The Lost Princess

by Richard Dee

  Donna Markes again, Igor’s soon-to-be wife. She had come from nowhere to be his PA. Well, nowhere business wise. She had been the nurse who had looked after his wife after the car crash that had eventually killed her. In the way that seemed to happen a lot in those situations, they had become close. Some said too close; very soon after her death, she had moved in. In a blink, she was on the board of Balcom Industrial, something which his wife had never achieved in thirty years of marriage. Then she became his PA and gatekeeper, holding more and more power. A lot of the senior managers at Balcom were unhappy, Igor’s reaction was to sack them. It was making him very unpopular; the share price was slipping. He didn’t seem to care; it must be love.

  “I know,” I said, there was the age gap but when you were Igor Balcom, nobody pointed it out, at least not directly. Goodness knows what Layla thought of her, she was barely ten years older and her opposite in just about every respect.

  “Anyway, Igor sees you as a safe pair of hands. If you could let on that she’s just gone walkabout somewhere, you know the sort of statement she might make. Well, he would appreciate it.”

  “Why not just say it boss; he wants me to lie for him?”

  “Technically, but like I said, he would appreciate it, and it never hurts to be appreciated.”

  “I won’t do it, if it all blows up in my face he will be three paces backwards from it and I’ll be the fall guy.”

  “Miles, come on.”

  “Sorry, boss; can’t do it.”

  His expression changed, I was not being obedient. “I’m disappointed in you.”

  “OK, it’s a shame about that; but if it all goes south, you’ll thank me.”

  “Well, if you won’t do that, make yourself useful. Go and find her properly,” he said, swivelling on his chair to look out over the city. Clearly my interview was over.

  “Yes, boss,” I said to his back.

  Seeing him eat had reminded me that I hadn’t. Before I went to the snack stand outside our building, I tried to call Sooz. I knew that she had told me not to, but I wanted to ask her about whoever was pretending to be Layla, and why. When she didn’t answer, I decided against leaving a message, I had used the unlisted line in the office, so she wouldn’t know it was me calling. When things were back to normal, I might need her help. Gaynor was still absent.

  The snack stand was a great source of information for me. Run by an ex-model called Linda, she had her ear to the ground on all the celebrity gossip. I helped her out with information when I could, in return she let me know what was going on.

  She greeted me like a long-lost friend. “Hello, Miles. I thought you were avoiding me.”

  I entered into the spirit of things, Linda wasn’t my type, I wasn’t hers and we both knew it.

  “I’ve been working, Linda, you should try it.” That raised a laugh.

  “Who do you think makes all the food; stands here serving it all day while you’re sat at a warm desk tapping on a keyboard?” she said. “It’s been a busy week.” She rubbed her thigh. “My leg is killing me.” She grinned at the irony of the statement.

  I looked again, very nice legs they were too, the one she had left after the accident that had finished her career and the prosthetic one that the insurance had paid for. Even though most of both were on display it was still hard to tell which one was which. I realised that I hadn’t seen her since I had come back from the port, from seeing not-Layla. The Jigsaw Islands thing had kept me out of circulation.

  I decided to ask her straight out. “Linda, what have you heard?”

  She grinned. “I was wondering when you were going to ask for my opinion.”

  “About what?”

  “The lady vanishes,” she said cryptically. She does know something, I thought. She wouldn’t be happy if I upstaged her. I’d play dumb, give her a moment of glory.

  “What are you on about, Linda? Did some of those salad leaves you’re selling come up illegal and rot your brain?”

  That raised a laugh. “It was the title of a book, ages ago,” she chuckled. “OK, how about The Lost Princess, do you know what I’m talking about now?”

  “Is that another book?”

  She looked around, nobody was near. “Layla, she’s gone,” she whispered. Jackpot!

  I played dumb. “Has she? She was having a quiet day according to the feed I saw earlier. What are you on about?”

  Her face was pained. “Come on, Miles, it’s me. I know everything, the question is, how much can you afford; to find out?”

