Final Lap Read online

  Jed shrugged. “Sorry. Nothing.”

  It was Luke’s turn to sigh. Trying not to show his disappointment, he said, “Never mind. Have you got anyone good enough for the Games?”

  “A couple for certain,” Jed replied. “A couple more, maybe.” He paused before continuing, “If you’re on a case, you ought to get in shape and enter an event. To get an insider’s view.”

  Luke laughed. “I’m nowhere near Games’ standard in anything.”

  Jed said, “I can get you up there in the eight hundred metres, if you’ve got the determination.”

  “Yeah? And how long would that take?”

  “Not by tomorrow, that’s for sure. Weeks and months.”

  Luke shook his head. “Thanks, but... It’s not going to happen. Unfortunately. Besides,” he added, pointing at the top of Jed’s shorn head, “I don’t fancy the runner’s hairstyle.”

  ****

  On the way back to Hounslow, Luke complained, “That was a wild-goose chase.”

  Malc said, “Incorrect.”

  Luke turned towards him. “Why? What did you spot that I didn’t?”

  Apparently confused, the mobile hesitated before responding. “It is incorrect that a game bird was your objective.”

  Luke waved his hand dismissively. “Here we go again! A wild-goose chase is a waste of time. Put it in your dictionary. I suppose I got one thing out of it. The airship, Malc. Check if it was taking pictures of the stadium. If it was, get copies.”

  “Logged.”

  “Have you got anything on sources of paraquat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, then.”

  “After the aeroplane crash destroyed Coventry Chemical Industrial Zone two years ago, a new manufacturing zone was set up to the west of the Midlands. This is the unit that now provides most paraquat and other pesticides. Farms are by far the major users. The chemical industry has not noted unusual consumption or excessive orders. However, a new customer has been the Hounslow scheme. A large quantity of herbicide was required to combat an infestation of weeds and other fauna before and during regeneration.”

  The chill wind blowing into Luke’s face made his nose run. He wiped it and said, “I bet no one would notice a few barrels going missing from the building site. Looking anywhere else for it would probably be another wild-goose chase.”

  Chapter Five

  The site manager’s office was a large temporary trailer positioned in front of a series of huge wind turbines that provided much of the power for the regeneration scheme. The roomy headquarters had windows on three sides, providing a view over much of the development, dominated by the impressive arch over the main stadium. To receive all incoming messages, the telescreen was permanently switched on. There were four overalls and hard hats hanging on one wall, three pairs of reinforced shoes underneath, and a state-of-the-art computer terminal on the central desk.

  Telling Luke about his new role, Neil Gladwin seemed to be reciting a speech. “It’s not about me. The main point of all this,” he said, sweeping his hand widely, “is the legacy we leave behind. Young people in London shouldn’t have to go to crumbling sports clubs with miserable facilities. This venue and the Games will be stepping-stones to participation in sport, transforming young lives, inspiring tomorrow’s athletes, and providing a community focus. My goal’s rejuvenating Hounslow and providing a resource that’ll benefit the whole of London for generations to come. I know there’ve been teething troubles, but we’re focused now. I’m determined we’ll meet whatever challenges remain and strengthen our investment in the development because the purpose is worth it.” He might have rehearsed the words but he sounded sincere.

  Luke nodded. “I guess Libby Byrne had the same attitude.”

  “More or less.”

  “You were her deputy until she went missing. How did you get on with her?”

  Neil shrugged. “The usual creative tensions, that’s all.”

  “Not very well, you mean.”

  “In sport, different coaches go about training their athletes in different ways. It’s the same in engineering. Libby had her way of managing a big project and I’ve got mine. I’ll bring it in on time with the quality everyone expects.”

  “What exactly was she working on when she disappeared?” Luke asked.

  “In this game, you’ve got a lot of balls in the air at the same time but...” Neil stood up and pointed out of one of the windows. “See the big pillars over there? New this week. They’ll be the front of the indoor arena for tennis, squash, gymnastics, darts and a few other things. The back of it will be the tee off point for the golf.”

