by Simon Haynes
Bernie stepped forward and stared down at him. ‘Are you Bob Smedley of nineteen Oxford Close?’
Bob eyed the robot warily. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘I’m asking the questions.’ Bernie closed her eyes. ‘I see from the satellite images that you have a well-tended orchard in your back garden.’
‘So?’
‘A hobby of yours? A passion, perhaps?’
‘I’m known for it. But what-?’
‘Well, I believe your property may be linked with an unsolved crime. Recently, a paperback book was stolen from the local beach, and I have every reason to believe it’s buried in your back yard.’
‘Don’t be daft. Who’d bury a book?’
‘No doubt I’ll ascertain that once I’ve dug it up.’
‘You’re crazy! I’ve been growing those trees for years, and there’s nothing else in my garden!’
‘I won’t know that for sure unless I examine the crime scene. Tell me, do you have somewhere you can stay?’
‘What?’
‘You’ll have to vacate your house during the excavations. It’ll make a mess of the orchard, but when you return you’ll be provided with a voucher for the local garden centre. Unfortunately, Peace Force funds are a little tight so you won’t get any trees, but you should be able to pick up a nice pot plant or two.’
‘You can’t threaten me! You’re supposed to uphold the law!’
‘I have an important crime to solve, and if that means you have to suffer a little inconvenience, so be it.’
‘All right, all right. We’ll use your data,’ said Bob. ‘But don’t blame me if it doesn’t work.’
‘If it doesn’t your orchard is plucked,’ said Bernie. ‘And you can bet your plums on that.’
* * *
The lift gathered speed as it rose towards the surface, and a few minutes later it stopped at the top of the shaft. Herringen led Hal and Walsh back to his office. ‘Would you like a coffee?’ he asked, as he waved them inside.
‘Yes, thanks. White and —’ Hal broke off as he saw a dark-haired man working at Herringen’s terminal. Jon Newman!
Then Herringen pushed past him. ‘Jon, what are you doing?’
Newman drew him aside and spoke in a low, urgent voice. Herringen replied, and Newman snorted. ‘Deputy? He’s no —’ He broke off, glanced at Hal, then lowered his voice before continuing.
Hal caught the words ‘security’ and ‘computer system’. Although Newman was talking to Herringen, he kept his eyes on Hal and Walsh, mistrust and suspicion in his expression.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded Walsh.
‘There’s been a security breach,’ said Newman. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to turn out your pockets. Both of you.’
‘I can’t,’ said Walsh.
‘Why not? Because you’re guilty?’
‘No,’ said Walsh slowly. ‘Because I don’t have any pockets.’
Taken aback, Newman looked her up and down. ‘In that case, I’ll have to search you.’
‘I’d like to see you try,’ said Hal quietly.
‘Thanks, deputy. I can fight my own battles.’ Walsh stood before Newman and raised her arms. ‘Go ahead.’
Disconcerted by her level gaze, it was all Newman could do to reach out and pat her on the shoulders.
‘By the way,’ said Walsh. ‘Next time you visit Dismolle, customs will have the old rubber gloves on hand.’
Hal laughed at the expression on Newman’s face, and even Herringen was forced to conceal a sudden smile. Then the mine boss put his hand on Newman’s arm. ‘Jon, are you sure it wasn’t hackers? You know what those youngsters at the computer club get up to.’
‘Our security is more than a match for a few hobbyists,’ said Newman, his face a beautiful flaming red.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Remember that time I found some weird thing running on my screen? Search for alien life or some such nonsense?’
‘That was your nephew, Mr Herringen. If you recall, I did ask you not to share your password with all and sundry.’
‘He wanted to do his homework, and I —’ The commset buzzed, interrupting him. ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘There’s a message for you, Mr Herringen. Priority two.’
‘Very well. Send it through.’ Herringen turned to Walsh. ‘Would you mind waiting outside? This is confidential.’
‘Sure. Come on, deputy.’
