by Frank Tayell
The soft whine of the air-cycler brought him back to the present. The room would be needed for the next shift. He would have to find time, later, to go through the family’s activity more carefully.
“Control, come in.”
“I haven’t anything for you yet, Constable,” Vauxhall said, testily.
“I’ve something else for you to add to your list.”
“What?”
“I want you to tag everyone that the Greenes came in contact with.”
“Since when?”
“Let’s start with this week and go back…” Yes, he thought. “Six months. The killer had to have known the victims,” he added for the benefit of the recording.
“Fine. But I can only do one thing at a time.” She clicked off before Ely could ask her anything else.
He looked again at the pod, then at the door to the night-side, then at the door to the day-side, and then down at the floor. It was clean, he realised. He opened the night-side door and stepped out into the corridor again.
“Control.”
“Oh, what now?”
“Turn the lights in the night-side corridor on full.”
They snapped on, turning the dimly light hallway brighter than day. It took a moment for Ely’s eyes to adjust. He peered down at the floor.
After the brief training period, Arthur had given Ely access to the library’s collection of forensics and criminology books. He’d started to read all four, but the language had been so archaic, the content referencing so many things outside of his own experiences he’d not finished any of them. Some of the academic papers had been easier to read. In one of those, he remembered reading something about blood trails, and that was what he was looking for. He didn’t find one.
He went back into the unit and opened the door to the day-side. There the light was bright enough to see the floor. There was no blood. He checked the logs. The drones weren’t scheduled to clean until just before the end of the shift. That, he thought, left only one possibility. He went back inside the unit.
Everyone wore the same style of tight fitting jumpsuit. Each shift, a worker’s height, weight, and shape were measured and recorded, and not just for health reasons. That data was used to ensure that each set of clothes was made with the minimum amount of material. There were no pockets, folds or creases in which a weapon of any kind could be stored. Ely reasoned that if the blade had been in the killer’s hand, then a blood trail would have been left in the corridor outside. But what if the killer hadn’t taken the weapon with them?
There were few places within the room for it to be hidden. It couldn’t be in the children’s pods, they hadn’t been opened the night before. The children would have seen it if it was left in the toilet or shower. There hadn’t been time to dismantle any of the wall panels, so that left only the obvious; the recycling chute.
There was no space in the Tower for storing personal possessions. Nor was there energy to waste in washing crockery or cleaning clothes. These items, both printed of the same material, were disposed of in a recycling chute. Each hab-unit had one. Anything placed in the chute would end up in one of the electro-chemical baths down on Level One, where it would be broken down and reconstituted into fibre-gel, ready to be used again.
The chute was a foot square. Ely pulled on the handle. It was empty, but it was large enough to contain the murder weapon. He tapped out a command.
“Control,” he said. “I’ve stopped the recycling from this hab-unit. Can you confirm?”
“I can confirm you’ve stopped it for that entire floor.”
Ely cursed. “I just need whatever was thrown out from this unit, last shift,” he said.
“You can’t isolate it, Ely.”
He cursed again.
“Why did you want to stop it?” she asked.
“I think the murder weapon, a blade of some kind, was dropped down the chute.”
“That’s possible. Hang on.” There was a pause. “How big a blade?”
“Between nine and twelve inches, probably with a handle at either end. I don’t think it was straight, but possibly curved.” He was guessing, and doing so for the benefit of the recording.
“Well, I’m looking at the schematics. Five feet down the chute there are a series of grinders that shred the clothing into one-inch pieces. Four feet below that are a set of rollers that flatten the pieces, then there’s another set of grinders after that.”
“You’re saying the weapon wouldn’t fit?”
“I think it could fit, I just don’t think it could survive. There’s no blockage reported. So if it was dropped down there, it’s been mulched, just like the clothing.”
“And at the bottom? Would any of it be left?”
“Nothing larger than a fibre. Depending on what it was made of, it’ll have been recycled, or ended up stuck to the bottom of the vat. If you put in a request to have them emptied, and—”
“No. Forget it. How long does all of that take?”
“To reprocess something? Thirty minutes. At most. If the weapon went down there, it’s gone.”
He sighed. He wasn’t going to empty the vats. It was a task that had to be done by hand, and that would require requisitioning workers from one of the Assemblies. With the loss of a quarter of a million hours already that shift, he knew he wouldn’t get the authority to do it. There was still the question of what, exactly, the weapon had been. The obvious answer was something from one of the Assemblies. He checked the logs. No tools had been reported missing. He tapped out a message, asking the supervisors to manually check, but he stopped himself before sending it. They would want to know the reason for the request. Whatever explanation he gave them, the message he sent would be leaked to the newsfeeds. He didn’t think either Councillor Cornwall or the Chancellor would be happy with that.
