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  TRACES

  Blood Brother

  The Sixth Case

  By Malcolm Rose

  Text copyright © Malcolm Rose 2013

  First published by Kingfisher Macmillan 2008

  Cover design by Colin Rose

  Welcome to the world of Traces. Imagine a place where technology rules, where London is a slum and the North is a cultural capital, where from the age of five The Authorities decide your future. In this fascinating parallel world, quick-thinking Luke Harding and his robot sidekick, Malc, make a top forensic team. Luke and Malc have the talent to crack any crime – and a good joke too.

  Forensic Investigator Luke Harding and Malc are assigned to a hospital with a mysteriously high rate of fatalities. Medical accidents, peculiar illnesses, or deliberate killings? Investigating the deaths, Luke meets his long-lost father, working as a doctor there. This is no happy family reunion, though, as Luke’s father’s DNA is found at several of the crime scenes, making him the prime suspect. Can Luke solve the case and clear his father’s name? Have the suspicious deaths got anything to do with Department of Alternative Medicine run by Luke’s father, the Phobia Clinic, or the downright strange Institute of Biomechanical Research? What is the sinister secret of Nyree Max’s jade pyramid? And what’s the terrible truth behind Luke’s ferocious headaches?

  Of the Traces series, Jan Mark wrote in The Times Educational Supplement, ‘This is fast-moving storytelling in the true thriller tradition, with enough subtext to leave a perceptive reader thinking.’

  Also available:

  Traces 1: FRAMED!

  Traces 2: LOST BULLET

  Traces 3: ROLL CALL

  Traces 4: DOUBLE CHECK

  Traces 5: FINAL LAP

  Traces 7: MURDER CLUB

  With special thanks to The Workhouse who allowed the copyright lyrics of Look up at the Stars to masquerade in this novel as the work of Jade Vernon and the imagination of Luke Harding.

  Author’s Note

  All of the experiments performed by the fictional Institute of Biomechanical Research in this novel have been carried out in actual laboratories.

  Chapter One

  Nyree was nervous and scared, but she was also spellbound. With her personal tutor, she’d come to a halt beside a rock garden of colourful heathers that surrounded a scruffy wooden hut in the picturesque riverside quarter of York. “Well,” she said with a tremor in her voice, “this must be it.” Nyree’s sunken eyes were fixed on the shack that had once been very showy. Its bright paintwork was now faded and peeling, revealing rotten wood underneath. Even though the cabin had seen better days, its windows had displays of cheerful homemade trinkets. They were the reason Nyree Max had sought out the trailer before going back into hospital.

  When Mr Peacock opened the door cautiously, a distinct smell of herbs and spices wafted over Nyree. Scented candles lit the place and an old man was sitting behind a counter, tying together sprigs of a deep green and crimson heather. Nyree took one look at him and knew at once that he was the artist with the peculiar reputation. She mounted the two steps and entered the shack uneasily. At least inside the blinding winter sunshine would no longer burn her eyes and blur her vision.

  The old man raised his face towards his visitors. He cast a dismissive glance at Mr Peacock but he gazed intently at Nyree. His expression suggested a mixture of kindliness and pity. He did not utter a word.

  The door closed behind Mr Peacock, shutting Nyree and her instructor inside. The flimsy cabin was curiously quiet, cut off from the rest of York. Around three of its walls were shelves and in the middle was a long table. All of the available surfaces were covered with the artist’s goods: cute cats and dogs carved delicately in wood, countless model dancers in pink or blue with silver head-dresses, dainty porcelain figurines, candles infused with herbs, ceramic boxes and much more. Carefully, Nyree picked up a few of the mementoes, one after the other, but felt no attachment to them. She replaced them at once.

  Making her way down the aisle between the table and the right-hand shelving, Nyree hesitated by a selection of jade ornaments and jewellery. Handwritten on a little card among the trinkets were the words, “Items in hard jade bring the owner good health”. Reading the label, Nyree allowed herself a sad smile. Hoping it was true, she picked up a jade squirrel, weighed it in her hand and then put it back on the display. There were many clever carvings in jade: coiled snakes, pigs, grotesque little men, all sorts. None of them grabbed her attention.

