Final Lap Page 7

  “Regeneration! As if there was only one era worth regenerating. I applied for an archaeological dig. I wanted to regenerate a past way of life, to unearth the stories of people who lived there through the ages. We could have learned a lot, instead of burying it and losing the record forever. But you know what they said? Not enough time! I got turned down because there wasn’t time before the Games. Ridiculous. It’s never a waste of time to study a timeline. By now, we could’ve been well on the way to conserving and logging our past, followed by a sensitive modernization, blended with the best of what was already there.”

  “You didn’t stay, though,” Luke pointed out. “You moved here.”

  “People got rehoused in all sorts of places. Some locally, but a lot went to Birmingham or Leeds. They jumped at the chance. Well, most would, wouldn’t they? Not me, though. But I gave up protesting when the damage was done, when bulldozers and new build ruined it all.” He paused and looked at Luke. “I’m not a forensic investigator, but I expect you’d feel the same if someone levelled a crime scene then dumped a load of concrete over it. There’s no point carrying on after the slate’s been wiped clean. I couldn’t live so close to that sort of vandalism.”

  “Where were you first thing on Monday morning?”

  “Here,” Trevor answered straightaway, as if he were expecting Luke’s question. “The start of my week’s fishing holiday.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “No.”

  “So, there’s no one to vouch for you,” said Luke.

  “No.”

  Again, Luke was suspicious because the historian didn’t ask why he was interested in the beginning of the week.

  Trevor began to reel in his next catch. It looked effortless. “Cod aren’t like me. They’re not known for putting up a fight.” His serious expression suggested that there was a particular significance in what he was saying. “I guess you’d like to catch whoever you’re after without a fight as well. But...” He hesitated as he lifted the limp cod out of the water. “Most fish are a lot harder to land. They’re cunning and tough. You could have a big battle on your hands, like dragging up a skate.”

  His words sounded like a challenge.

  Chapter Twelve

  In the electric cab speeding towards Hounslow, Malc reported, “I have obtained the original passenger list for Flight GGW17.”

  “Good. Compare it with the list of people who actually flew. Are there any differences?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are they, then?”

  “Libby Byrne intended to take Flight GGW17 but did not check in.”

  Luke nodded and smiled. “Thought so.” Pleased with himself, he explained, “That vet said William Underwood threatened to get his own back on Libby Byrne. I know it’s only hearsay but it sounded like he would’ve happily brought her new buildings down on her. Well, okay, a plane isn’t a building, but it was part of the regeneration. Libby was due to take the flight and it was brought down. That’s some coincidence. Meaning, it probably wasn’t a coincidence. It was an attempt to kill Libby – and undermine the regeneration scheme. But William can’t be Spoilsport. He can hardly get out of bed, never mind climb a lot of ladders.” As the cab powered towards London, a strengthening wind sent heavy clouds racing across the sky. The windows became dotted with raindrops, distorting Luke’s view. “I’m more suspicious about Trevor Twigg but there’s not much I can do without evidence.” Luke let out a long sigh.

  When the computerized cab slowed and stopped at the Hounslow terminus, Luke and Malc got out. Lingering at the spot, Luke watched the electric vehicle swing round the loop and leave the development site. He turned up his collar against the wind and rain. “This is where the builders arrive for work, including Libby Byrne, I guess. Unless she was taken from outside her own house or went off somewhere without telling anyone.” He turned to Malc and said, “Scan for Libby’s brown briefcase, ten metres either side of the track, please.”

  A large empty polythene bag hurtled down the cab corridor like a sail and slapped against an idle digger.

  Late on a Saturday afternoon, the place was much quieter than normal. Luke tried to picture the scene on Monday morning. If Libby took a cab – as Royston suggested – she would have got out here. But she never reached her headquarters, about four hundred metres away. Luke feared for her. If he was right that the downing of Flight GGW17 was a first attempt to murder Libby, it seemed likely that there’d been a second attempt at the beginning of the week. And because she hadn’t surfaced, he suspected that it had been successful.

