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  TRACES

  Double Check

  The Fourth Case

  By Malcolm Rose

  Text copyright © Malcolm Rose 2013

  First published by Kingfisher 2006

  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.

  Everton Kohter is a young man on death row. In nineteen days, he will be executed for murder. But Luke Harding has been tipped off that he is innocent. The Authorities are against reopening the case but, at Luke’s own risk, he does. Against the ticking clock, Luke and Malc try to piece together the truth that The Authorities failed to find. And they try to overturn a mountain of forensic evidence that seems to prove Everton’s guilt, while they are supposed to be investigating a case of corruption in ‘pairing’. In the Traces world, couples are worked out and brought together by The Authorities. It’s a system that Luke hates because it stops him getting together with his girlfriend, Jade. He finds himself investigating a pairing system that he’d love to destroy. But, as a forensic investigator, he can’t uphold the law and break it at the same time.

  ‘Through attention to the smallest detail and cleverly written description, Malcolm Rose leads his reader into a parallel world that is both fascinatingly different and chillingly realistic. This is another book that could be included in a teacher’s arsenal when trying to encourage boys to read. Let’s face it, what self-respecting 12-year-old wouldn’t want an all-knowing robot side kick like Malc? This is a well written, fast paced action thriller with a thoroughly likeable hero that will keep the reader turning the pages right to the end.’ Write Away website.

  Short-listed for the Portsmouth Book Award (Longer Novel 2007).

  Also available:

  Traces 1: FRAMED!

  Traces 2: LOST BULLET

  Traces 3: ROLL CALL

  Traces 5: FINAL LAP

  Traces 6: BLOOD BROTHER

  Traces 7: MURDER CLUB

  Chapter One

  A shiver enveloped the official executioner’s body when he stepped into the empty Death Cell. He always reacted badly to the dreadful atmosphere as he entered the cold chamber in Block J of Cambridge Prison. Greg Roper didn’t let the unpleasant prickling put him off, though. To distract himself, he imagined how he’d been chosen as executioner. Of all the prison guards, he had the name that sounded most like the Grim Reaper. Really, being called Greg Roper had nothing to do with his job, but the thought brought an ironic smile to his lips. When he was preparing the Death Cell, he needed an excuse to smile.

  There were no windows and only two pieces of furniture in the small room: a bed that could be tilted from almost upright to horizontal and a wooden cabinet on wheels. First, Greg opened the cabinet and checked that the chemicals were all present and correct. Sodium pentothal would put the prisoner to sleep. Pancuronium bromide would paralyse his lungs and diaphragm, then potassium chloride would stop his heart. The whole process of delivering the death sentence was designed to take between fifteen and twenty minutes. Greg was proud of his record: thirteen and a half minutes from strapping of the inmate onto the bed to the ending of life. After all, he didn’t want to prolong the suffering even of a murderer.

  He checked that there was enough saline solution to wash the tubes that would deliver the fatal sequence of chemicals. He measured the tubes to make sure that they were long enough and then he inspected both intravenous needles. One would be placed in the criminal’s arm and the other was a spare in case something went wrong. Not that the procedure had ever gone wrong in Greg’s hands.

  Satisfied, he turned his attention to the bed and said to the computer, “Upright position, please.” Greg whispered really. He always whispered in the Death Cell. With its belts and fastenings dangling grimly, the bed tipped slowly until it was almost vertical. It came to a halt without a hint of shuddering. Everything had to be perfect. Perfectly smooth was how Greg liked it. That’s why he practised, checked and double-checked well before an execution. “Project a life-size hologram of Everton Kohter onto it, please.”

  The image didn’t look totally like the real thing. It was a mere ghost of a man. Or boy in this case. In nineteen days, Everton would become the smallest, youngest person that Greg had ever strapped onto the bed. He knelt down and made sure that the lower ties were correctly adjusted to attach to the prisoner’s ankles. He didn’t want to have to fiddle with the buckles while the poor boy waited to die. The long belts that would encircle his waist and chest seemed fine. At the top of the bed, the forehead loop needed to be five millimetres shorter to stop Everton jerking his head. Greg wanted it tight so that the prisoner could not possibly damage himself if he struggled.

  Finally, Greg ensured that the arm restraints were functioning properly and set for Everton’s measurements. Once the intravenous needle was in place under his skin, it was vital that the prisoner could not free an arm from the strap and thrash around. That way, he could dislodge the delivery tube.

  Content, Greg said in a hushed voice, “That’s all. End program.”

  The virtual version of Everton Kohter disappeared at once. When the real thing had been put to sleep and the prison doctor had pronounced bleakly, “Life extinct,” Greg would call in two of his colleagues to take the body away. And hopefully he would be able to congratulate himself on an efficient job well done.

  ****

  It was no use telling The Authorities that he was alone in his hotel room. Luke knew that Jade would keep very quiet, he was sure he could lie confidently and persuasively, but he was equally certain that his Mobile Aid to Law and Crime would correct any fib. “Er... No. I have Jade Vernon with me,” he said.