  “Yes?”

  “On my first day in charge, I inherited an issue about the grade of concrete to be used. That’s what she was trying to deal with the evening before she disappeared. I’ve taken care of it.”

  Luke said, “Was she in any sort of trouble?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “Where were you on the morning she failed to turn up?”

  “Me?” He looked astonished that Luke should ask.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Luke replied. “If she’s been abducted, I want to know where someone snatched her. I can rule out wherever you were – because you would’ve reported it.”

  “I was here at work, as always.” Neil looked away and then let out a weary breath. “To be honest, she treated me like you treat that,” he said, pointing at Malc. “A machine. Get this done, do that. And she was never shy of taking the credit when I got things moving ahead of schedule.”

  Luke was tempted into thinking that there was a parallel between himself and Libby. He wanted to keep his mind on the interview but, for a second, he wondered whether he was always fair to his mobile. Did he take the credit for completing a case when much of his success was down to Malc’s activities? But there was a big difference between his relationship with Malc and Libby’s with Neil. Malc was a machine. Credit meant nothing to him. “Have you got a record of where every drum of paraquat went?”

  Neil was taken aback. “Er...” He glanced at his computer. “No. We don’t keep that sort of detail or we’d drown in data. Why?”

  “Never mind.”

  A security alert appeared on the manager’s telescreen. The head and shoulders of a member of the airport staff explained, “Old Frank Russell’s at it again, Neil.”

  Neil glanced at Luke and said, “Excuse me.” He turned towards the telescreen and asked, “What’s he done now?”

  “He’s sitting in the middle of the airstrip.”

  “What? When’s the next flight due?”

  “Not for an hour and a half. But...”

  Luke interrupted. “Is this some sort of protest against the regeneration?”

  Neil nodded. “Not his first, either. I’ll send security guards in to shift...”

  “No,” Luke replied. “I’ll go and talk to him. It’s not like there’s a plane waiting to land or take off.”

  Neil shrugged. “Feel free. I’m not going to grumble if you take a job off my hands.” He said towards the telescreen, “There’s an FI coming over. Name of Luke Harding. He’ll sort it out.”

  ****

  Luke walked out of the airport terminal carrying a chair in each hand. When he reached the centre of the runway, he looked down at Frank Russell lying uncomfortably on the concrete, and said, “Brought you a seat.” He plonked it down by the old man. He positioned the other opposite the first and sat down himself. “It’s cold out here,” he added with a shiver. “Nothing to stop the wind. And it’ll be dark soon.”

  Frank eyed him suspiciously. “What’s your game?”

  “They’re getting a load of security guards together in there,” he said, jerking his thumb towards the terminal. “They’ll come and move you soon. So, you’ve got a choice. Wait for the big thugs or talk to me.”

  “Who are you?” He struggled to lean on his elbows, but the aches and pains of old age stopped him. Recognizing a mobile aid to law and c
rime beside Luke, he said, “Are you old enough to be an investigator?”

  Malc replied, “Forensic Investigator Harding graduated from Birmingham School with an unprecedented set of marks. At sixteen years of age, he is lacking in experience but his success rate is one hundred per cent.”

  “My name’s Luke,” he said to Frank. “Have a seat.” He waved towards the other chair.

  “All right.” Frank groaned as he got to his feet and then lowered himself into the chair.

  Luke looked around and grinned. “You know, I’ve never sat in the middle of a runaway before. We must look pretty daft. And don’t you feel nervous, even if the next flight’s not due for a bit?”

  “It’s worth it,” Frank replied.

  “Why’s that?”