He checked the time. He was surprised to see that two hours had passed. He had to clear the room for the next shift. That meant he had to get rid of the bodies. That at least, he knew how to do. He called the infirmary.
“What?” Nurse Gower answered.
“I’ve two bodies here. I need them collected.”
“Two bodies? In one shift? How did…” she began, then stopped. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t care. You need to come up to the infirmary and sentence Grimsby. You do that and we’ll come and take care of your bodies.”
“No,” Ely said deciding that, for once, he’d pull rank. “You come down here and get these bodies. The unit is needed next shift.” Because Grimsby did need to be dealt with, he added, “and afterwards, I’ll come back up with you to deal with Grimsby. Unless you want four people from the next shift sleeping up in the infirmary.”
“We’re on our way,” she snapped.
Ely took his helmet off and looked at the room just with his eyes. The Greenes had entered, then gone to sleep. Someone had come in and murdered them. Whoever it was hadn’t hesitated. Nor had they lingered after the deed was done. The killer hadn’t been monitored coming into the room, nor in the corridor outside it. He found himself looking at the camera.
“Control. That camera. When was it moved?”
“One thing at a time, Ely. I’ll add that to the list.”
“Just give me a—”
“Constable. I’ve already told you. You’ll have to wait.” She clicked off.
Ely took one last look around the unit. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, a loose recollection of something he’d once read, but he couldn’t place exactly what. He was still tugging at the thread of memory when the nurses arrived. They were pushing the same two stretchers they’d brought to the lounge a few hours ago. It seemed like an aeon to Ely.
“You said two bodies?” Bradford, the male nurse asked. “Two natural causes in the same pod? That’s got to be a…” The man trailed off as he saw the Greenes’ bodies.
“It’s murder,” Ely said.
“Obviously,” Bradford said.
Ely glared at him.
“Well?�
� the man snapped, unapologetic. “What do you want us to do?”
“Take the bodies away.”
“Obviously,” he said, again. “I meant after that.”
“What’s the procedure for murder?” Nurse Gower asked.
Ely wasn’t sure there was one.
“Take them to the infirmary,” he said. “I have to inform the council. They’ll make the decision on what we need to do next.”
Together the two nurses manoeuvred the bodies onto the stretchers. Ely removed the visor and two wristboards from the slot at the side of the bed, and placed them on the stretcher. They would go into storage, ready to be used by someone else. The City couldn’t afford the energy required to make any more.
“And you said that you’d come up and take that man’s statement,” Gower added, pointedly.
“I will,” Ely said, following the two nurses out of the door.
He hesitated briefly in the doorway, again feeling like there was something he’d forgotten. Something important. He stepped out onto the day-side corridor. The door closed, and this time the pods were vacant, the room was empty. And then Ely remembered. Fingerprints. He swiped his hand down the sensor. It was too late. The room was already being sanitised.
Chapter 2 - The Civic Service
Twenty-one hours before the election
“Well?” Nurse Gower asked. She’d stopped a few yards along the corridor.
“What?” Ely asked, still staring at the door.
“That felon, Grimsby. You still need to sentence him.”
“Right. I will,” Ely said. The nurse opened her mouth to protest. “But like I said, I’ve got to inform the council first,” he added, hurriedly.
Reluctantly, the nurse followed her colleague towards the elevator.
Ely had only said it because he wanted some time to collect his thoughts. He knew he wouldn’t find it in the close confines of the elevator with the two aloof nurses and the bodies of the victims. But as he watched the nurses push the stretchers into the lift, he realised that he did, indeed, need to inform the council. He pulled up the contacts for the office of the Chancellor, but then hesitated. Cornwall was going to win the election, and until he did, he was still the Councillor for Tower-One. Ely placed the call.
“This is the Office of Councillor Cornwall,” an assistant whose voice Ely recognised but had never met, answered. “How can I help you, Constable Ely?”
“I need to speak to the Councillor.”
“Of course. And what does this relate to?”
“A crime.”
“I guessed as much. I assume this is in regard to the incident in the lounge earlier today?”
“No,” Ely said.
“It isn’t? Well, what crime are you referring to?”
“I need to inform the Councillor directly.”
The assistant’s derisive snort jarred through Ely. He was glad that even if the administrator pulled up an image from one of the half-dozen cameras in the hallway, his helmet hid his expression.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Constable. It’s the middle of the night. Councillor Cornwall is asleep.” The council, like the retirees, operated on the outside day/night schedule.
“There’s been a murder,” Ely stated, as matter-of-factly as he could.
“A what?”
“Two murders, actually. A double homicide.” Ely felt some pride he’d remembered the phrase.
“I see… I…”
“You can check the footage I recorded from inside unit 6-4-17, if you want, and while you’re doing that I can call the Chancellor. I just thought Councillor Cornwall would want to be informed first.”
There was a long moment in which he thought the assistant had simply ended the call. Then he heard the Councillor’s brusque tones.
