Successio

by Alison Morton

I hunched over on the bar stool. ‘This is the only place where I can be among rational human beings.’

  ‘Come and have some lunch or you’ll fall over.’ Paula guided me to one of the long tables in the mess room. I saw so many familiar faces, talking, laughing, hands waving in discussion. The noise filled the room, but who cared? I desperately wanted to be back here, in my beige, talking training, strategy, promotions and foul-ups, joshing with my comrades. I ate on the familiar government stamped plate, used plain steel cutlery and drank from the moulded glass beaker. And nearly wept.

  *

  How Silvia dealt with the Council every second week, I didn’t know. I thanked the gods I’d been too busy to even think of standing for election to it. Being an independent advisor might have drawbacks like twenty-four seven on-call, but I’d take it any day.

  The rational, wiser members seemed to get talked down by the malicious windbags. A high percentage of them were on an ego trip of some kind. They should be grateful I wasn’t the imperatrix; I’d have shot half of them. But they accepted my report; two made facetious comments, which were squashed by the chancellor and a senior senator. They agreed with Silvia’s proposal to lift the proscription but insisted the charges against Conrad stood. Without Nicola Tella, they said, they had no option. They passed on to something else and I left the room after a curt bow to Silvia.

  *

  I dropped in on Fausta to thank her, but she just said, ‘Sure, anytime,’ and waved it away. Even though a captain heading the digital security section, she wore just her black tee and the worst ironed uniform pants ever with scruffy sneakers as she sat in her electronic bat-cave. She still looked like the teenage black hat hacker she’d once been.

  I checked in with Sepunia to see if she’d found anything new on Nicola.

  ‘We’ve added a considerable amount to her personality profile after interviewing Quintus Tellus and his household and collating reports from your daughter and Maia Quirinia. The scarabs picked up some circumstantial detail from the drug dealing, but it doesn’t conform to the usual pattern.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Apart from the deal you reported, she only made a few other contacts. If you’re going to make any money from it, you need to establish a wide network quickly. But she didn’t. And reading through the whole file, it’s obvious she doesn’t lack the drive and intelligence to do it.’ She fixed her green eyes on my face. ‘It’s another indicator she was only using it as a method to compromise Stella Apulia.

  ‘Of course,’ she continued, ‘we hope to gain a great deal more when the Interrogation Service start questioning Mitelus.’ Confused, she stopped and looked over my shoulder at the far wall of her office. ‘I mean, Conradus Mitelus.’

  ‘Don’t be polite on my account. That’s nothing to what the Council called him.’

  Sepunia touched my arm. ‘Be very careful if you go after her, Carina. She has an abnormally low score on the personal morality scale.’

  ‘So surprise me.’

  *

  That evening at home, crouching over my desk, I hesitated. My finger rested on the Send button. Exposing my life, my family and my personal opinions to be picked over by the Interrogation Service made acid flow up my gullet. I’d poked around enough in other people’s lives, but it was entirely different when it was happening to me. But if I didn’t volunteer my digital diaries, the IS would subpoena them, so I was saving myself a lot of unnecessary hassle.

  I hit the key and copies of both work and personal flew off into Interrogation Service chief’s inbox. At least she was handling the interrogations herself, but her number two and Inspector Pelonia would pick through Conrad’s and my life like a pair of assistant vultures.

  *

  ‘I’ve consulted every case going back to the recodification of the Tables in 1718.’ Sertorius jabbed the screen of his el-pad at our meeting the following morning. ‘Quite simply, there is no way out of this without Nicola Tella.’

  I glared at him.

  ‘Er, Sandbrook, rather.’ He didn’t apologise, just a flicker of his eyes in reaction. Quintus had filed the declaration disowning her days ago. Sertorius would do well to remember it.

  Junia interrupted us, breaking the awkwardness.

  ‘An urgent call from the legate, domina.’

  I glanced up at her. A straight, sewn-up mouth. Now what?

  She handed me the miniscreen with a frowning Daniel looking out of it.

  ‘What—’ I started.