  Frank sighed. “You’ve seen the development. It’s spreading across Hounslow like a cancer. Turned it into a no-man’s-land. It was my place. A bit tumbledown, I grant you. Maybe more than a bit. It had its problems. But it was a good home for me and a few others. It had character. Not now. Over there,” he said, pointing, “just this side of the control tower, I had a greenhouse. Grapes and peaches, I grew. From there to here was allotments. My own garden. Lovely juicy plums and strawberries. Almost an orchard. Potatoes, cabbage, spring onions, crispy lettuce. You won’t grow anything here now. And pigeons. I had a loft and I bred them, the birds. I could recognize every one. Even blindfolded, I could do it just by cupping them in my hands.” He hung his head and shook it sadly. When he looked up again, he said, “See the what-do-you-call-it... the maintenance centre? They closed it down because an engineer couldn’t put a nut on a pipe properly and brought a plane down. Anyway, one of my neighbours built his own reptile house there. Rickety maybe but... All ruined. All gone. For what? An airstrip that’s hardly used, cab corridors, a concrete terminal, those monsters waving their arms in the wind. What a waste. You should’ve seen my pigeons. Rare breeds, some of them. Lovely blue-plumed birds.” He turned to Luke and added, “But no one round here listens.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “But it’s too late and you’re not The Authorities. How could they treat us like that?”

  Luke didn’t want to be drawn into speaking for The Authorities but he replied, “Didn’t they offer you a nice apartment?”

  He shook his head and grimaced. “Not the same. My neighbour resisted for a bit before he took a place in Ealing, but I can’t walk away. I have forty fits when I see Hounslow now. He doesn’t. He’s too old. He doesn’t remember how it used to be. The airport wiped out his little nest and his memories went with it. It’s the shock that made him go downhill.”

  “But, you said yourself, it’s too late. I don’t know what we’re doing, sitting out here, waiting for a plane to mow us down.”

  “I’ve got to get my protest in. I’ve got to have my say before... This is one way of doing it. I know it doesn’t do any good but...”

  It was plain that the old man was desperate and angry. Luke doubted that he was angry enough to be Spoilsport, though, because he also seemed helpless. “This isn’t your first bit of direct action, is it?”

  Frank shook his head. A faint smile came to his lips as he brought his exploits to mind. “I’ve sat in all sorts of places. In front of diggers, on foundations and piles of bricks to stop them building, on cab tracks to stop workers arriving, on cranes. The lot. I’ve become an expert at sitting in uncomfortable places.”

  Luke laughed and then looked to the right where Malc hovered. “You told me you’d got a file on objectors who’d been evicted. Is Frank Russell in it?”

  “Yes.”

  The old man chuckled to himself.

  Luke returned the smile. “You’re famous. I’ll hear all about you later. Have you ever gone in for loosening nuts and bolts?”

  Frank wiped the amusement from his face. “I wish I had the guts. But it’d be dangerous. Mine’s a peaceful campaign.”

  “Is there anyone else who’d go further than you?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s going to be nice around here when they’ve finished it. That’s how I see it. And after the Games, when it’s all died down, maybe there’ll be a little corner for you. With your own garden.”

  “Huh. Won’t be the same. I’ll be gone by then, anyway.”

  “Gone where?” asked Luke.

  Clearly wondering how to answer, Frank watched two large rats scampering across the airstrip and disappearing into the grass at the edge. “This building site isn’t the only cancer.” He placed his fist against his chest. “Lungs don’t last for ever.”

  “I’m sorry,” Luke said.

  “What are you going to do with me now?”

  Luke shrugged. “Plenty of options. Make the plane circle till you give up, fall asleep or keel over through lack of food, or wait till the cold gets you. But the manager or The Authorities will probably send the guards in before that and you’ll be shifted by force. Bob’s your uncle. They might order me to arrest you on a charge of obstruction and question you about sabotage. It could get heavy and unpleasant.” Luke stood up and grabbed the back of his chair. “Or you could walk away with me before it gets ugly. You’ve made your point.”

  Frank sniffed. “You’re all right for an FI. Better than the guards who usually carry me off. Most undignified for someone my age.”

  Luke smiled at him again. “Come on. Let’s go and get warm.”

  “I suppose so,” Frank replied.