  Then, a lush green pyramid caught Nyree’s eye. It was solid, smooth and simple. This was no fancy carving, just three slick surfaces in dark green. She put out her trembling hand towards it but did not clasp the ornament. For a moment, she felt frightened of it. She told herself not to be silly. She tried to convince herself that her unease was nothing to do with the pyramid. She was just afraid of letting the stylish charm slip from her fingers and crash to the floor. She was weak of course, but not that weak. Her eyesight was wobbly, but not that wobbly. The tingling in her spine and the thudding inside her head were her illness. Those feelings didn’t have to stop her holding an ornament. She reached out for it.

  The old man behind the counter picked up some more heather but he didn’t do anything with it. Instead, he watched the ten-year-old girl closely as she took the pyramid in her right hand and stood it on her left palm. A strange smile came to his lined face when he saw her shiver.

  About twenty centimetres high, the three green sides of the pyramid were astonishingly shiny and reminded Nyree of mirrors. Some of the images reflected there seemed close, some far away, none real. The fourth side – the bottom of the pyramid – was black and totally unlike a mirror. Light seemed to disappear into the matt surface rather than bounce off it. She had to fight the urge to drop the sculpture when the icy base contacted the skin of her palm.

  “What have you found?” Mr Peacock asked her in a voice that sounded too loud. “Not the most decorative, is it?”

  “No, but...” Nyree muttered without looking up from her hypnotic find.

  “But what?”

  Nyree had been feeling sick and unsteady but the jade pyramid had distracted her. “This is what I want.”

  “Really? Are you sure? There’s a lot of nicer...”

  “I’m sure.”

  Mr Peacock shrugged. “Take it up to the man, then.”

  When Nyree walked towards him, the old man stood and nodded knowingly. “That’s very special, darling. Most singular.” His speech was slow, as if he were not used to the language. He stared into Nyree’s face. “I can see why it’s chosen you.”

  Nyree winced as Mr Peacock corrected his faltering grammar. “You mean, why Nyree’s chosen it.”

  “Do I?” the artist retorted without even glancing at Mr Peacock. “Look.” He came from behind the counter and took Nyree’s arm. Realizing that Nyree’s hearing was frail, he spoke up. “This is what you do, darling. Listen. You touch one of the green sides against here.” His wrinkled hand went to Nyree’s forehead. “Then you put it by your bed, you see, and sleep with a lamp on so the pyramid’s shadow falls on you through the night.”

  Amused, Mr Peacock asked, “And what does that do?”

  “That,” he answered impatiently, as if an instructor should have known, “heals the sick.”

  “How quaint.”

  “Quaint?” the artist replied, clearly confused and possibly insulted.

  Mr Peacock backtracked. “It’s... er... a charming tradition.”

  The man scowled at him and then turned to Nyree again. “No one touches or disturbs you during pyramid time. You see? Afterwards, you return the pyramid to me. It does not work again. It’s like a toy with batteries. Understand? It runs down after a cure. It’s yours to use and then i
t’s mine to recharge.”

  Mr Peacock produced his identity card. “Are you saying we’re going to borrow it, not own it?”

  The man shook his head and waved away the plastic card. Talking solely to Nyree again, he said, “It’s yours, darling. You use it well. But only once and never again. Twice is very dangerous.” He wagged a knobbly finger at her and frowned. “Bring it back to me.”

  “All right,” Nyree said quietly, hugging the precious trinket.

  “Good,” he replied. “You know, I’m glad you came to my trailer.”

  Nyree didn’t know what to reply so she said, “Thank you.”

  With a wistful expression on his withered face, the old man watched his visitors leave. Then he walked to the window and gazed at Nyree through the filmy glass until she was out of sight.

  Back on the walkway, out in the brightness of the real world, Mr Peacock mumbled, “Weird! Different culture altogether. Still, no harm done.”

