The Hidden Eye

by Oliver Davies

  We moved aside so that paramedics could do their jobs. Adams was with them, no doubt Fletcher had notified the station as well, and she photographed the scene before the paramedics knelt with their body bags and began to load Hamish into the black plastic.

  Fletcher couldn’t watch. She disappeared into the living room, and I wavered between going after her and telling Adams what had happened. “The suspect went out the door,” I said, pointing unnecessarily towards the back doorstep and the single footprint trail leading outside. “He jumped the fence and I lost him.”

  “I came ahead, but Dunnel is sending a couple of constables to secure the scene. I’ll have them sweep the area to see if they find any more bootprints. You go talk to Fletcher.”

  “Thanks, Adams.” I clapped her on the shoulder and then went to find Fletcher.

  She stood by the window, staring out between the curtains with her back firmly to everything that was happening in the kitchen. I scuffed my foot to let her know I was coming, and stopped beside her, watching the yellow washed street for a moment. The ambulance had shut its lights off, leaving only the street lamps to illuminate the black pavement, but those brief seconds of flashing light and squalling siren had been enough to bring the neighbours out in force, and they stood on the grass, wrapped in their robes, like zombies from an old black and white film, watching the only house on the street with any survivors.

  Which was darkly ironic, given what had actually happened here tonight.

  I didn’t say any of that to Fletcher. It was too morbid, too disrespectful for the moment, though I couldn’t help my train of thought. It had run clean away from me.

  “Here,” I said. I’d grabbed a couple of tea towels from the kitchen, and I passed her a dark blue one for her knees.

  She took it with unsteady fingers, struggling to figure out what it was for until I sat down on the edge of the coffee table and began to try to pat my knees dry. Her lips pressed together, turning white, as she finally noticed the dark, wet stains on her trousers, visible only as a deep shadow against the black fabric. Her brow crinkled with disgust, and she went to work with the towel, scrubbing furiously at the blood.

  “Listen,” I began, though I had no idea what I was actually going to say.

  “Have you seen that before?” Fletcher asked, filling in the gap before me. “Someone dying right in front of you?”

  I sighed and let the towel droop in my hands, my knees still distinctly wet. “Once. I wasn’t actually on duty. It was a car accident. I tried to help, but there was nothing I could do.”

  “I hate that.” Fletcher’s hands bunched into fists, towel curled tightly inside. “I hate not being able to do anything.”

  “I know,” I said softly.

  “We watched him die!” Fletcher moaned. “We watched the light go out of his eyes, and I felt the moment his hand went limp in mine. They don’t teach you that in training. They don’t warn you what that’s like.”

  I began to roll up my trousers, trying to get at the blood caked to my skin, but they got stuck halfway up my calf. “That’s because they can’t. It’s going to be different every time, and there’s no way to prepare people for something like that.” I sighed and tipped my head back, giving up on my trousers as lost. “I’m not going to tell you that it’ll be okay. But I can tell you that we’ll catch this guy, and he’ll spend a hell of a long time in jail.”

  “That won’t help Hamish,” Fletcher said.

  “No,” I agreed. “But it will help somebody else.”

  She pursed her lips to one side as she thought about that. It wasn’t much of a comfort, but it was something.

  DCs Owens and Barnes arrived, sent by Dunnel to secure the scene, and I left Fletcher in the living room so I could show the two of them where the suspect had disappeared. I helped them search the area by the glow of our phone lights, but we only found two more bootprints, both just on the other side of the shed he’d jumped off before he realized he was leaving tracks and took the shoes off.

  I shone my torch around the narrow alley in between the rows of houses as if I might accidentally flash the light across his shadowy, hidden form and take off after him. He was long gone, of course, disappeared into the night.

  Fletcher wasn’t in the living when I returned to Hamish’s townhouse, but Adams pointed towards the stairs, and I trundled up them on weary legs. She wasn’t in the master bedroom--the light we’d seen from the street--but the office just across from the bathroom. I knocked on the open door before I entered, finding her rooting around his desk.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked, though I already knew.

  “The story he was writing,” Fletcher answered, yanking open a drawer to rifle through its contents.

  “Have you tried the computer?”

  “Locked. I did find this, though.” Fletcher held up a memory stick emblazoned with the New Wave Industries logo, just like all the blank ones we found at Jacob’s cubicle. “It’s probably a copy of everything in that folder on Skye’s laptop. If we hadn’t gotten here when we did, the killer probably would have taken all this.”

  “Budge up, would you?” I said, squinting into the shadows beneath the desk where a shadow, deeper than all the rest, had caught my eye.

  Fletcher rolled her chair out of the way, and I knelt down, sticking my head and shoulders into the space under the desk. “Can you shine a light down here?” I asked, and a second later, Fletcher’s phone light nearly blinded me. There was a panel set into the back wall, hanging at an angle as only two of the screws had been properly replaced. I couldn’t see inside quite yet, so I pulled my head out and rooted through the drawers until I found a small screwdriver. I loosened the panel the rest of the way, and it fell into my hand. It felt like metal but had been painted to match the rest of the wall, and the cut-out square had rough edges as if it was a DIY job.