  I pulled the roll of notes from my pocket, the slush fund that we all carried. I peeled off a couple of them, held them up.

  “Layla and Donna don’t get on,” she said, tucking them away for safety.

  “And?” I peeled another from the roll. “That’s hardly news, girl hates prospective stepmother who she’s almost the same age as. Where is she now?”

  “Layla’s at the Balcom factory, down by the islands,” she said as the note followed its friends. The factory was the assembly plant for Balcom’s hyperspace cruisers, with its own runway. She could take one and go anywhere in the sector in complete secrecy.

  I took a chance. “Is that the real Layla or the girl with the tattoo?”

  Her eyes widened. “So you do keep your eyes open,” she said. “You’ve saved yourself a hundred. As far as anyone’s concerned, she’s there. I’m only telling you because of your reputation. Layla has employed tattoo girl to be her. Just while she gets some things done. A call and she’ll vanish. Just remember, I didn’t tell you that.”

  “What things?” I had an idea. “Is it to do with Donna and Igor getting married?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Miles,” Linda answered. “Let’s just say that Layla has some things to do, important stuff. She needs a bit of peace; tattoo girl is providing a distraction, keeping the heat away.”

  “So this girl’s not from the agency?” There were several official Layla Balcom lookalikes, employed by an agency in town. They provided people for parties, corporate events and to help when celebs were double booked. That last bit was not for public consumption, but we all knew. The celebrities liked using the agency because they were accountable. They had been on my list for a visit.

  “You mean Angie. She’s not one of hers,” Linda said. “She’s private. A friend from the old days, so I heard. The agency girls are all too visible and Layla doesn’t trust them not to talk to people like you.”

  “I need more, to find out why she’s running.” She shook her head. I peeled notes, watching her face. She shook her head again.

  “I won’t take any more of Hendrix’s money, but I know who might. Go and see Expressway Dave. He’ll tell you the rest if he feels like it, he can always do with the cash.” Another customer appeared, she handed me a sandwich. “See you around, Miles,” she said and turned to serve him.

  Expressway Dave, I considered the name as I ate my sandwich. He was the unofficial leader of the homeless in Centra City, they were camped out under the elevated section of the expressway to Mantic, hence the name.

  The police kept an eye on them, as long as they kept to the waste ground under the pillars their presence was tolerated. Charities delivered food, water and fuel. Dave was a tireless advocate for them, kept them in order, weeded out the troublemakers and sent the young runaways to a hostel. He provided all the services that the government said they couldn’t afford, practically on his own, for next to nothing, any donations were always gratefully received. He would be a good person to spend Hendrix’s cash for him.

  I was debating heading over to see him or the agency first when the afternoon brought another sighting of Layla. This time she was at the Balcom plant on Jigsaw, where Linda had said she was. One of the employees posted a short video of her. It was too far away from the office, we never even bothered to attend. We wouldn’t get in even if we bothered to go, it was easier to watch her on the feed. It looked like Layla, she had her hair under a Balcom safety helmet and was wearing
overalls tucked into long leather boots. It was as if she had realised that she had to keep her foot covered. The mood quietened, everyone assumed that it was her, that normal service had been resumed. Of course, I knew different, where was Gaynor? We really needed to talk.

  Chapter Five

  I found her in my apartment, sitting on the couch, holding a mug. It smelt like strong coffee. “Gaynor, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  She was slightly drunk, a result of her missing afternoon. “Go on then,” she invited, sipping at her coffee. “Then I can tell you my news.” Her words were slurred, her gaze vacant.

  “It’s about Layla Balcom, and it’s important.”

  “Oh her,” she smiled triumphantly. “Well that mystery’s been solved; by yours truly. I had lunch with Cal Rivers, he said that she’s around, she’s over on the Diwalls estate, the other side of Centra, right now. And guess what? She’s actually working in their factory, been there all day.”

  Rivers was her equivalent at Celebrity Truth magazine, which to us in the trade was humorous. Most of what they printed was anything but.