Hal and Walsh left the office, and the door closed behind them. ‘What do you think that’s about?’ asked Hal.
Walsh put a finger to her lips, then eased the door open a crack.
‘Oh my!’ said Herringen, his voice clearly audible.
‘What is it?’ asked Newman.
‘It’s the Department of Mines. They’re sending a whole team of auditors. They want to look at every single transaction for the past twelve years. Every invoice, every royalty payment, the lot.’
‘When?’
‘Next week.’ There was a pause. ‘Jon, you’ve got to sort the books out. I know we’d had a few glitches, but if they’re not bang up to date we’ll be buried in accountants for the next three months.’
‘But —’
‘The accounts have to be squeaky clean. Do I make myself clear? They’re going to be inspecting historical data, current accounts, production records … everything.’
‘But —’
‘I’ll have to give them your office. Organise a few more chairs, and you’d better get some of those nice biscuits.’
‘But —’
‘Off you go.’
Walsh moved away from the door just as Newman burst through. He was in a hurry, but she managed to stop him. ‘I need to speak to you about Cooper.’
‘Not now. I’ve got more important things to deal with.’
‘It’s your choice. Here, or down the station.’
‘With thumbscrews and rubber hoses,’ added Hal.
‘You don’t have the authority —’ Newman broke off. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘First, why didn’t you tell me Cooper was auditing the mine? And second, why are most of her files missing? There’s nothing work related at all, and the only reason I discovered she was working for Panther was because she saved a letter in the wrong place.’
‘I didn’t think the audit was relevant. After all, she’s prepared accounts for just about everyone on Forzen.’
‘And the missing files?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t look at the chip before I gave it to you. But …’ Newman frowned. ‘No, it couldn’t be that.’
‘What?’
‘Her place is a dump and the computer is at least ten years old, so what’s the chance she’d have sophisticated data protection? And yet …’
‘You think something prevented you copying the business files?’
‘What else could it be? You don’t think I went out to a deserted house in the middle of nowhere, sat down to a piece of junk that should have been thrown away years ago, and spent hours picking through files? I mean, what for?’
‘To hide something from me, of course. You haven’t been cheating on your taxes, have you?’
‘My finances are none of your business.’
‘If this turns into a murder case, everything is my business.’
‘When it does, I’ll answer your questions. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something important to attend to.’
After Newman left, Walsh pushed Herringen’s door open. The mine boss was at his desk, staring at the computer. ‘I’m sorry about throwing you out like that,’ he said. ‘I received some unexpected news.’
‘Anything I should know about?’
‘No, just business matters.’ Herringen went to the sideboard. ‘Now, about that coffee.’
Hal coughed. ‘Did someone mention biscuits?’
* * *
‘That was some set-up,’ said Hal, as they drove away from Panther Mining. ‘You realise those bug things are tunnelling away underneath us, just
below the surface? Gives you the creeps, doesn’t it?’
‘They keep them under tight control,’ said Walsh. ‘And Herringen seems to know what he’s doing.’
Hal glanced at her, impressed. ‘You understood all that technical stuff?’
‘No, but it sounded good.’
‘Means nothing,’ grunted Hal. ‘Clunk does it all the time. He gives me all these fantastic status reports full of reassuring words, and then the ship breaks down or we crash into something.’
‘Really?’
‘Yep. Although things have been better recently.’
‘You stopped crashing into things?’
‘No, he’s stopped giving me reports.’ Hal almost swerved off the road as Walsh reached inside her top. ‘What are you doing?‘
‘I copied Herringen’s files while you two were down below.’ Walsh held up the data chip. ‘It’s all on here. I’m sure there’s something dodgy about the mine accounts, and Margaret Cooper knew it.’
‘Is that what Newman was on about? The security breach?’
Walsh nodded.
‘And you stood there, calm as anything, while he threatened to search you?’
‘You really think he’d have felt inside my shirt?’
‘No chance. I’d have thrown him straight down that shaft.’
‘He knew it, too.’
‘So what’s on the chip?’