  ‘No, listen,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s bad news.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The imperial accusatrix is so confident of conviction,’ Daniel said, ‘she’s moved the trial opening day up to start in ten days.’

  *

  I prepared with a few practice rounds in the small PGSF training arena with Livius. Covered in sweat and tired after twenty minutes intensive close quarter combat, I was stupid enough to ask for his opinion.

  ‘You’re good, Bruna, good enough to still give me the run around.’ He clasped the back of his neck for a few moments with his free hand and looked down in the sand. ‘Why don’t you take those two who came to England on the exercise, Pelo and Allia, along as insurance?’

  *

  It only took five minutes to surrender the power I’d had as Silvia’s direct representative. She understood. She always did, except when she lost her temper.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want any official back up?’ she said.

  I’d stomped off the training area after refusing Livius, but with Silvia I merely shook my head. This was my call. I didn’t want anybody else becoming entangled in what I couldn’t decide was personal or official.

  She fixed me with her eyes. ‘I am going to have the PGSF commander at the London legation informed of your presence and tell her to keep a small detachment on twenty-four hour call. If you get stuck and I find out you didn’t call on them, I’ll throw you in the Transulium myself.’

  *

  ‘No. Don’t. Not for me.’ Conrad grabbed my hand and pressed it. His eyes narrowed and tilted up.

  ‘Too bad. I’ve handed my warrant back and booked my flight. Allegra will come and visit you each day while I’m away and I’ll catch up with her each evening.’

  I reached out and he closed his eyes and breathed hard as my fingers ran over his cheek. The temptation to stay here bit me hard, but I batted it away before it had a second try.

  ‘I might not get back before the start,’ I said, ‘but I’ll bust my ass to drag hers into court.’

  Conrad stuck his chin out and his face set like hardstone. ‘Even if you bring her back she won’t talk to help me.’

  ‘There are ways.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid. They’ll discard that sort of evidence.’

  His eyes were shining, anger flashing through them. A mixture of joy and relief rolled through me as he swore at me. He was starting to climb out of the black pit.

  *

  Eating an early supper with the children, doubts flared in my head. Was I overreaching? Tonia and Gil grinned at some joke Allegra made, then collapsed in giggles when she added another twist. They’d only just celebrated their eleventh birthday. Suppose they lost their mother as well as their father being in prison for years? I nearly called Livius to roster Allia and Pelo. I nearly reached for the keyboard to cancel my ticket.

  But Allegra had more backbone than I did at that moment.

  ‘You have to go, Mama. We’ll be fine. Helena is here, and Dalina. Junia will look after us all.’ She smiled at me. ‘Don’t worry about Dad. I’ve got his visiting schedule covered. I’ll make sure I go every day. Uncle Daniel has promised these two can go as well. If they behave.’

  She gave them an ‘Aurelia’ look and their boisterousness fled.

  They were used to me being away, but this time, I had a really bad feeling I might not be back to see them grow up.

  XXVI

  The suburban shuttle from Paris-Leclerc airport stopped at each and every sta
tion on the way, but eventually we reached the Gare du Nord. I dodged the rain as I trudged across the street, pulling my case behind me like a kid’s stuffed dog on wheels into the bright, brass-decorated lobby. The receptionist’s eyes ran over me and my dusty chain-store appearance. He dipped his respect and upped his condescension as only Parisian men can.

  The next morning, hair dyed mouse-brown, dressed in jeans and fleece, I fought my way upstairs in the rush hour to collect my tunnel tickets. It had been a while since I’d had to stand in line to travel – a salutary experience. The clerk hardly looked at me as I handed over my print-out and a fake US passport as Carly Jackson. She stuffed a UK immigration card in my passport, thrust it back at me with the chequered tickets and looked through me at the next passenger. I bought a throw-away cell phone; ‘jetable’ the sales assistant called it. I couldn’t help having a vision of cell phones with super-thruster back-packs zooming in and out between people walking along the street.