  There was another possibility, though. Luke’s mind went back to a boy at school who, whenever he struggled with a piece of work, feigned illness or claimed that his project had been erased by a programming bug or computer virus. Luke wondered if Libby Byrne was so overwhelmed by her job that she’d figured out a way to blame someone else for any failure. He wondered if, all along, she’d been looking for a way out. Maybe she’d sabotaged Flight GGW17, booked a seat on it and then deliberately missed it so she appeared to be the intended victim, throwing suspicion elsewhere. Afterwards, she’d set about undermining her own building project as an excuse for her inability to cope. That way, an unknown saboteur would take the rap for the delays. The idea was Luke’s most fanciful theory but it wasn’t beyond his imagination. And if Libby Byrne was Spoilsport, she’d gone to ground.

  Either way, Luke knew he had to find Libby. Dead or alive. Victim or culprit.

  “My scan has failed to detect a briefcase within the stated parameters,” Malc said.

  “All right. Continue scanning ten metres either side of the walkway between here and the manager’s headquarters. I want you to find anything that might’ve belonged to Libby Byrne.”

  Rain was sweeping almost horizontally across Hounslow. The dusty site was turning rapidly into a mud bath. A large roll of insulation material blew past Malc, unravelling comically as it went. With the storm and the approach of sunset, there wasn’t a lot of light but, unlike Luke, Malc did not need it to complete a search.

  Malc was also undaunted by the lashing rain but Luke was getting drenched. After a while, with his hair flattened against his head and cold water trickling unpleasantly down his neck, he called, “I’m taking cover.” He pointed to a new small building – a bunker that was destined to become a secure equipment store. “In there.”

  He dashed inside before he heard Malc’s warning.

  By the long fluorescent light in the ceiling, Luke saw straightaway what Malc was about to tell him. There was a young woman in the corner of the room, peering into her cupped hands with a concerned expression on her face. Because she was looking down, Luke didn’t recognize her immediately.

  The woman jumped in shock at the sudden appearance of a forensic investigator and Mobile Aid to Law and Crime. “Oh,” she said, “It’s you.”

  Luke wiped the water from his hair and face with cold hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked William Underwood’s nurse.

  “Nothing,” she answered. Then she smiled at her absurd reply. “Well, not nothing, obviously. Sheltering.”

  “Mmm. What else?”

  “Look. I know this’ll sound stupid but...”

  “What?”

  “It’s my day off and I’m looking for lizards. You see, if I could find just one or two of William’s pets... Well, it’d mean so much to him. He’d die happy then.”

  Her explanation was so ridiculous that Luke believed her. She certainly wouldn’t have invented something like that. “Did he send you out to do any other favours for him?”

  “No. How do you mean?”

  Shaking the rainwater from his hands, Luke pretended to be more concerned with his own comfort than the possibility of a sympathetic nurse carrying out William’s threats against the regeneration. “He might’ve asked you to do a few things he can’t manage himself any more, well beyond what a home nurse usually does.”

  She shook her head as if she didn’t really u
nderstand what he meant.

  When the store was finished, there would be sealed cabinets for shotguns, pistols and ammunition. Archery bows and javelins would be kept in open racks and arrows would be bunched together in numerous quivers. Luke nodded towards the nurse’s hands, still clenched together. “What have you got there? A lizard? One of William’s?”

  “No. It’s a frog. Sort of.”

  “Did he keep amphibians as well?”

  “I don’t think so. I was just getting out of the rain and I saw it lurking in the corner. Nice and snug till I...” She raised her clasped hands slightly.

  “You said, ‘Sort of.’ What does that mean?”

  “Take a look if you like.” She stepped towards Luke and opened up the improvised cage.

  Squatting in her palms was a green and grumpy frog. Its eyes stared up at Luke as if it were confused, even pleading. In a way, the ailing animal reminded Luke of Brooke Adams after her swimming accident. Its skin was rough with black patches that were perfectly normal for a frog yet looked like sores. But the animal was a freak. Its left front leg was barely more than a stump. Worse, one short leg and two unnaturally long ones stuck out of its rear end. “Five legs,” Luke muttered.

