and videos. This version provides good definition in sights and sounds and some, limited, haptic feedback.

  Finally, he looks at the gold package: a full, high-definition experience with sensory data and the full Skin. He looks at the price tag and feels a pang in his stomach. He could just about do it, but it would blow a large chunk of cash. After some thought, he selects the gold, pay monthly option to spread the cost, and confirms the order.

  He then tries to drift off to sleep.

  Pop-ping

  Jeff’s got an email. Opening it he reads:

  Thank you for your pre-order.

  You’ve taken the first step.

  WadeSoft’s Skin will be dispatched shortly.

  The ultimate in immersion reality.

  #BetterThanReal

  He smiles to himself. It’s just what he needs.

  He then groans as he realizes he has to be up early the next morning. He’s promised Rose that he’ll go with her to the school and hear Robbie’s teacher report on his progress.

  32.

  Coulter’s early morning funeral is looking to be a drab and lonely affair. Rose is dressed respectfully, wearing large round sunglasses and a light black coat and black pants.

  The only other attendees, besides the priest, are Coulter’s frail-looking mother and his cousin, Daniel, who has flown in from England. A few feet away from them is an unknown male. He’s tall and thin, with fading blond hair and dressed in a crumpled charcoal suit. Looks to be mid-thirties. He senses Rose’s gaze, forces a polite smile then resumes staring down at Coulter’s black coffin. His face is etched into a grimace. The burial is at Colma, a small town in San Mateo County, where the population of the dead outnumber the living by a thousand to one.

  Colma is nicknamed the City of the Silent, and has its official motto ‘It’s great to be alive in Colma’ on the county’s website. The cemetery itself is massive, an enormous smorgasbord of two million headstones, cement angels and mausoleums unevenly crowding the valley. Levi Strauss, William Randolph Hearst and Wyatt Earp are among the cemetery’s famous interments.

  Talking with Daniel before the service, Rose discovered that Gary had specified in his will that he wished to be buried and not cremated. His mother had insisted on a religious service as a last-minute ‘insurance policy’ for her son. His cousin was initially surprised by the presence of an FBI agent, but once Rose explained that she hoped she might meet people who might help with the investigation, he seemed almost grateful. And yet, so few people.

  The white-haired priest drones on.

  Rose hopes that when she passes on, her funeral has a better attendance than Coulter’s. It is painful to see how little his death is mourned. She feels conspicuous attending the funeral of a man she did not know existed until he was dead. But she feels it is her duty. Any discussion with a friend or relative could help the investigation. And maybe the killer is close by. Rose scans the headstones, looking for any distant watcher, but all she sees are stone angels impassively staring back. As she looks down at the open grave, Gary Coulter still seems to be an enigma, in both life and death.

  At least his family, such as it is, have had the chance to bury him. Standing beside Coulter’s grave, memories of her mother’s disappearance start to wash up on the shores of Rose’s mind.

  She was a teenager when her mother did not return home from her teaching job. Her father Harry had been frantic, but after a three-month investigation, New Jersey’s finest had no leads to explain her disappearance. Mary Blake never came home, never wrote or called. Harry had eventually accepted she’d either been murdered or had run off, perhaps with some other man. Her sister Scarlet still refuses to talk about it, even to this day, still scarred by the loss.

  Rose alternately burns with anger and sadness. She knows that her mother’s disappearance had unquestionably informed her decision to work in law enforcement. The thing that rankles the most is the abrupt nature of it. Some evil bastard like Koenig could have kidnapped and murdered her and they would never know.

  As the years passed Rose had come to believe that her mother had been killed and her body hidden. She felt it in her gut. Her mother’s disappearance had also meant her own lack of a female role model when growing up. Being raised by Harry on his own meant she was perhaps tougher, more straight-talking than most other girls her age, which didn’t always win her friends in the social cliques at school, and later amongst the sorority girls. Headstrong and independent, Rose had flown through university and Quantico. She had once tried to reopen the cold case into her mother’s disappearance, attempting to trace her through what records she could find. But it had soon proved to be a dead end, and she had forced herself to let it go.

  Harry had been so proud when she graduated, he’d hugged her and cried. Right there in front of the other course graduates. But Rose had not felt a flicker of embarrassment and loved him all the more for it.

  As she looks down at Coulter’s grave, the urge to find the truth behind his death becomes stronger. She is determined to solve this case, solve them all. Payback for her mother.

  The service finally reaches its conclusion.

  As Rose follows the small procession away from the graveside, the unknown male quickens his pace to get away from the scene, heading towards the cars parked on the nearest stretch of road running through the gently rolling landscape of the dead.

  Rose calls out to him. ‘Excuse me.’

  The man hesitates, looking back.

  ‘Hi, my name’s Rose. May I speak with you?’