  “I see.” The words coming out of Malc were not delivered in the usual male monotone. The female voice emerging from him carried an element of opinion and it sounded to Luke like disapproval. “Never mind. Your mobile tells us you’re in Sheffield. This is convenient.”

  “Oh?”

  The Authorities had hijacked the mobile robot’s synthetic speech circuitry to talk to Luke. “We are assigning you to a case of possible corruption there. It has come to our attention that a couple in Sheffield may have been paired inappropriately and unconventionally.”

  Puzzled, Luke frowned and glanced at the silent Jade.

  “At least one member of the local Pairing Committee may have been unduly influenced.”

  Luke could not resist interrupting. “Influenced? What does that mean?”

  At once, Malc’s neutral male voice returned for a few seconds. “Persuaded, often by secret or unfair use of position; affected or altered by indirect or subtle means; swayed to modify the condition, development or outcome of something.”

  “Thanks, Malc,” Luke muttered sarcastically. “Everything’s a lot clearer now.”

  The voice of The Authorities continued, “I’m downloading all relevant notes to your Mobile Aid to Law and Crime. It’s up to you to find out what form the influence takes, whether a committee member has succumbed to such pressure and, if so, who it is. If it’s more than one member, it’s your job to find out how many are involved and to identify them.”

  “But...”

  “What?”

  Luke could not admit to his doubts. He hated Pairing Committees. After all, they stood between him and a lifetime paired with Jade. If there was a way around the system of making life partners, he would rather celebrate than investigate it. But he was an FI. It was his duty to uphold the law. He could no
t pick and choose the rules he’d enforce. “I... um... I’ve only ever taken on murder cases.”

  “And you’ve done exceptionally well. This investigation is easier and lower profile. Think of it as a reward. After all,” she added, “a change is as good as a rest.” Her attempt at friendliness and informality came across as sinister.

  “Do I have a choice?” Luke asked as he gazed into Jade’s disbelieving face.

  “No. Being in Sheffield, you’re ideal for the job.”

  Luke swallowed. “There’s something else,” he said nervously.

  “What’s that?” the voice of The Authorities asked, clearly irritated that Luke dared to bring up another matter.

  “It’s... er... the case of Everton Kohter. He’s scheduled for execution in two or three weeks. I want to look into it. You know. Just to make sure.”

  “Is this a serious request, FI Harding?”

  “Yes.”

  “We do not raise doubts in the law without a very good reason.”

  “The good reason is, you could kill someone who’s not done anything wrong. He was supposed to have murdered someone two years back. But mobiles have improved a lot since then. There’s no harm in checking he’s guilty with up-to-date methods.”

  There were a few moments of hesitation. “There is harm. It lies in reducing confidence in the law. Besides, I have now got the Kohter file on my monitor. The case against him is utterly watertight. He was arrested within minutes. I’d go as far as to say no one’s ever been more clearly guilty of murder.”

  Luke had been tipped off by a mutual friend called Owen Goode that Kohter was not the killing kind so he decided not to cave in. “There’s no problem getting a second opinion, then. I’ll agree, and Kohter will be put to death knowing everything’s been double-checked.”

  Malc’s speech centre fell silent for a minute. Then the female voice sounded again. “We have granted your request. Reluctantly. I’ll download all case notes to your mobile.”

  “Thanks,” Luke replied. “Can you give him holographic programming, as well? I’ll want him to recreate the crime scene so I can take a virtual walk through it and get a good look.”

  “Agreed, but I promise you won’t have to be thorough to verify this verdict. And you won’t need long but, for obvious reasons, you have nineteen days – until dawn on Sunday the twelfth of February. Kohter’s execution will not be delayed.”

  The link to The Authorities broken, Jade stared at Luke. It wasn’t often that she was lost for words. It wasn’t for long either. “Inappropriate pairing?” she exclaimed. “Was that for real?”

  “Sounds like it’s my job to find out.”

  “Huh. There’s more going on than that. They know about you and me.” She nodded towards the robot that hovered beside Luke. “Malc tells them. He’s probably telling them what we’re saying now.”

  “Incorrect. Your current conversation is not relevant to either investigation.”

  “It might be in a second,” Jade retorted. “They know we’d jump at the chance of inappropriate and unconventional pairing, so why give you the case?”

  Not wanting to reveal his fears, Luke shrugged.

  It was Malc who put Luke’s suspicions into words. “Your loyalty to the law may be under test.”

  Luke looked at his mobile. “Do you know that? Have you been told that’s what’s going on?”

  “No. It is a matter of logical deduction. Another explanation is that you are available and suitably located.”

  Luke smiled wryly. He expected that his mobile’s obligation to the law, to the truth, and to himself would also come under test, and into conflict, before he got to the bottom of any illicit pairing. What concerned him more, though, was the looming execution of Everton Kohter.

  Chapter Two

  Rowan Pearce had been stabbed to death in the living room of his own home two years previously. The Mobile Aid to Law and Crime attending the scene had taken a standard three-dimensional laser scan of the interior of the London house and several views of the outside. Now, all of that information had been downloaded into Malc and he was ready to recreate it.