  The low sunlight stung Nyree’s eyes and brought immediate tears. The hammering in her skull started once more. Even so, she smiled to herself.

  ****

  For the first time in ages, Nyree felt great. Her head was free of crippling migraine. She didn’t feel sore, sick and wobbly. Her vision wasn’t flickering and blurred. She walked – almost skipped – out of her own room and in through the forensic investigator’s open door. Nyree liked Luke Harding. He was tall and nice and he was bouncing back after the bad guy in his last case had poisoned him. Nyree had her bag over one shoulder and she gripped her shiny pyramid in both hands to guard against dropping it.

  “Hey! Look at you,” Luke said. “A lot better than when I first saw you. Are you going back to school?”

  She nodded, unable to keep a big grin from her face. “I’m better.”

  “You beat me,” Luke replied. “I thought I’d be out before you.”

  Nyree looked down at her heavy pyramid. “If I gave you this, you’d get well, but...” She hugged it to her chest. “I can’t.”

  “It’s okay. I’m nearly fit again anyway.” Smiling at her, Luke said, “You keep it. If it’s a lucky charm, it’ll make sure you never have to come back.”

  “It’s made of jade,” said Nyree. Thinking of the label on the shelf in that peculiar hut, she added, “And jade’s good for you.”

  Nyree watched as Luke glanced at his other visitor. Maybe she was his girlfriend. Even so, Nyree didn’t know why they exchanged a sly smile.

  Luke lowered his voice. “That’s true. I’ll let you into a secret. I’ve got Jade as well. Saved my life.”

  Nyree was trying to figure out what he meant when Mr Peacock, lurking at the door, called, “Come on, Nyree. That’s enough. Say your goodbyes to the nurses and we can go.”

  ****

  It was the first of March and the annual celebration for the coming to power of The Authorities was in full swing. Robotic clowns with ridiculously long legs and large feet padded along York’s riverside walkway, making a variety of synthetic laughing noises. The air was rich with the sulphurous smell of gunpowder and the heady aroma of spices from the barbecue stalls by the bridge. The flashing lights of the colourful fairground rides were reflected in the River Ouse. Firecrackers jumped around, making the sound of gunfire. Every few seconds, a rocket shot into the sky, exploded with the deafening noise of a cannon, and formed a huge vivid mushroom of stars, illuminating the city. At once, the bloom of light began to weep. Sparkling tears of blue and red and yellow and white fell like rain.

  Nyree Max stood empty-handed on the river bank. Straining her neck for a while, she watched the big wheel as it rotated slowly, taking sightseers up sixty metres in glass pods. From the top, they’d have fabulous views of the vibrant city bathed in spectacular light. Nyree wasn’t going on the wheel because she got jittery with height. Besides, she was fascinated more by the Ouse itself. It had come alive with hundreds of tiny flames. Huge numbers of candles floated gently downstream on small beautiful boats made from leaves. The old man in the riverside shack had probably made quite a few of them.

  Most people who pushed out their waterborne candles did it for fun – because it had become tradition. They wanted to see their own mini-boat jostling with all the others, making a stunning display like an unhurried procession of fireflies. A few superstitious people believed that, when they released their candle into the flow, all of their bad luck and ill health would also drift away. Nyree’s own candle joined the rest and glided down the river, along with her disabling migraines.

  Nyree didn’t know if she believed in the supernatural but the pyramid that she’d just taken back to the trailer had worked, so maybe that made her a believer. Unsure, though, she let the question go like a balloon released by a tired child.

  ****

  By the frequent flashes of light outside his windows, Crawford Gallagher examined the pyramid that the girl had returned. As always when he had to recharge it, he felt queasy. Turning the used pyramid in his shrunken hands, he gazed at the three faces of hard jade. They were an indefinable deep green speckled with the reflections of bright bursts of fireworks. The multicoloured stars glittered in the mirror-like surfaces, but the bottom of the pyramid was different. When Crawford looked at it, he shuddered unpleasantly. No reflections, no light, no life. After a cure, it always appeared to be a hole. He imagined that he could put his hand right into it and feel... nothing. He could no more touch the inside of the pyramid than he could reach out on a dark night and touch the infinite sky. Of course, the base wasn’t a hole or a tunnel or infinity. It was just a dull surface, used to regenerate the pyramid’s healing power.