‘I’ll find out later at the office. First I want to see Cooper’s place.’
She tapped the address into the navigation system and they took a road which lead into the foothills. Some twenty minutes later the car was straining up a steep grade, with trees hugging the road on either side.
‘Take it easy,’ said Walsh, as the tyres slipped on the icy tarmac. ‘Newman said there was a lot of snow.’ She pointed out a lane, and Hal turned into it.
The drive started parallel with the road and then switched back on itself, dropping sharply, and the tyres protested as they slipped through the thick snow. ‘Nobody’s been down this way for a while,’ said Hal, as he took the next bend. ‘It’s untouched.’
Walsh nodded, her knuckles white as she gripped the door handle.
Hal gunned the motor to swing the back of the car around the next corner, spraying gouts of snow and ice over the edge. Walsh gasped and gripped his arm as they slid across the road. He corrected the slide, but the car hit the bank and went straight off the edge in reverse.
There was a moment of weightlessness before they landed in the snow with the back end of the car pointing down the steep slope. Bushes whipped by, and Hal swung the wheel as the car slid towards a huge tree. They glanced off the trunk with a bang, shattering the rear windows, and then the car broke out of the undergrowth and landed on the next loop of road. Hal stamped on the brakes, but they skidded across the road and flew straight off the other side.
The slope was gentler this time, and after mowing down a few bushes they bounced onto a driveway in front of a small two-storey cottage. There was a carport dead ahead, and Hal slotted the car into the empty bay, stopping it centimetres from the brick wall. Fingers shaking, he reached down to switch off the engine.
The silence was almost total, broken only by the ticks and creaks of over-stressed metal. Fearfully, Hal turned to look at Walsh, who was crumpled in her seat with her hands pressed firmly over her eyes. As he reached for her she peeped through her fingers. ‘Are we there yet?’
* * *
Up close the accountant’s house looked rather shabby, with peeling paint, cracked windows and a sagging roof in need of repair. Hal and Walsh made their way to the front door, leaving a trail of footprints in the pristine snow, and Hal wondered whether intruders had already stripped the place. Then again, judging from the outside there wasn’t a whole lot to steal.
The door was ajar, but when Hal went to enter Walsh held him back. ‘Hello, is anyone home?’ she called.
There was no reply and so, correct procedures observed, they went in. Much of the hall floor was covered in a thin layer of ice, and there was a vase of dead flowers on a side table. A staircase led upstairs, while an arch on the right opened onto a dining room. ‘We’ll split up,’ said Walsh. ‘I’ll do the top floor, you explore down here.’
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Letters, printouts, that kind of thing. And give me a shout if you see her computer.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, keep an eye out for signs of a struggle. And try not to disturb anything.’
Hal turned towards the dining room, then hesitated. ‘Do you really think something bad happened to her?’
‘She’s been missing for two weeks in freezing weather. I’d say there’s a good chance.’
Hal watched her take the stairs, admiring her shapely legs. Then he remembered his sworn duty as a deputy, and hurried into the dining room to find some clues.
There wasn’t much furniture, and what little there was had seen better days. The dining table was set for one, with cheap cutlery and a faded napkin rolled into a tarnished silver ring, and the framed pictures on the sideboard were just still images. In the poor light their eyes seemed to follow Hal around the room, their relentless stares making him feel like an unwelcome intruder.
After a quick inspection of the sideboard drawers, he decided he’d done enough investigating in this part of the house, and he was about to leave the room when he noticed the brand new carpet underfoot. Crouching, he ran his fingers across the stiff pile. Was it significant? He debated cutting off a chunk for evidence, but Clunk had borrowed his pocket knife and had yet to give it back.
Hal left the dining room and took the hallway to the kitchen, where a rickety table stood amongst half a dozen wooden chairs. A window above the sink looked out on the snow-covered garden, and there was a back door at the far end. Alongside the door, a small axe leaned against the wall. Hal hurried over to inspect it, but the head was rusty and it didn’t look like it had been used in any recent murders.
