Fatal Connection

by Malcolm Rose

  ‘Squirrels look cute,’ the controller said, ‘but they’re rodents. Vermin, pests. Once we’ve got this lot caged, we’ll destroy them – humanely of course.’

  ‘I’ll take them away for analysis,’ Lexi said.

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Lexi grabbed her vibrating life-logger and read the confidential message that she had just received. While the pest controllers went towards the entrance to set up their traps, Lexi glanced at her partner.

  ‘What is it?’ Troy asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, Troy. You’ve just been relieved of this case – at least for the moment.’

  ‘What?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘They’ve asked me to break some bad news. You’re wanted urgently at Pickling Hospital.’

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  As an outer, Lexi didn’t have parents and didn’t understand their value, but Troy belonged to a different species with different ideas. She gulped and said, ‘It’s your father.’

  SCENE 18

  Friday 9th May, Morning

  Gazing at his unconscious father in the sterile room, Troy still didn’t know the colour of his hair. It had burnt away. Much of his face was covered with dressings. One bare arm was landscaped with bruises and blisters. He was breathing only with the aid of a machine, and a monitor registered his weak heartbeat with bleeps.

  Troy wasn’t sure what he felt. Mostly, it was a mixture of anger and fear. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hold his dad’s hand? Should he say something? Would his dad be able to feel or hear anything? The outer doctor thought not. But the major son thought there would still be something inside this broken man, some unseen connection to the world.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ he said. ‘It’s me. Troy.’

  Did his father’s heartbeat quicken just a tiny bit? Troy liked to think so.

  ‘Gran’s on her way. That’s what the hospital said. They’re racing her here.’

  He stood beside the bed and listened to the hissing of a pump that was forcing air into his dad’s unwilling, smoke-damaged lungs.

  ‘I’m sorry I never got around to visiting. I wish …’ He sighed and started again. ‘Did you know I’m a detective now? Did Gran tell you? Two cases down, working on number three. You’d be … interested. It’s going well. North of well.’ Doing his best to smile, he added, ‘Though, we might be chasing a bunch of squirrels this time.’

  His phone throbbed with an incoming call. Troy felt guilty to take it under the circumstances, but the screen announced it was from the police commander. He turned to one side and whispered, ‘Troy Goodhart.’

  ‘I’ll be brief, Troy. You have other things on your mind. I’ve spoken to your dad’s doctor and I understand there’s little time left. I’m truly sorry. As a result, I’ve consulted the highest legal authorities. Given the need to act quickly, we’ve made an immediate decision and I’m going to confirm it in writing for you. As soon as you get it, I want you to be my representative in Pickling and read it to your father.’

  Unnerved, Troy replied, ‘I’m not sure he’ll …’

  ‘Have faith, Troy. Read it anyway.’

  ‘All right.’

  Bemused, Troy turned back to the eerily still patient stretched out on the bed, connected to the world by tubes and wires. Apart from his obvious wounds, he looked fit. Perhaps it was true what an undercover police officer had told Troy: there’s not much to do in prison apart from working out in the gym.

  ‘Do you still kick a ball about? Do they let you do that in prison? Prisoners versus the guards. Or would that be asking for trouble?’ Troy paused. ‘I was south of hopeless at school. Square peg in a round hole. I couldn’t do all that clever, outer stuff. But the teachers noticed I always seemed to know what was in someone else’s mind. They called me perceptive. They did some tests, decided I was good at talking to people and working them out. They thought I’d make a good police officer – with an outer partner. So, here I am. Detective Goodhart.’ He spread his arms. ‘Just like you and Mum.’

  Troy’s skills of perceptiveness and easy conversation had no value in that hospital room. He couldn’t be perceptive with a stranger who was completely inert. There was no reaction to guide him. If his father heard – and understood – what Troy was saying, would he be proud and happy? Troy didn’t know. Not even the heart monitor provided a response. Troy might be good at talking to people, but only when he got something back. In this one-way conversation, he felt awkward and tongue-tied.