  The man stares back at her. His face is small, drawn in, like a weasel’s. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you. Good day.’

  He continues to walk away. Rose doesn’t want to do it like this, but she needs to find out who he is. She pulls out her badge and hurries round him, blocking his path.

  ‘Sir, I’m Special Agent Rose Blake, FBI. I would like to talk to you, for just a moment.’

  The gaunt man halts, looking at her proffered badge. ‘OK, Special Agent, what do you want to talk about?’

  Rose can see the muscle under his right eye twitching slightly.

  She puts her badge away. ‘That’s better. Let’s star
t with your name.’

  ‘Sebastian Shaw,’ he says.

  ‘You knew Gary Coulter. A friend, maybe?’

  ‘We used to work together.’

  ‘You seem a bit nervous. You OK?’

  ‘It’s not every day you get pounced on by the FBI at a colleague’s funeral. I . . . It’s been such a shock. I mean, it’s hard when someone you know is murdered. I just came to pay my respects.’

  ‘What was he like?’ asks Rose. ‘I’m trying to build up a picture of him. Whatever you can say might help the Bureau to find out what really happened. So what can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Honestly?’ Shaw shrugs. ‘Coulter was fat and sloppy. I didn’t like the way he worked, the way he presented himself. He didn’t have many friends that I know of.’

  ‘No? Did he ever mention anyone named Iris?’

  ‘Iris . . .’ Shaw is thoughtful. ‘No. Don’t know the name. He had no friends I knew of, but he was the most respected, or reckless, software engineer, depending who you speak to. I’d go for reckless. He took short cuts, without much regard for the risks involved.’

  ‘What kind of risks?’

  Shaw scrutinizes her for a moment. ‘Do you know how he died?’

  ‘We’re still working on that. Why did you say murdered a moment ago? That’s not the official line. Do you know something about it?’

  ‘I was mistaken.’

  ‘You seemed fairly certain to me.’

  ‘There’s not a lot more I can tell you, Special Agent. Not without getting into trouble. In the line of work that Gary and I engaged in, you have to sign some pretty draconian non-disclosure agreements.’

  ‘Sure, I understand. But the man is dead. Not a good death. We’d appreciate your help finding his killer.’

  ‘So he was murdered.’

  Rose realizes that there is no point in denying it. Not now. ‘It seems the most likely possibility. You both worked on the same defence contracts, right?’

  ‘I guess it won’t hurt to say so. Yes. What about it?’

  ‘We know about the suit,’ Rose says. ‘He died wearing it.’

  She waits for his reaction. There’s a brief flicker of fear in Shaw’s eyes.

  ‘What can you tell me about the suit?’ Rose can see Shaw tensing up, unwilling to answer. ‘We’re just trying to build up his background.’

  ‘I worked on the hardware. I mean the suit itself. Coulter was working on a related software project in another department at Peek.’

  ‘So you weren’t working on anything together?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how did you meet?’

  ‘In the company restaurant. We talked. I told him I was having a few problems with the operating system for the suit. He gave me some help with that. We sort of became friends, I guess.’

  ‘Friends? I didn’t get the impression Coulter was the friend-making type.’

  ‘Takes all kinds, Special Agent Blake.’

  ‘So . . . You made the suit?’

  ‘Not originally. WadeSoft came up with the design first. Their entertainment division, that is. Once the Defense Department got wind of it they told the company to put the development on hold while they assessed its applications. That’s how I got to work on the military prototypes.’

  ‘Military applications?’ Rose probes. It would be interesting to hear Shaw’s take on what Wade Wolff had already told her and Owen. ‘Like what?’

  ‘I guess it’s no longer a secret. Most of the stuff is already being adapted for the games market. Peek worked on the warfare simulations. Training Special Forces. Airborne and ground drone pilots. That kind of thing.’

  ‘Sounds impressive.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how impressive until you’ve tried the suit out.’

  Rose retrieves her smartphone, taps the ID app.

  ‘Mr Shaw, if I could have your prints, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You ever visit Coulter’s place?’

  ‘A few times, yeah. Months ago.’

  ‘Then you’ll have left some traces. I’ll need your prints for elimination purposes . . . It would help if you cooperated now. It’s easy enough to compel you to later on, if need be.’

  Shaw places his thumb on Rose’s screen. A blue line traces up and down the screen. Scan complete. She forwards the scan to Chan’s inbox.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘If it helps catch Gary’s killer, that’s fine by me.’

  ‘You don’t think we will?’

  ‘I don’t think you can, Special Agent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Shaw shakes his head. ‘It’s nothing. I mean, it doesn’t seem to me that you have much of a handle on the situation, given the questions you’ve asked me.’