Looking back across the kitchen Hal was struck by something odd. The walls were discoloured, the bench tops faded, but the floor tiles, like the dining room carpet, were brand new. Setting the axe down, he crouched to inspect them. The grout was fresh, and it left a smudge on his fingertip. Had the woman started renovating her house from the ground up, or was there a sinister reason for the new flooring? He rapped his knuckles on a tile but it was solid, and he gave up on the floor to investigate the rest of the kitchen.
He tried the cupboards first, and found most of them packed with dried and tinned foods. His spirits rose as he spotted a biscuit tin, and after a glance at the door to make sure Walsh wasn’t coming in, he took the tin down from the shelf. It was surprisingly heavy, and when he popped the lid he discovered a fabric bag inside, wrapped around itself. It looked like the sort of thing you’d keep a fruit cake in, and that was fine by him. Better cake than stale biscuits. He found the neck of the bag and opened it up, and then almost dropped the tin in surprise. The bag was full of money, at least two thousand credits in small denominations.
Chapter 19
While the workers were putting the finishing touches to the Volante, Clunk sorted through the pile of components left over from the upgrades. There was quite a collection, and even though a large quantity had already been ground into fragments for recycling, he managed to put together a fair stash of useful parts.
Bernie watched him in silence, but as the pile grew she couldn’t help commenting. ‘You’re a bit of a pack rat, aren’t you?’
‘We don’t want to be paying for the same parts if one of the upgrades fails.’
‘What will they do with the rest?’
‘They’ll go into the grinder for recycling.’
‘Do you mind if I take a look?’ asked Bernie casually. ‘Head office haven’t sent me any spares for a while, and there might be something I can use.’
‘Go ahead. I don’t suppose Bob will mind.’
Bernie picked through the pile, i
nspecting circuit boards for suitable parts.
‘Speaking of Bob,’ said Clunk. ‘I’m very grateful for the pressure you brought to bear. Without that …’
‘I wasn’t going to let red tape and petty bureaucracy sideline the Volante. A magnificent vessel like that should be put to work, not left to rot because of the lack of proper authorisation.’ Bernie sighed as she finished her inspection of the junk. ‘There’s nothing here I can use. It’s all too new for my requirements.’
‘I’m sorry. Technology advances quickly.’
‘Not when Mr Spacejock is paying for it,’ said a muffled voice.
‘That’s the Navcom,’ said Clunk, by way of explanation. ‘Ignore her.’
‘You’re lucky I don’t have arms,’ muttered the Navcom.
‘I’d better leave you to it.’ Bernie put her hand out. ‘It was good to meet you, Clunk. I hope you enjoy your stay on Dismolle.’
‘It’s been most instructive.’ They shook, and Clunk watched the huge robot lumber away, leaving deep footprints in the dirt.
‘Hey, robot!’
Clunk turned to see Bob approaching. ‘Yes, human?’
‘That data checked out just fine. Your ship’s ready to go.’
‘Good. Excellent.’
‘If you’d like to come aboard, I’ll go over the major changes with you.’
‘Lead the way.’
* * *
Upstairs, Walsh found a main bedroom, a guest room and a toilet. She went into the main bedroom first, where a chest of drawers contained clothing and linen, old and worn. There was nothing under the bed, and nothing else of interest, so she looked into the guest room. Success! There was a computer terminal on a narrow desk, and she hurried over to switch it on. But instead of a login screen she got a generic boot logo, and when she bypassed that she saw to her annoyance that the system had been wiped. No applications, no files … nothing. Even the material Newman had copied for her was gone. Had he wiped it? Or had someone come along afterwards? Or maybe Cooper’s protection software had trashed the originals when Newman tried to copy the sensitive information.
Walsh searched the drawers and peered under the desk, hoping to find some long-forgotten backup, but all she found was a dead bug with its legs in the air. Disheartened, she switched the terminal off and made for the stairs. Newman had told her there was nothing to look at, and clearly he was right. The house was a dead end.