  Luke lugged the chairs away. Glancing at Frank as he made his way to the terminal, Luke couldn’t easily envisage him climbing up a scaffold high in the main stadium and interfering with bolts. His walk was more of a shuffle. He barely raised his feet so his shoes scraped noisily along the ground. Unless he was exaggerating his infirmity, it was difficult to imagine him abducting or murdering a fit Libby Byrne. Even so, Frank was clearly determined to make his protest, despite his age and frailty. Luke asked, “When you had this garden, did you use paraquat?”

  He looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “A weed killer.”

  Frank pulled a face. “I believe in these,” he said, holding up his withered hands. “Hard work, not chemicals, for getting rid of weeds.”

  Chapter Six

  Walking towards Hounslow Residential, taking a detour around a half-built factory that would soon make and repair sports equipment, Luke said, “At least I’ve got my first two suspects, even if they’re not exactly convincing.”

  As always, Malc needed precision. “Please specify names.”

  “I’m talking Frank Russell and Neil Gladwin.”

  “There is no evidence against Neil Gladwin.”

  “No,” Luke admitted. “But before he was promoted, he had a motive. He was feeling sore about being the deputy and not the boss. He had plenty of opportunity – and the know-how – to make sure things went wrong for Libby Byrne. And he’s done well out of her disappearance. He got the top job.”

  “Two acts of sabotage have occurred since he took over as project leader: the collapse of scaffolding in the main stadium and the swimming pool poisoning.”

  “He could’ve messed with the scaffolding and doctored the water in the baths two weeks ago, while Libby was still in charge,” Luke replied. “Maybe he got impatient in the meantime and killed her instead. Afterwards, he couldn’t drain the pool in secret. And going up the scaffolding to undo whatever he’d done would’ve been too risky, too awkward to explain if he was spotted. Anyway, if all the sabotage stopped as soon as he took over, it’d be a bit obvious, wouldn’t it? He might want it to carry on for a bit so he doesn’t look guilty.”

  “That is valid reasoning.”

  Luke continued, “I’m not so sure about Frank Russell, though, even if he is in your file of troublemakers. High on motivation, low on capability, I reckon. And it’s hard to believe a man who lies down on a runway will poison a swimming pool, crash an aeroplane or do away with a manager. It’s in a different league.” He
hesitated before adding, “I suppose, if he’s as ill as he claims, he hasn’t got anything to lose. But he hasn’t got anything to gain either. Just revenge before he dies. He didn’t work in aircraft maintenance a couple of years back, did he?”

  “He is not in my database of service engineers.”

  “Check his medical records. See if he really is ill.”

  “Searching.”

  “I still don’t think he’s Spoilsport. He’s frightened by change, that’s all. Like a lot of people, especially old ones. It doesn’t make him dangerous, just scared.”

  Even though his apartment was on the top floor, Luke opted out of using the elevator. He charged up the stairs two at a time. On the third level of the apartment block, the supervisor was busily directing a whole gang of trainee staff and decorators to smarten up one of the rooms. On his way past, Luke lingered to look inside. The living quarters were bigger and better than his own.

  The supervisor greeted him and then said excitedly, “We’re being visited by the Games’ official musician tomorrow. Our top suite’s been reserved for her.”

  Luke grunted. “She’s being treated better than an FI.”

  “The composer’s always a very special person.”

  “And an investigator isn’t.” He smiled to show that he wasn’t serious. “Actually, I know a fantastic musician who’d do a terrific job. The trouble is, no one would be able to drag her south of Birmingham.” He walked towards his own room.

  Needing a drink, Luke turned on the cold-water tap. For a second, nothing happened. Then the pipe let out a violent clunk and water came out in a sudden violent spurt. It was light brown like the colour of skin. Hitting the sink, the gush of water splashed everywhere, soaking Luke’s jumper and trousers. He stepped back and muttered a curse. Then he said, “I bet that doesn’t happen in the official musician’s room. I bet everything’s perfect in there.” Shaking his head, he went for a towel.

  Later, he sat in front of the telescreen and looked at Jade’s playful face. “You’re looking pleased with yourself. What’s going on?”