  He tried to imagine being locked helplessly in a cell as flames churned inevitably down the corridor, the heat became unbearable and clouds of lethal smoke swirled in through the vents. At least that was how he pictured his father’s fate. He didn’t know any better because he hadn’t been given any details.

  ‘It must have been awful,’ Troy muttered. ‘Someone must have let you out.’ He shook his head. ‘If only they’d done it sooner.’

  Troy talked about living with Gran and working with Lexi Iona Four. He talked about his investigations – his successes and frustrations – and mercury. ‘It’s a weird runny metal. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. It’s fun – all bright and silvery and harmless – but it causes all sorts of bother if it’s let loose. It changes into deadly stuff.’

  Making Troy jump, Gran burst clumsily through the door and let out a cry. With barely a glance at Troy, she dashed to her son’s bedside, clutched his left hand in both of hers and mumbled, ‘Oh, honey …’

  Normally when Troy looked at his grandmother, he saw a strong woman. A woman who would never show any sign of weakness. Physically, nothing had changed, but right now Troy saw a frail ghost of his grandma. And she seemed to fade further as she stared at her sickly son, deathly pale and unresponsive. His plight was draining the strength from both of them.

  She looked up at Troy. ‘Has he said anything?’

  Troy shook his head.

  ‘They told me they could open all the cells at the push of a button,’ Gran said to Winston. ‘That’s what happens in an emergency like a fire. So, what went wrong? How did you get like this?’

  Troy felt the vibration of his life-logger. For an instant Gran scowled at him from across the bed because he wasn’t paying attention to the last moments of his father’s life. Head down, Troy didn’t spot her expression. He swallowed as he scanned the message and felt his spine shiver. Looking up again, he said, ‘I’ve got something from the police commander. It’s not what I expected. Erm … I think you’d both better hear it. He wants me to read it out.’

  Gran looked puzzled.

  Troy steeled himself and said, ‘I hope you’re getting this, Dad. It’s … important.’

  Winston Goodhart did not react but, sensing Troy’s sincerity and urgency, Gran nodded reassuringly at him.

  Troy cleared his throat and spoke loudly, in case it helped his dad to hear. ‘I will get straight to the point. What I am about to tell you rests on two facts. I know your state of mind was deeply affected by your wife’s death and this may have influenced your conduct afterwards. Secondly, in the last few hours, you have acted gallantly and without thought for your own safety. By all accounts, you could have left the prison like everyone else, but you alone chose to go back into danger and rescue an injured prisoner. In doing so, you saw two trapped guards in even greater peril. The details are not yet clear but, once you had carried out the prisoner, you went back inside and, showing immense physical and mental strength, you freed the two prison guards and dragged them to safety. We do know that you were struck by falling masonry, suffered many burns and breathed in too many toxic fumes. For your bravery and selfless acts of the highest order, the state …’ Troy hesitated, sniffed and blinked. ‘I really hope you can hear me, Dad.’ He took a deep breath to get him through the final two sentences. ‘The state pardons you of all crimes. You are a free man.’

  There was silence in the room, apart from Gran’s sobs and the beeping of Winston’s heart monitor. Then, after seven seconds, the monitor stopped and
let out a continuous, forlorn howl. The regular spikes on the screen came to an abrupt end.

  Troy lowered his eyes, ashamed. The state had forgiven his dad before he had.

  SCENE 19

  Sunday 11th May, Midday

  Considering her partner’s fragile state, Lexi did not make a cutting comment about his choice of meatballs for lunch. In The Hungry Human, she watched him eating them without his usual relish. ‘So, your grandma almost threw you out the house?’

  ‘Sort of. She needs some time and space on her own and she said she was fed up of me moping around. Said Dad would want me to get on with it.’ Troy smiled weakly. ‘She’s not a ghost any more.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘She looked like a ghost on Friday and yesterday. She looks more like Gran today, even though she’s putting on a show of strength for me.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Lexi said, ‘but I guess I know what you mean.’