  There was a black, leatherbound notebook inside, heavy in my hand despite its small size. I sat back on my heels, ankles popping, and looked up at Fletcher. A smile touched her lips as I stood and moved to sit on the bed, opening the notebook in my lap. Most of the pages were full, but the contents went back several years, and I had to flip all the way to the end to find the section marked ‘Active Eye.’

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Fletcher asked, staring at me expectantly. “Read it.

  Twelve

  15th of May

  JG and SA have come to me with the story of a lifetime. This kind of story could make my career, launch me into national or even international journalism. I have always wanted to cover a good old-fashioned scandal.

  Here is what they’ve told me as well as what I already know. (There’s an electronic copy of their findings as well as the start of my report on a flash drive marked with the New Wave Industries logo, but I’m an old-fashioned journalist, and it helps me to put my findings down on paper as well).

  JG works for New Wave Industries, and SA works for Far Reach Industries which is a well-known and well-respected security company within the city, so both of them are credible sources.

  New Wave Industries opened its doors 5 years ago.

  It brought new jobs, new business, and new opportunities to Inverness, but despite all that, it sits rather poorly with the city due to its refusal to even attempt to integrate with the city’s culture.

  Its chief project is something called the Active Eye.

  This project is, as JG put it, “sketchy af.” I honestly don’t really know what that phrase means other than it’s bad.

  On the surface, Active Eye is an expansion to the facial recognition software already embedded in most smartphones. Active Eye would up that software’s power, allowing it to connect to your laptop or any other device that you wish to more easily synchronise our data.

  JG discovered code within Active Eye’s programming linked to data mining practices.

  Active Eye has the ability to track and store data from your social media profiles, email, online purchases, onlin
e searches, basically anything you do using an electronic device, even if you’re offline.

  JG basically surmised that Active Eye would allow the company to track anyone and everyone, building profiles on their personal lives, income, background, political views, likes, dislikes, religious beliefs, etc. etc.

  Basically, it’s a MASSIVE invasion of privacy.

  JG took his findings to SA for confirmation, and then the two of them came to me because they believe this is the sort of thing the public should know about.

  I agree.

  16th of May

  Against JG and SA’s wishes, I have spoken with New Wave Industries’ CEO, Jonas MacDonald, about Active Eye, disguising the interview as a profile of him and the project to drum up awareness of Active Eye’s imminent release. He believes that “Active Eye will usher in a new era of prosperity.” I believe he’s rather full of himself. He made allusions to a buyer who would “best know how to implement Active Eye,” but he wouldn’t give me a name.

  With just a little bit of probably illegal digging, I have discovered the name of New Wave Industries’ buyer. Raymond MacPherson II. I will go to speak with him tomorrow.

  17th of May

  I have made a mistake. MacPherson caught onto me immediately. There is something cold and dead in his eyes, and I fear what he will do to protect his investment. I must warn JG and SA, and I must get our story out. I don’t like to think what MacPherson might do with Active Eye in his hands.

  That was the end of it. I surfed through the rest of the notebook to see if there was anything else, anything all, but the other pages were blank. “That’s it?” Fletcher said, voicing my thought, and I nodded.

  “We’ve got a name at least,” I said as I shut the notebook and set it in my lap. “MacPherson.”

  “Who’s he?”

  The name was definitely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Hamish certainly didn’t seem to like him. “Nothing a quick Google search won’t fix,” I said. “Tomorrow, though.” I was drop-dead tired, and Fletcher looked about the same.

  “Do you think I could sleep on your sofa tonight?.” Fletcher rubbed at the back of her neck sheepishly. “I’m not sure I want to be alone in my dark flat.”

  “I’ll do you one better--I’ve got a spare bedroom,” I said, and she managed a wan smile.

  I tucked the notebook and memory stick into the inside pocket of my coat, and we checked in with Adams before we left, just to make sure that she had everything under control without us. The paramedics had already taken Hamish’s body away, so there wasn’t much left to be wrapped up. I asked her to bring the laptop to the station and pass it along to Martin to crack into. He already had quite a sizable stack piling up, and I hoped he wouldn’t mind one more. Adams gave me a thumbs-up and told us to get some rest.

  Fletcher and I drove to my flat in silence, Fletcher staring out the window with a heavy look in her eyes. It seemed like it should be raining, like there ought to be something physical to mark the pall that hung over us, but the night sky was clear, the moon bright overhead.

  We arrived at my flat, and before we did anything else, I grabbed two pairs of joggers from my wardrobe, and then Fletcher and I sat on the bathroom floor with the tap running so we could finally scrub Hamish’s blood off our knees. We left the trousers where we dropped them, and I went to make sure the spare bedroom was set up as Fletcher ambled into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

  I wasn’t sure either of us actually wound up sleeping much. We drank tea on the sofa for a while and ate our way through a bag of frozen chips I threw in the oven when I realized I was starving, and then we both wandered to our rooms to crash into bed.