  “We thought that she was at Du’Prees this morning,” I said. “One of the juniors found her. We all went over but she’d gone by the time we arrived. It wasn’t her, that’s not the important thing though. The manager thought it was, staked his reputation on it.”

  Quickly I told her what I had spotted at Du’Prees, the tattoo on her ankle made her the person claiming to be Layla at the port. Then what Linda had told me at the snack stand, how Layla had organised her disappearance, how the Layla lookalike was at the factory by the marina, at Jigsaw.

  “Did Linda show you any pictures?” she asked.

  “No, but there’s been video on the feed. Did Rivers have anything showing her at the factory; or was that just where he was trying to convince you she was?”

  She shook her head and looked at me. “Rivers said he was surprised that he had found her first; especially when everyone knows how close you are to her.”

  “That’s a laugh, I just treat her right. I don’t try to embarrass her.” I thought for a moment. “Come on, Gaynor, someone’s going to notice soon. Layla can’t be in two places at once.” I persisted, “I think we need to track down this lookalike.”

  “We’ll do it in the morning,” she said, getting to her feet, swaying slightly. “I’m having a shower and going to bed, you can cook yourself something.”

  In the morning, she was still there when I woke up, she brought me tea.

  “I was a bit out of it yesterday,” she admitted, although she looked fine now. “I didn’t tell you the best bit, what I found out from Rivers.”

  I sat up in the bed and she placed the tea and lay down beside me. “I was doing something in town yesterday morning, and I bumped into Rivers. He invited me for lunch, we had a few drinks then we went back to his office. While he was in the bathroom, I managed to get a look at his computer, he hadn’t locked it.”

  This was potential gold; being a trusting bunch we all locked our computers when we left them. It was as automatic as breathing. “He had pictures of Layla’s ankle, the tattoo, the lot. And he was writing an article, questioning what was going on. I took a look; he had the same thoughts as we did.”

  So the secret was out; if Rivers was going to publish, we had to get in first.

  “He caught me looking. I hadn’t heard him come back in, I was so engrossed.”

  And being drunk wouldn’t have helped. “What did he say?”

  “He tried to make a joke of it, said it was just a silly idea he’d had to get everyone talking, he knew where Layla really was. That was when he told me about the Diwalls thing.”

  I thought about it, it might have been enough to convince her if she hadn’t known what she did, or if she had been a bit drunker. Unless he had meant to let her see it, to find out her reaction and what she knew. “It doesn’t add up, he’s trying to put you off, so he can publish first.”

  “I think I might have let on,” she said, “that we; well you, had spotted the tattoo. Trouble is, I can’t remember.”

  “Too late to worry about that,” I said. “What’s the plan for today?”

  “We find the lookalike.”

  “Linda said that she wasn’t agency,” I said. “She told me that Expressway Dave would know how to find her.”

  “Fair enough, we can go and see him. First, I think we still need to talk to the agency.”

  Hadn’t she listened? “But Linda told me Layla got the girl without involving the agency, it’s a waste of time.”

  “Rivers might be watching us, he knows how close you are to Layla. Or, maybe Linda’s working for him too, feeding you misinformation.” That was the trouble with this job, we had to do more than just find the story, we had to work out what everyone else was doing, and why.

  We left ten minutes apart, in different directions, in case anyone was taking notice. As it happened, they had more on their minds.

  My feed exploded as I powered my phone up and logged in. “Who is pretending to be Layla Balcom?” was the headline. Rivers had struck, posted in the middle of the night while we were asleep. Not only that, he had made sure that we were in the frame as the bad guys. ‘Even though we all know about lookalikes, they’re normally obvious. The person we thought was Layla might not be her’, it said. ‘Just what is Layla hiding? We hear the Getaway might be a part of this’. I caught up with Gaynor at the agency building. She was on the phone, red-faced and desperately trying to get a word in edgeways.

  She ended the call and pushed her phone into her pocket. “Bloody Rivers,” she screamed. “He got me drunk and set me up.”