  ‘We’re good at what we do, Mr Shaw. If anyone can find out what happened to your friend, and who was responsible for it, then it’s the FBI.’

  ‘I hope you’re right. Truly.’

  ‘Gary worked in the field of artificial intelligence. That right?’

  ‘Artificial consciousness, actually. Actual thought, not a series of reactions, but yes, there’s some people in the military who are very interested in that. Gary was way ahead of the curve in that field.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Shaw shakes his head. ‘I’m not saying any more. You want to find out, then go through the official channels. And good luck with that. Now, I got to go.’

  ‘Are you working for Maynard?’

  Shaw hesitates for a second. ‘I’ve never met him. Goodbye, Special Agent Blake.’

  ‘Wait.’ Rose takes out her card and hands it to him. ‘The Bureau will want to speak to you again. In any case, if you remember anything else you think we should know, call me. And where can I find you?’

  ‘Try Peek. I pretty much live there these days. I’m not hard to find.’

  ‘One last question. You say you worked on the suit. Does that mean there’s only one of them at Peek?’

  ‘One? You ever heard of a company with only one prototype of anything? We’ve got several of them at various stages of development. Each one’s for a different training application.’

  ‘What about the one Coulter was wearing when he was killed? If he was a code monkey then where did he get it from?’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious, Special Agent. He stole it.’

  He turns and strides away towards a Ford Advance with rental plates parked a short distance back from the other cars. He has only gone a few paces before he stops and looks over his shoulder. ‘If you want to find out what Gary was working on then ask the DoD about Project Diva.’

  ‘Diva?’

  ‘He mentioned it to me once. He was very excited about it.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Not much. Only that it was going to change his world forever.’

  ‘Just his world?’

  ‘That’s what he said. Goodbye.’

  Shaw pulls away quickly and drives off down the cemetery road lined with headstones. Rose is certain that he knows an awful lot more than he’s saying. She decides to look into him, and with Baptiste’s sign-off, maybe arrange some surveillance.

  Shaw taps the steering wheel, endlessly checking his mirrors for any sign of being followed. He curses himself. When he is certain the FBI agent is not behind him, he pulls into a quiet side street. He pulls out the encrypted phone Maynard gave him. He needs to speak to Maynard urgently. After a few rings, the phone is answered.

  ‘What do you want, Sebastian?’

  ‘We could have a problem.’

  33.

  Rose and Robbie sit quietly in the reception of Oakland High School. Rose’s attention wanders to her smartphone in case Owen calls w
ith news regarding Shaw. Baptiste has decided there is reasonable suspicion to justify limited surveillance, based on what Rose relayed to her from Coulter’s funeral, and Dr Chan confirming Shaw’s prints on Coulter’s suit.

  Finally Jeff walks in, wearing a light-brown jacket.

  ‘Hey, sorry. Traffic from the airport,’ he says, kissing Rose and then ruffling Robbie’s hair underneath his grey hoodie.

  ‘Let’s see what Robbo-Cop has been up to, huh?’

  Rose rolls her eyes. ‘You need a new nickname for him.’

  After they pass through security detectors – Rose has left her Glock locked in her car – they head down towards Ms Steiner’s classroom. They sit on some chairs left in the hallway for a few moments.

  ‘Do you want to come in with us?’ Rose asks. She sees a shaking of the head underneath Robbie’s hoodie. ‘You don’t like her very much, do you?’

  ‘She’s OK,’ Robbie says.

  The door opens and some parents Rose doesn’t know leave the classroom. The diminutive form of Ms Steiner, clad in black turtle-neck and long skirt, emerges.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Blake,’ she says with a welcoming smile.

  Ms Steiner always seems to be sucking a lemon. Her lips rest in a permanent pout, with drawn cheekbones and a severe bun. Robbie doesn’t like her much, but she is his English and class teacher. Rose and Jeff follow her into the classroom and take their seats in front of her desk. Ms Steiner closes the door, sits down behind the desk and opens Robbie’s report on her laptop.

  ‘Thank you for attending this evening. A lot of parents just want me to email their child’s report over to them, but I think these evenings are important for parents, teachers and the student.’

  ‘Of course, Ms Steiner, we’ll always make time for these evenings,’ Rose says.

  Ms Steiner slides her reading glasses on. ‘Robbie is a very well behaved and capable young man, but his grades have been steadily declining during the last semester.’

  ‘In what subjects?’ Rose asks.

  ‘Across the board, but most noticeably in English. He has gone from a B+ to a D-. His handwriting is lazy, his concentration is poor and there is evidence of social media affecting his spelling, as well as overall linguistic regression. I’ve prepared a sample of his recent work to show you.’ She pulls out a page of Robbie’s handwriting and slides it across the desk. Rose reads a few lines of misspelled, crass comments and looks at Jeff to see his response.