  I stared up at the ceiling for most of the night. Sleep simply would not come despite my bone-deep weariness. I just kept seeing that man poised over Hamish’s dying form, kept watching myself chase him into the night, kept wondering what might have happened if I had gone after him. Would I have been able to stop him? Or would I have just wound up dead? The man seemed like he was highly skilled. I definitely would have ended up injured or worse. It was better then, that Fletcher called me back.

  When I got up the next morning, Fletcher had found her way into my cereal and was eating rather woodenly as she stared at her phone.

  “Did you sleep?” I asked as I grabbed a second bowl.

  Fletcher shook her head.

  We stopped by her flat for a change of clothes and then it was off to the station to figure out our next move. The car park was quiet once again, though I figured it would grow crowded as the evening fell, and the chalk portrait of Cameron Houser was still there, colours faded but lines unsmudged.

  I spotted Rayla seated by my desk almost as soon as we walked in, though her head was bowed over her phone and she didn’t notice our approach until we were within arm’s reach. “Hi,” I said. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

  “I was hoping I could speak with you for a minute,” Rayla said as she stood, looping her handbag strap over her shoulder. She wore more colour than I’d seen on her the past few times we’d met--a bright red t-shirt under a denim jacket covered with iron-on patches, her black boots adding two inches to her height.

  “Sure,” I said, glancing at Fletcher, unsure if this was a conversation Rayla wanted to have alone.

  “I have some stuff I want to check in evidence lockup,” Fletcher said, and I held back a slight grimace; I wanted to be nearby when Fletcher stumbled across the Rabbit. She smiled at Rayla and tipped her hand in goodbye. “It’s good to see you, Rayla.”

  I motioned for Rayla to sit down, and she scooted her chair closer until we were practically knee to knee. “How are you? How are Alana and Em?” I asked. We hadn’t had a chance to check up on Jacob’s friends or update them on the case.

  Rayla sighed and rubbed at one eye. “We haven’t heard from Em. We’ve been texting and calling, but no reply. Alana’s gone to their parents’ house to see if she can find them.”

  “And yourself?” I added because I noticed she’d avoided that part of the question.

  “I’m mostly worried about Em,” she said. A deep weariness showed behind the mask of makeup she wore to try and hide it. “And I guess it’s been getting harder and harder to get through the day, but I’m trying.”

  “Are you here for an update on the case or something else?” There wasn’t much I could do to make her feel better aside from maybe giving her our new information, though the knowledge that Jacob had gotten himself wrapped up in some kind of conspiracy might just make things worse.

  “I would love an update, but that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Okay, then what is it?” I asked. There was something in her eyes that worried me, a hint of a heavy, nervous purpose, a question she was almost unwilling to ask.

  “This isn’t an accusation,” she began carefully, and that immediately put me on edge. “This is an honest question and desire to understand, so please don’t take it the wrong way.” She took a deep breath before she continued. “But why haven’t you quit?”

  I blinked at her a couple of times. “What do you mean?”

  “A couple of other officers have resigned over this Townsend business. Are you going to?” Her eyes were curious but sincere without a speck of accusation in them.

  “Do you think I should?” I asked. Quitting had honestly never occurred to me.

  “I would, but I’m not you.”

  I leaned back in my chair and rubbed at the corner of my eye with a finger, finding a bit of sleep crust there. I cleaned it away before I replied. I wanted to give her a real answer, not just the first thing to pop into my head. “Here’s the way I see it. If I quit, who would find Jacob’s killer? The man has taken two other lives, and we have reason to believe he’s after a fourth as well. If I quit, I’d be letting him do that.” I patted my chest. “I know that I do my best to do this job as well and as safely as I can. Safely not only for myself, but for the people I protect. What if I quit and another Townsend
took my place? I guess I would rather know that I’m doing things right within the system than quit the system entirely and let someone else take over, if that makes sense.”

  Rayla nodded as she digested my answer. She was one of those people who wore all her thoughts and emotions on her face, so I was able to watch the way she processed my words, comparing them to her own opinions. “I think that makes sense,” she said and gave me a light smile. “I guess it’s nice to know that there are people like you and Fletcher looking out for the rest of us.”

  Speaking of Fletcher.

  She burst out of the door leading to evidence lockup, glanced sharply around for me, and hurried towards me, struggling to keep herself from bursting into a straight sprint across the floor. As she drew closer, I could see that her eyes were wide and bright, her cheeks red as her chest heaved beneath her white shirt. She skidded to a halt beside my desk and threw a finger back the way she came.

  “There’s a demon in lockup!” she huffed breathlessly. “Hiding behind one of the boxes. Some kind of freakish rabbit. You have to come look.”

  I wished I could have kept the grin off my face a while longer, but almost as soon as she started to explain, my lips jumped and twitched, fighting my attempts to keep them still.

  Fletcher noticed almost immediately. Her pointing arm fell to her side as her mouth dropped open, and then she punched me as hard as she could in the arm as Rayla stared at us in utter confusion. “Did you do this? What the hell? What is that thing?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, but it was totally unconvincing as laughter built in my throat. Fletcher hit me again. “You should see your face. Classic.”