  ‘She’s trying to battle through, so I should as well.’ Troy drank some blueberry juice. ‘Has your spreadsheet joined the dots yet? You’d better bring me up to speed.’

  ‘The chief offered me a new partner. Huh. Know what I said?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yeah. That’s exactly what I said. I said no. I don’t know what came over me. I told them I’d only work with you.’ She shrugged. ‘I must be crazy. I said I’d wait for you because no one’s in immediate danger – as far as we know.’

  The deep-fried spiders had been placed on her plate so that they appeared to be chasing each other in an endless circle. The legs of each tarantula were crunchy but the abdomen oozed bitter brown goo.

  ‘You’ll have carried on with the forensics, though.’

  ‘Yeah. The Switcher squirrel squatters first. They picked up some mercury for sure, but a fully grown major would have to eat about ten of them to get a lethal dose.’

  ‘Maybe the last lot had ten times more, so one in a pie would be enough.’

  ‘But ten times more would kill a squirrel pretty quickly. I’m not ruling it out, but it’d have to run back to the farm and get slaughtered before the mercury finished it off.’

  ‘Okay. It’s south of certain but it’s still our best shot – unless you’re about to tell me something that beats it.’

  ‘Tight End Crime Central reported in on Jon Drago Five. They’ve been through medical records and asked around. No evidence of any of his contacts getting ill – not with symptoms of poisoning anyway. And they’ve drawn a blank with him running a black market in mercury.’

  Troy tried to stay focused. ‘I need something positive to make me feel better.’

  Lexi smiled and tucked into another tarantula, making him wait. Then she said, ‘We’ve done the isotope analysis on that hair. We can’t use the result in court, but it’s interesting.’ To turn up the tension yet more, she took a few seconds to drink some wine. ‘Whoever it belongs to, they’ve been eating and drinking way up north. The hydrogen and oxygen isotope ratios match very well. Easily within error limits.’

  ‘You mean the person who probably ripped the pages out of Keaton’s diary could live in Loose End or Tight End?’

  She nodded. ‘Or other places up there.’

  ‘That’s another reason to get a DNA sample from Jon Drago Five.’

  ‘The locals have already done it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You said you only wanted positive results to make you feel better.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah. It doesn’t match the hair.’

  Troy groaned. ‘We’re back in the starting blocks.’

  ‘Not quite. We know we want to speak to a northern outer with mercury-coloured hair and probably brown eyes. Okay,’ Lexi said, ‘it’s not superprecise, but it’s something.’

  ‘True.’ He wasn’t in the mood for arguing or ribbing her about forensic science, spreadsheets or anything else.

  ‘All we need is a way forward,’ said Lexi.

  Troy wasn’t really in the mood for working out a way forward either, but he did his best. ‘The squirrels are still leading the pack, so we should email Alyssa Bending’s, Miley Quist’s and Richard Featherstone’s families. Did they like squirrel pie – or something else with squirrel in it? Keaton Hathaway’s more of an unknown quantity. Let’s find out where he shopped. Did he buy squirrel meat? If that gives us four positives, it could be our connection.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Lexi volunteered. ‘The next best link is Jon Drago Five and Mercury Splash. We know Alyssa went to the band’s home territory – she could have bumped into him – and we know the band went to Miley’s and Keaton’s towns.’

  ‘We need to figure out if Richard’s done anything to give us the complete set.’

  ‘Then there’s the Tight End area. The north. Alyssa went to the fish breeding centre and the Doom Merchant in Tight End. And we know someone from the same area – not Jon Drago Five – handled Keaton’s diary.’

  ‘So, have Miley and Richard got a link to the north?’

  ‘Good questions,’ Lexi said. ‘How do we find the answers?’

  ‘I don’t know about Miley,’ Troy replied. ‘She’s tricky. But Richard went to art and craft fairs. If there’s someone who organizes them up north, I guess we want to speak to him or her.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  SCENE 20

  Sunday 11th May, Afternoon

  The responses to Lexi’s messages about squirrel meat soon arrived. Richard Featherstone’s wife was first. It was Richard’s favourite food. Or so he told me. Next, Miley’s father replied. Miley ate anything – usually in a hurry. Squirrel disappeared as quick as any other meal put in front of her. Mr Bending also sent a message. Alyssa was keen on squirrel stew.