  Carefully, Crawford took the vial of deep red fluid on his counter and unscrewed the top. Muttering to himself, he said, “I have work for you, my blood brothers.” Then he tilted the container over the bottom of the pyramid. The fresh human blood ran out sluggishly and dropped onto that cold surface, giving the jade pyramid fresh life.

  Chapter Two

  Forensic Investigator Luke Harding had been discharged from York Hospital, but he had not left the complex. Before he’d got anywhere near the main exit, The Authorities had assigned him to an investigation within the hospital. Doing his best to ignore the throbbing ache above his left ear, Luke was circling round a bed in a private treatment room, checking out the male patient who had died there. Luke did not have to test the body for the time of death. The bedside monitor had registered the man’s last heartbeat three hours and twenty-four minutes previously.

  Outside, a war could have been raging. The noise of fireworks sounded like bombs exploding and guns discharging. The flashes could have been missiles crashing into their targets, creating showers of sparks. In the presence of a corpse, Luke was tempted to think of the spectacular celebrations as tactless. But perhaps the dead man would’ve wanted to leave the world in a blaze of fireworks. Luke had to admit the idea had a certain appeal, unlike death itself. A particularly bright rocket blossomed into blue and white outside the window and distracted Luke. The firework made him think that, after his own death, he’d like his ashes shot into the sky as part of a grand display. It would be even better to have them fired in a real rocket and scattered beyond the atmosphere. That would be the nearest thing to joining the stars.

  Luke forced himself to forget the fanciful and concentrate on the squalor of death. He hadn’t touched the body. He didn’t need to touch it to know that it would be warm and stiffening. He glanced at his Mobile Aid to Law and Crime and said, “Why have I been asked to look into this? He can’t be the only patient to die in the hospital. It’s bound to happen. The place is full of sick people. What’s suspicious about this one?” If it weren’t for the patient’s uncanny stillness and pale colour, he could have been asleep. There was no sign of blood and no obvious weapon. As death went, this one was pretty. At the age of sixteen, Luke had already seen much worse.

  “It is correct that many people die in York Hospital. It has a reputation for treating the most serious i
llnesses and, as a result, has a high mortality rate. However, The Authorities have noted that the percentage of fatal outcomes began increasing six months ago. You are required to find out if the death statistics are caused by worsening illnesses, medical mistakes or criminal activity.”

  The blast of a giant firework shook the window. Luke took a deep breath. “What’s his name and how old was he?”

  “Julian Bent, aged forty-two years and three months.”

  Luke stooped down to examine the patient’s exposed right arm. “A lot of pricks here. I guess the hospital fed him via a drip and took blood samples. But it means anybody could inject him with a poison and no one would be any wiser.”

  “Do you wish the pathologist to carry out toxicology tests?” asked Malc.

  “Sure do. And I want all his medicines and drips analysed. I want to know if they’re what they’re supposed to be and not laced with anything nasty.”

  “Transmitting tasks.”

  “Why was he in here? What was wrong with him?”

  “He had cancer of the pancreas.”

  Luke said, “What did the doctor make of his death?”

  “It was considered sudden but within normal parameters for an acute pancreatic tumour. Such patients can deteriorate quickly, before the cancer can be removed surgically. In this case, the operation would have been difficult and the cancer might have already spread. The patient was classified as terminal.”

  Luke stopped prowling around and looked over the bed at the door. “I didn’t need an identity card to get in here.”

  “Correct. That is the hospital’s policy. Patients’ doors are not locked, enabling immediate access by medical teams in an emergency.”

  “So, anyone disguised in a white coat could wander in, and there’s no record of who’s come and gone.”

  “Confirmed. It is reasonable to assume that several members of the hospital staff and an unknown number of visitors will have entered these quarters recently.”