  The local authorities in Sheffield had provided Luke with their huge emptied conference hall for the morning. It was here that Malc projected a virtual version of the murder scene. He erected two of Rowan Pearce’s rooms within City Hall, like pitching a scruffy tent in lavish surroundings. The image was an exact reproduction, complete with furnishings, body, and stains. In this version, though, Luke and Malc could not touch anything because none of it was real. Luke did not have to wear gloves or worry about contaminating the evidence.

  It was Rowan’s body on the bare floorboards that first grabbed Luke’s attention. It was so lifelike yet actually insubstantial. Luke reached down with his hand. If it had been a real corpse, he would have brushed Rowan’s cold face, but it was just an optical illusion – like a mirage – so his fingers penetrated the man’s skull. Luke shivered at the eerie sensation of reaching into a victim’s head. “If only I could pluck the last memories out of his brain,” he said to himself. Those final images would have told him straightaway whether Everton Kohter or someone else had wielded the knife.

  Rowan Pearce was twenty-six and his limbs were splayed out across the uncarpeted floor. Blood leaking from one stomach wound and two gashes in his chest had followed the lines of his body so that he appeared to be lying on a dark red star. The expression frozen on his lifeless face was one of surprise and shock. The knife, taken from the rack in the kitchen, was lying a couple of metres away.

  Fascinated by the flimsy shell of a man, Luke inserted his hand into one of the chest wounds. “They must have done a full analysis of these injuries. Angles, depths and so on.”

  “They were consistent with Everton Kohter’s height, physical strength and handedness.”

  Pointing at Rowan’s trousers, Luke asked, “What’s that stain?”

  “Urine.”

  “Urine? Rowan’s, I assume. Sometimes, a scare does that.”

  Malc replied, “It did not belong to the victim. DNA analysis gave a perfect match with Everton Kohter.”

  “It’s Kohter’s?” Luke’s face crinkled into a grimace. “Ugh.”

  “In ancient times,” Malc informed him, “warriors would urinate on their victims to emphasise their superiority.”

  “But you can’t dent the deads’ dignity. They’re dead.”

  “It was believed to have a demoralizing effect on any enemy watching, and gave the victor a feeling of triumph.”

  “Mmm.” For a moment, Luke felt regret. “I know almost everything about the law and almost nothing about history.”

  “That was inevitable from Year 8 when you chose to dedicate yourself to studying law and crime.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” Squatting down near the pretend corpse, he examined Rowan’s left hand. “Is this a bite mark?”

  “Confirmed. The indentations matched the prime suspect’s teeth.”

  Luke’s sharp eyes spotted a small white stain on the victim’s left shirt sleeve. “And this?”

  “What is the nature of your query?”

  “What is it?”

  “It was saliva and DNA fingerprinting confirmed that it belonged to Everton Kohter.”

  “In ancient times, did warriors stress their superiority by spitting on their victims as well?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Charming.” To stop Malc responding, Luke put up a hand. “That’s what we humans call tongue in cheek.”

  Malc hesitated while he referred to his dictionary. “Expressing the opposite of the intended literal meaning. Therefore, I conclude that you find expectoration distasteful.”

  “If that means spitting, yeah. But I suppose it’s not as bad as murdering someone.” Luke stood upright and looked around. In places, wallpaper was peeling away from cracked plasterwork. There was an upended chair, a table lying on its side and several scattered and broken ornaments. “There was a struggle,” he said aloud.
“Tell me about fingerprints.”

  “Fingerprints are the unique patterns left behind...”

  Luke rolled his eyes because Malc had done this to him before. “I mean, tell me about the prints in here.”

  “The patterns on the kitchen knife were smeared but they almost certainly belonged to Everton Kohter, the victim, and his wife, Camilla Bunker. His partner’s fingerprints were not considered significant for two reasons. First, she owned and used the knife. In addition, she died five days before the murder.”

  “How?”

  “Her aeroplane crashed, killing all passengers and crew.”

  Luke nodded. “Were Kohter’s prints anywhere else?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Where, then?”

  The hovering robot highlighted each virtual location in turn with a red glow. “The overturned chair, the table, the door...”

  “He wasn’t careful and he didn’t wear gloves, then,” Luke interrupted with a smile.

  “Correct.”

  “Did he leave any other evidence? What about the two muddy footprints over there by the front door?”

  “They matched the shoes he was wearing. Flakes of dandruff on the floor also belonged to him. He left two hairs on the victim’s clothing. His sweat was detected in several locations, especially the floor. Fibres from his clothes were found on a table leg and some floorboards, snagged on rough wood.”

  “Were they under the victim’s fingernails as well?”

  “No.”

  “How about skin?”

  “Clarify your inquiry.”

  “Was Everton Kohter’s skin found under Rowan’s nails? When there’s a struggle, the attacker’s skin and fibres almost always end up under the victim’s nails.”

  “In this case, no such evidence was found.”

  “Mmm. Interesting.” Luke paused before asking, “Did Everton Kohter ever confess?”

  “No.”

  “Did he deny it?”