  Half an hour later, a police officer in Pickling answered Lexi’s request for information on Keaton Hathaway’s shopping habits. She read the report and then said to Troy, ‘We’ve got records from a supermarket about what Keaton bought and, yes, it includes two lots of squirrel meat in the last three weeks.’

  ‘That’s a full house, then,’ Troy replied.

  ‘Yes. My spreadsheet’s flashing squirrel meat at me. It thinks that’s the fatal connection. But we can’t put squirrels on trial.’

  ‘Corporate manslaughter, isn’t it?’

  ‘By squirrels?’ Lexi said with a grin.

  ‘No. By corporations.’

  ‘Switcher or the squirrel farm?’

  ‘Possibly both. They’ve been north of untidy.’

  ‘Huh. We’ve got no proof they’re responsible for the deaths – and no way of getting it, as far as I can see. Even if we found out all four victims ate squirrel from the Pickling farm, the poisoned meat’s long since gone.’

  Troy nodded and sighed. ‘The defence would say it’s a coincidence and we’ve got nothing definite to pin on them.’

  ‘That’s that, then.’

  Troy was not the sort to give in, but he felt inclined to agree. Right now, he didn’t have the grit to put up a fight.

  ‘These art and craft fairs up north,’ Lexi said. ‘Most of them are organized by an arts group. I’ve contacted the secretary and he’s given me a number for the man who runs a monthly fair in Loose End. Horatio Vines. You might want to speak to him.’

  ‘Yes,’ Troy replied, without his normal enthusiasm.

  They soon set up a video call and, after introducing himself, Troy asked, ‘When was the last art and craft show in Loose End?’

  ‘Now that’s simple,’ Horatio answered in a pompous accent. ‘On the morning of Sunday the twenty-seventh of April.’

  ‘What sort of art and crafts are on display?’

  ‘Jewellery’s very popular. Especially gold.’ He fingered a gold pin on the lapel of his formal jacket. ‘Painting, wood-turning, children’s toys, home-made food, clothing and bag making. That’s not an exclusive list, but it covers the majority of my exhibitors.’

  ‘Was a man called Richard Featherstone there?’<
br />
  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know the names of the visitors, of course, but there wasn’t a stall-holder of that name.’

  ‘I’m putting up a picture of Richard Featherstone. Does that help?’

  ‘Now that’s different. I do recognize him, yes. Absolutely. He came to the fair and asked to see me. That’s definitely the gentleman concerned. He told me he was a craftsman but didn’t have anything to display. Instead, he asked me to put out a few business cards advertising … what he did.’

  ‘Furniture-making?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I don’t have any of his cards left to verify that, but he certainly made furniture.’

  ‘Was he on his own?’

  ‘It was just the two of us when he talked to me.’

  ‘I’m putting three more photos on-screen. Were any of these people with him?’

  ‘Well, now you mention it …’

  Troy sat bolt upright. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes,’ Horatio Vines said. ‘I saw him with her. The middle photo.’

  ‘Alyssa Bending.’

  ‘Her name doesn’t mean anything to me, but the picture has stirred a memory. After he spoke to me, I’m fairly sure I saw him strolling around the other stalls with that lady.’

  Troy glanced at Lexi before replying, ‘How did they seem? Like an established couple – or two people who’d just met?’

  ‘Now that I’m not sure. But, if I recall, they seemed … close.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s very helpful.’

  ‘Can I ask the nature of your enquiry?’

  Troy smiled faintly. ‘It’d be best if you didn’t.’ He ended the call and faced his partner. ‘If he’s right,’ Troy said, ‘we’ve just turned a corner.’

  ‘If you mean it’s a new twist, yeah, I agree.’ She shook her head and then smiled mischievously. ‘Doesn’t sound like a fishing expedition to me.’