  “Weird sizes as well,” the nurse noted. “The poor thing’s deformed. I don’t know why, but I think it’s frightened. I’ll put it back. Then I’d better get going – despite the weather. It’ll be dark soon.” She seemed eager to get away from an investigator.

  “Before you go...” Luke said. “What’s your name?”

  “Venetia,” she replied as she knelt to replace the frog partly under a tarpaulin in the corner. “Venetia Murray.”

  Making his tone vaguely menacing, Luke said, “See you soon.”

  Venetia stood up and glanced at Luke warily before slinging her bag over her shoulder and hurrying away.

  Peering out through the empty doorway, Luke waited for a few minutes. “It might be easing a bit,” he said. “Let’s get going again.”

  By the time they reached the large trailer that served as the site manager’s headquarters, Malc had still not detected anything useful for tracing Libby Byrne. Luke blew a raindrop off his nose and said, “Another blank. I want to go and talk to Libby’s partner again but, in this weather, I’ll do it by telescreen from my nice warm dry room. Unless Hounslow Residential’s had another hiccup and the plumbing’s pouring cold water all over the place.”

  “A non-living object cannot experience a spasmodic involuntary inhalation of air followed by the snap closure of the windpipe.”

  “Open dictionary, Malc. A hiccup means a glitch as well. You’d probably call it a technical malfunction.”

  Rain pattered down on Malc, flowed over his shiny metallic exterior as if he were some artistic water feature, and then trickled onto the increasingly squelchy ground. Without a trace of humour or humiliation in his synthetic voice, he said, “Entered.”

  ****

  The larger-than-life version of Royston Klein on Luke’s wall looked bemused. “Why did Libby want to fly to Glasgow? That was more than a year ago.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. It might’ve been to consult with some big sports development up there. I might be wrong, but I think she said she could learn from their experience.”

  “Knowing what happened to that plane, I would’ve thought it’d stick in your mind.”

  “Yes. Well, I think that was it.”

  Luke asked, “Who knew she was taking the flight?”

  “Neil – her deputy – because he had to stand in for her.”

  Luke nodded. “And you of course.”

  “Obviously.”

  “But she missed the flight. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Something came up at work, ruining her plans. Not for the first time. But I can’t remember what.”

  “You don’t really like the idea of the new Hounslow and the Games, do you?”

  For a moment, Royston was taken aback by Luke’s sudden shift. Then he looked surprised. “I told you. It’s got to be good for the kids. So, no, you’re wrong. I’m all for it.”

  “But you’re not entirely looking forward to it, are you? You’re anxious about it for some reason.”

  “You’re too young, FI Harding. If you had a partner, you’d understand. If she was in charge of something as big as the regeneration scheme, you’d be anxious as well. If she’d gone missing, you’d be worried sick.”

  Luke nodded but he remained convinced that Royston Klein was hiding something.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Once Malc had confirmed that Jade was back in her room, Luke said, “Right. I’m going down to her. You’re staying here.”

  “I cannot comply.”

  Luke groaned at the prospect of another battle with his mobile. “It’s nothing to do with the Spoilsport case. It’s everything to do with eating. You don’t need meals. I do.”

  “Irrelevant. I must accompany you because you are in danger.”

  “Am I?”

  “Confirmed. Spoilsport is likely to know you are investigating the sabotage. You may have already interviewed him or her. Therefore, Spoilsport will regard you as a threat. As a result, you may be his or her next target.”

  “Yeah,” Luke replied, making it up as he went along, “but I’ve got this theory about reptiles, so I need you to gather some data for me while I have dinner with Jade.”

  “I am multi-tasking. I can protect you while gathering data remotely.”

  “That’s not what I’ve got in mind.” To get time alone with Jade, Luke was willing to cheat. Keeping a grin at bay, he said, “I want you to stay here and record any lizards going in and out of the heating vent.”