“What’s this about a murder?” Cornwall demanded.
“Two murders, sir. The Greenes. Husband and wife. They were killed in their pods whilst they slept. That was in Unit 6-4-17.”
“Constable, I can understand you are under some considerable strain. That, however, is no reason to forget the correct nomenclature.”
“Murdered in their ‘beds’, sir, in Sea View,” Ely corrected himself.
“And you’re sure this is murder?” Cornwall asked.
Ely took a breath. “Sir,” he said, “there’s camera footage of the bodies. If you check the recordings from my visor you will be able to see for yourself.”
“Just a moment.” There was a pause before Cornwall spoke again, “I see. And who did it?”
“I… I don’t know sir.”
“Well, I thought that would be simple enough to find out,” Cornwall said. “Who went into the room last night?”
“Just the Greenes.”
“I meant other than the Greenes?
“No one, sir.”
“It says here that they have two children. Well, it was probably one of them.”
“No sir, I don’t think so. I’ve checked their activity this morning and it seems normal.”
“Murderers are not normal, Constable. Would we expect someone who could commit such a heinous crime to be remorseful afterwards?”
“During the shift in question, the door to the unit, I mean the ‘home’, opened at three a.m., shift time. It opened again three minutes and forty seconds later. During that time both of the children’s pods, I mean ‘beds’, were closed. I really don’t think it was either of them.”
“Could it have been murder-suicide?” Cornwall asked, but continued before Ely could answer, “No, I suppose not.”
“No sir. If it was, the weapon would have still been in the pod.” He didn’t bother correcting himself this time. “It wasn’t there.”
“No? Where was it?”
“I…” Ely decided a guess was better than uncertainty. “It was destroyed, sir. In the recycling chute.”
“You know this for a fact?”
“No sir, not without absolute certainty. Nor will I, without draining out the recycling vats. If you want to authorise that…”
“No, no. We can’t have any more disruption. If you think that the weapon has been destroyed, then I’ll take your word for it. That is something, though. It suggests that whatever the motive for this vile act, there won’t be a repeat of it.”
That wasn’t what Ely had meant. Before he could think of a way to correcting the Councillor, Cornwall continued, “What else do you know?”
“Their throats were slit.”
“I can see that. What else?”
“Well, er… it happened quickly. The killer entered the room, murdered the Greenes, and left again without any hesitation.”
“I see. And how does that help you apprehend this felon?”
It didn’t.
“I’m following up on a number of leads, sir. The camera was turned to face the wall, and the cameras in the corridor didn’t record anyone going in. I’m operating under the assumption that this killer has a way of accessing the records in our system.”
There was a sharp intake of breath.
“That’s impossible,” Cornwall said. “I was assured that could never happen. I have… I have other calls I must make. Keep me informed, Constable. Keep me informed.” The Councillor clicked off.
Ely stared at the blank screen for a moment. He had a question to ask of the Councillor himself. He called the office again, and again the assistant answered.
“Yes? What now?”
“The bodies. What am I to do with them?”
“Bodies? Oh, the Greenes. Hold on, I’ll look it up.” There was a long pause. “Protocol is that there will have to be an autopsy. I’ve ordered a transport to take them to Tower-Thirteen,” the assistant said.
“And…” Ely began, but the assistant had ended the call. And what about the children, Ely had been about to ask, but he wasn’t going to call a third time. He decided it didn’t have to be his problem. He tapped out a message, informing their Instructor to break the news to them, then made a n
ote to double check the recording of that conversation. The children’s reactions might be interesting. He was certain they weren’t involved, but perhaps they knew something.
A light began to flash in the corner of his screen. It was an urgent message from Nurse Gower. She wanted to know why he wasn’t in the infirmary or, more importantly, why Grimsby still was.
Unable to put it off any longer, he walked over to the elevator, and headed up to the infirmary.
“You have the right to a trial, your guilt to be judged by a jury of your peers. Should you choose to waive the right to trial, I will sentence you here and now. That judgement will be binding, with no possibility of an appeal,” Ely said.
“Yeah, I know,” Grimsby moaned. Hunched on the small chair in the corner of the infirmary, his arm covered in a plastic case, he’d lost all of his earlier bluster.
“Which is it?” Ely asked.
“I’ll go with you. Sentencing here and now.”
Ely nodded, and glanced down at the screen on his wristboard, making sure that the cameras in the infirmary had recorded that. The dented helmet was just too uncomfortable to wear, and he’d taken it off the moment he’d finished his call with the Councillor. He tapped out a command.
“That’s been notarised and logged. You made the right decision,” he added. Grimsby looked up at him. Ely tapped out another command. On a screen on the infirmary wall a list came up with the names of all the citizens in the Tower. Next to each was a number. Ely scrolled down until he reached Grimsby’s. Twelve names below, there was a thick red line.