  I put my arm around her. “Don’t worry, we still have the cards to beat him, he can’t know everything that we do.”

  “That was Hendrix, he’s fuming.”

  “Hendrix knows this is how it works, we poach each other’s scoops all the time.”

  She shook her head. “Not this time. Igor Balcom wants to know what we know, what Rivers has said has annoyed him, now he’s bending Hendrix’s ear.”

  I led her towards the doorway. “Well, we’d better get some answers for him then hadn’t we.”

  “Let’s pretend we just want a lookalike for a party. We can say we’ve been recommended to use the girl with the tattoo.”

  The agency was run by an actress called Angie, she bore a good resemblance to a well-known politician, which was how she had started off in the lookalike trade. She viewed us with suspicion as we told our tale.

  “We haven’t got a Layla Balcom with a tattoo on her ankle,” she said. “Where did you get that idea from?”

  “We thought she must be one of yours,” I said, showing her the picture from the port. “You’re the best agency, we’ve been told.”

  “She’s not one of mine,” she said. “Wait a moment, this is the girl that’s been taking all our work.” She looked at her feed, there had been more since we had seen it. That was the trouble with the feed, it made living like a game of chess, everyone could see everyone else’s pieces. Because it could be anonymous, everyone had an opinion and an axe to grind. And there were no restrictions on behaviour. Nobody could monitor it all the time.

  She waved her screen at us. “I thought I recognised you, you’re from Getaway,” she said. “I don’t see why I should talk to you. A lot of my clients expect a certain… discretion, if they know I’ve seen you, it’ll be bad for business.”

  “We don’t want gossip,” Gaynor said. “We’re just looking for the girl.”

  “Has Rivers or anyone from Celebrity Truth been here?” I added.

  She carried on as if we hadn’t spoken. “Layla bloody Balcom, she’s gone behind our backs, got some nobody taking our work.” She stopped. “Rivers, the bastard, said he’d be along later this morning.” It dawned on her. “He’s shafting you, isn’t he, why? Is it revenge for something?”

  “It’s a circulation thing,” Gaynor said. “We all try to sc
oop each other, Rivers has just spotted an opportunity, that’s all.”

  “And he’s what, using a fake Layla to do it?” She had the wrong idea about that, but maybe we could use it to our advantage.

  “We don’t know where or why; that’s what we want to find out.”

  “Well if you can get one over on Rivers you’ve got my support,” she said. “He’s done enough to upset me in the past.”

  I had an idea; it could throw people off the scent while we spoke to Expressway Dave. “Can you do us a favour then, Angie?” I asked. She nodded and as I explained what I wanted her to do, she started laughing.

  We left to put our plan into action. I headed back to the office, stopping outside to get a coffee from Linda. I wanted to ask her if she would tell me anything else about Layla. She wasn’t there, her partner Kim was manning the stand. “Where’s Linda?” I asked as she brewed my drink.

  “She’s gone away for a few days,” she told me. “A family emergency.” I didn’t want to ask Kim, the least amount of people we got involved, the better. I took my coffee and headed to Dave’s.

  Expressway Dave inhabited a small wooden hut, perched against one of the concrete pillars that held the expressway up. It was clean and painted, with flowers growing around it. I was on my own, Gaynor was miles away, hopefully being followed by Rivers’ people; so long as Angie had done what we asked. I had kept an eye out, if anyone was tailing us, they had stayed with Gaynor.

  Dave was sitting outside his hut with a few people; dressed in his usual oversized boiler suit, a hat covering his bald head. He was explaining how the place worked. Beyond him the rest of the community was busy, some were tending the vegetable garden, others were preparing tables for a meal. There was a row of tents, in neat formation. Someone had planted trees and flowering shrubs in a line of old drums, it gave the camp a friendly air and shielded the chemical toilets and washrooms that a charity had installed. The place was clean and tidy, so unlike the government portrayal of the camp as somewhere to avoid. I could smell coffee and frying bacon.