  As I neared the barrier, I saw the police checking every passport thoroughly. I knew mine was good, but it didn’t stop a nervous ripple passing through me. My hands were a little sweaty, but I forced myself not to wipe them. I swapped my purse and case from one hand to another to get rid of it on the handles. I gave an all-teeth American smile and a cheery ‘Hi’ which the gendarme ignored. He scrutinised my face, feature by feature, flicked back to the photo and back to my face really, really slowly.

  Eventually, he handed my passport back with a brief upward nod. I waited until I was at least two metres away before I let my breath out. Why was I so jumpy? I hadn’t even reached England.

  *

  As we emerged from the railroad tunnel on the English side, rain battered the window. The rich green countryside was spoilt by unremitting dullness under the grey sky. After an hour, the train stopped at a sleek modern station in the middle of nowhere, but my GPS screen showed it was near the peripheral freeway around London. I threw the jetable into the trashcan at the station. I had made the calls I needed to.

  I had to decide where to try first: back to Birkenhead to find Newton; or Nicola’s old army base in the west; or her mother’s home in the north. I reckoned Newton’s house was a busted flush. After losing Conrad for her, he would be long gone. I’d visited her former unit once; I’d do that afterward. So it was north for four hundred kilometres in a rental.

  The motel south of Darlington was bleach white, charmless and smelled of second-hand cigarette smoke despite the notice in the lobby. I was washed-out by driving on the stupid side of the road, harassed by rigs and tanker trucks blocking the freeway as they struggled past each other, frustrating other vehicles including mine. I wanted a soak in the tub, but contented myself with a quick shower.

  The rain had been replaced by a cold wind that sliced at my ears as I set off for Nicola’s mother’s place. No lights were on at the house, one of a pair of twin homes in an old development. I sat in the rental car which I’d parked between two street lights. I finished my take-out coffee and pretended to look at a street map book when anybody passed by. But it was too dark for the casual person hurrying home to see, let alone suspect, me.

  Just after six, a silver hatchback drew into the driveway. A medium height dumpy woman with long dark hair tied back at the neck opened the driver’s door. At the back hatch, she lifted two bulging shopping bags out. She opened the house entrance door and stepped inside, but came back out within five seconds to fetch a briefcase and book-bag. She pointed her key at the car and it replied with a mechanical squelch and a flash of trafficator lights.

  I initialised my new audio scanner, moving it in a fan pattern to find the best signal. The lines wavered across my screen as she unpacked. The noise of tins plunked on a solid surface echoing through my earpieces.

  I heard every small sound: kettle boiling, spoon as it hit the cup sides with vigorous strokes, the click of two buttons. I had to congratulate the quartermaster on this latest piece of kit – it was outstanding.

  Disembodied voices chattered with beeps in between. Answering machine. Two blanks, a whiney voice about a charity collection and a man’s voice about some school meeting. As I heard the television start, I settled in for a long, boring evening.

  What had I expected? Nicola ringing in with her location?

  After another twenty-four hours tailing her mother as she did her Saturday chores, made a gossipy call and hummed along to the radio as she flicked pages over, I accepted Nicola wasn’t there. It had been a possible, even though the cops’ report to Michael from my last visit stated the mother hadn’t seen her for around a year. Although it was a routine function of a surveillance operation, it felt intrusive listening in to this stranger who had shared intimate time with Conrad, a slice of his life I would never know. Maybe curiosity was mixed in with duty when I knocked on her door the next morning.

  ‘Yes?’

  Janice Hargreve was a tired woman, face sour at the interruption on her day off.

  ‘Hi.’

  Her face clouded over and she flexed her arm to shut the door.

  ‘No, I’m not selling religion,’ I said, ‘nor anything else. I want to talk to you about Conrad Tellus.’

  She paused for a second or two. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’

  I pulled out my gold warrant card and held it up. Janice wouldn’t know it was only a piece of meaningless plastic. ‘I’m an investigating officer from Roma Nova. He’s in a load of trouble and I hope you can help me.’

  ‘That was years ago. What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘It’s not so much you. It’s your daughter.’