  Malc hesitated. “Explain why this task has a higher priority than protecting you.”

  Luke shrugged. “I don’t suppose it does, generally speaking. But I’m only going downstairs to a friend’s room. I’m not even leaving the building. And I can’t tell how important the lizard information is until you get it for me, but it’s all to do with William Underwood and his nurse. On top of that, I just need a break, Malc. I need a bit of space to myself.”

  “It is highly irregular.”

  “Okay. Here’s a compromise. I go in to see Jade and you wait outside the door. You can monitor lizards in the corridor instead and guard the room at the same time. I’ll be safe that way.”

  “That is acceptable.”

  ****

  As soon as Luke went into Jade’s suite, the scent hit him. He sniffed and frowned. “Phew. That’s a powerful pong.”

  Jade laughed and pointed to a huge bouquet of flowers. “You’ve studied law. You must know the rule that says Games’ musicians must get fresh flowers wherever they go. Perhaps someone thinks it helps the creative spirit. I don’t know. But I want to create breath-taking music that’ll wither flowers at twenty paces. I want to see petals falling or I haven’t done my job properly.”

  “How did your tour of Hounslow go? Are you feeling inspired?”

  “Maybe. It was... interesting. It’s a big gig for me, you know. My pieces have got to feel right in the sports venues and they’ll be booming out of every telescreen in every home watching the Games as well. Here and overseas. And in the corner of every telescreen there’ll be a little credit to the composer. That’s my name beaming out to millions. Scary.”

  “Jade. If you thought you weren’t up to the job, what would you do?”

  She looked aghast. “I am.”

  “Yeah. I know. I wasn’t...” He started again. “Sorry. I was thinking about someone else, not you. I was thinking about a woman called Libby who might’ve taken on more than she could handle. I was wondering what you thought she’d do – blame someone else, do a runner, or what.”

  “Well, I know what I’d do. Admit it and resign. End of story. But maybe she’s not honest like me.”

  “No. I think she’d want to save face.”

  Jade shrugged. “People can get pretty desperate, especially if they’re trying to p
reserve their dignity. Didn’t you take a unit on psychology?”

  “Criminal psychology, yes. This is different. Do you think a woman would go as far as suicide or faking her own death?”

  “If it’s that important to her, yes. I can see someone going that far. Sure.”

  “Mmm.”

  “Did you find your body – or whatever it was you were after?”

  “No.” Trying to cheer both of them up, Luke said, “You didn’t see a spare one lying around, did you?”

  Jade giggled. “Not yet. But I am in the south. I’d expect to see a horrid one before long.”

  On the other side of the door, Malc patrolled the passageway, scanning for lizards, snakes and a saboteur. Outside, a mixture of rain, hail and snow slammed against the window. Unseen by Luke and Jade, the remaining conifer to the west of the building had begun to lurch. If the wind did not let up soon, the tree would crash down on Hounslow Residential and Luke’s room.

  “I’m not an FI,” Jade said, “but I think you should release that girl you arrested.”

  “Holly Queenan?”

  Jade nodded. “She’s a local bandit. She knows this place inside out. A lot better than you. If you get her trust, she’ll tell you if she’s seen anything.”

  “Maybe,” Luke said, uncertainty clear in his voice. “And if she’s Spoilsport, she’ll create havoc when she’s out.”

  Jade smiled and put her hand on his arm. “You don’t think she’s anything more than a thief. I can tell.”

  “True, but I’ll leave it to you to convince Malc she’s off the suspect list.”

  “Ah. In that case, forget my advice,” Jade said.

  “I wish I had some sound for you to analyse in this case, so you can be an assistant forensic investigator again. But...” Luke shrugged. “I don’t.”

  “There’s always another time.”

  “You might be too famous by then.”

  She laughed. “Never too famous to help a struggling FI.”

  “Thanks,” he muttered sarcastically.

  “Tell me, what do we do around here on a Saturday night? I didn’t see any clubs or anything.”