  Her mouth drooped, the shadow lines at each end of her mouth deepening.

  ‘You’d better come in.’

  *

  ‘She walked out when she was seventeen.’ Janice’s eyes darted over at me.

  ‘She started stealing from my purse at five. Kids do that sometimes when they feel neglected. I’ve seen it myself with parents at school.’ She lifted her cup to her mouth but it was already empty. ‘But she wasn’t. Neglected, I mean. My sister Marian came to live with us. She was like a second mother. Well, as Nic grew up, more like an older sister. They were real friends, doing girly things together. Marian thought the world of Nic and said it was a shame her dad didn’t know her.’

  She looked away and stopped talking.

  I waited.

  ‘He was the most attractive man I’d ever met. When he took me out, he always made sure we had a good table. He was never late or stood me up.’ She looked straight at me. ‘I fancied myself in love with him, but he was only here for another few weeks. And I knew deep down he didn’t love me enough to take me back with him.

  ‘Maybe I was stupid, but I wanted to keep a little bit of him for always.’ She shrugged. ‘Cheap condoms don’t always work. I made sure they were cheap. Marian said I should have written and told him I was pregnant.’

  The whumph of a central heating boiler broke the silence. As the water trickled through the radiators, Janice brought her eyes back into focus. She looked at me, her lower lip caught by the top one, blanched by the pressure.

  ‘Where’s Marian now, Janice?’

  She bowed her head and cupped her cheeks in her hands. ‘She’s dead.’

  ‘What happened?’

  She dropped her hands into her lap and raised her head. Not looking at me, she spoke to the picture of dreary landscape above the fireplace mantel.

  ‘Marian wouldn’t believe Nic had been in trouble at school. She’d been caught bullying the other kids for their lunch money and making them steal things for her. She got the bright ones to do her homework for her. One day, she’d gone too far and they excluded her. It was the worst day of my life, sitting in that headteacher’s study and hearing the whole story. Marian and I had a massive row about it. She said I was always down on Nic and ready to take other people’s side against her. But Nic always turned the charm on for Marian, never the tantrums or the spite.

  ‘Marian st
ormed up to Nic’s school and was told some home truths. She was devastated, tried to talk to Nic about it but got the door shut in her face. Nic ran off with both our purses. I held Marian while she rocked in my arms, crying herself out.

  ‘The police found Nic and brought her back. She was barely fourteen. We went through psychologists, probation advisors, we changed schools, tried to get her involved in helping other kids, doing outward bound, you name it, but all she did was get more crafty, learning from the gangs she hung out with.

  ‘One evening, a week after Nic’s seventeenth birthday, Marian was taking the short cut back through the flats from her keep-fit class. I told her I’d always come out and fetch her if the weather was bad. It was bucketing down that night and half the streetlights didn’t work, but she didn’t call me. Marian spotted Nic with some other kids who were joy-riding. Nic was shouting with a gang of them, tins of drink in their hands, egging the drivers on.

  ‘Marian tried to stop her. She ran towards Nic, waving her hands. The boy driving one of the cars turned it towards Marian full speed and crushed her. The other kids were so shocked, they ran off.’

  Tears ran down her face now.

  ‘I stayed with Marian until she died four days later in hospital. Nic had vanished, but the afternoon before Marian passed away, Nic appeared at the room door. Her clothes and hair were filthy and her eyes all red. She stared at Marian for ages, then whispered, “I didn’t know it was her.”

  ‘The police came and questioned her, but she said nothing. After Marian’s funeral, she picked up her coat and bag from the hall, pushed past me and walked out of the house without a word. I haven’t seen her since then, well, not until a year ago.’

  Janice’s shoulders slumped. ‘She was hard, efficient, somehow more frightening. She said she’d been in the army, but was out now and going to get her due. I’d told her when she was younger that her father was a foreigner, from Roma Nova, but I had no contact with him since. She laughed, asked me for her birth certificate, her real one, she said. I only had the real one. The police said she’d used her friend’s one, another Nicola, but Sandbrook, when she joined up.’