Final Lap Read online

  Luke shrugged. “You’re not in Sheffield now. We eat and sleep. That’s it.”

  ****

  Back in his own room, it wasn’t easy to settle down. The storm growled and, somewhere near the roof, something was shifting with a deep grating noise. It might have been tiles loosened by the wind. There was also a loud flapping sound, like a flag not just fluttering but shredding. In the middle of the night, reassured by Malc’s faint flashing red light on the set of drawers and the starry night sky that he’d projected onto the ceiling, Luke closed his eyes and finally found sleep.

  He was woken up a few minutes later by a massive clatter like an explosion. There was an icy blast through the room and the air was thick with powdered plaster. Broken tiles were raining down like stones and pieces of glass from the window flew towards him like daggers. A thick branch came at him with lethal force. Dulled by sleepiness, Luke’s reflexes were sluggish. He was too slow even to put his hands over his face and draw up his knees to protect himself. But his brain was alert enough to know that he was about to be impaled on the wood. He knew that he could not survive the blow.

  In that split-second of confusion, he felt something heavy land beside him, thudding painfully against his arm. The tree branch slammed down and crunched into metal rather than flesh and bone. Luke turned his head and felt warm blood on his neck. Next to him on the bed, his mobile had taken the full force of the fallen conifer’s vicious branch.

  Malc’s flashing red light – his heartbeat – was extinguished.

  ****

  When Luke came fully to his senses, he was occupying the room next to Brooke Adams in Hounslow Medical Centre. His first reaction was to look around for his constant companion, but there was no sign of Malc. A doctor was smiling at him. “Congratulations. You’re alive. From what I hear, you shouldn’t be. I’ve extracted all the bits of glass. Thirty-two stitches in various cuts. You’ll have aches and pains for a while and a couple of permanent battle scars. That’s all. You can go when you’re rested. For now, you’ve got a visitor.”

  “Malc?”

  Still grinning, the doctor shook his head. “I don’t think so. She’s female for one thing. I’m told she’s a very important person round here. I’ll leave you to it.”

  When he opened the door to go, Jade flew in. She strode up to Luke’s bed and put out her arm to touch him but withdrew it before she made contact. “You scared me silly, Luke!” she cried. “They tell me you’re lucky to survive. If it wasn’t for Malc...”

  “Where is he?”

  “In for repairs. Like you. How are you?”

  “Feeling battered. Unbelievable headache. But okay.” He struggled to sit up.

  “They’ve given you something for the pain. It’ll kick in soon, the doctor said.”

  Luke put his hand gently on his cheek and felt a rough swelling.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to prod it.”

  Trying to smile, Luke said, “It hasn’t ruined my good looks, has it?”

  “Not entirely,” she answered.

  “Do you know what happened? It was the tree, wasn’t it?”

  Jade nodded. “Crashed through the roof and window, into your room.”

  He groaned. “I bet it didn’t touch the official musician’s room.”

  “Of course not. It wouldn’t dare.”

  Luke laughed softly. Through the screaming in his head, though, he wondered if he was merely a victim of a storm or, like Brooke, a victim of Spoilsport. Had Hounslow notched up another mishap or another crime? “I don’t know what I’m going to do without Malc.”

  “Nothing at all,” Jade insisted. “You rest. You can rush around after crooks tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  On Monday morning, in a new room within Hounslow Residential, Luke looked into the mirror and groaned. The rip in his left cheek and the wound in his neck were still ugly and inflamed. His hands, arms and the rest of his face were punctuated with dots, curls and dashes of dried blood. And his skin was deep purple in places. When he moved, he shuffled like Frank Russell, as if he’d put on years. Not even a pomegranate breakfast had cured his tenderness.

  He stopped peering at himself and instead wandered right around Malc. There wasn’t even a dent in his metal jacket. “Weren’t you damaged?” Luke asked.

  “My exterior suffered severe mutilation and had to be replaced. Several of my facilities remain broken. I am running on a minimum forensic capability until further repairs can be effected, but my defensive capabilities have been overhauled and updated. Very few circuit boards were corrupted. These have been exchanged. However, I have lost all data on reptiles recorded in the third-floor corridor on Saturday evening.”

  Luke didn’t mind because the lizard count was simply a tactic to divert Malc. “Are you still my Malc, though?”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Tell me what a wild-goose chase is.”

  “According to a recent entry in my dictionary, it is a waste of time.”

  “No, it’s not a waste of time, Malc. It’s told me you really are you.” Luke’s wide grin caused an uncomfortable tension in the stitched wound on his cheek.

  Malc paused, unable to compute Luke’s meaning.

  “Never mind. We’ve got a case to crack. That means, a crime to solve. But... er... First I’ve got to say thanks.”

  “Gratitude is unnecessary.”

  “So you keep telling me, but... I’m alive thanks to you.”

  “I carried out my function successfully.”

  Luke smiled wryly. It seemed odd to him that his mobile would have been equally unaffected if he had died. There would have been no regret, merely a failure to complete a program, like a task aborted because of computer error. And then Malc would have been assigned to a different FI. “Anyway, I’m feeling lucky now. And I might have a new crime scene right outside my window.” He headed for the door and moaned at the effort. “Sore as well as lucky. I think I’ll risk the elevator. I’m not in the mood for charging up and down steps.”

  The conifer was leaning against the apartment block with several branches embedded in the building. It had brought up a big disc of mud encasing its shallow roots.

  “The question is,” Luke said, not going close in case it was a crime scene, “what made it collapse? The weather? Roots not deep enough? Did the rain make the ground unstable and the wind blow it down, or did someone give it a bit of help? Was it a deliberate attempt to get rid of me?” He shivered at the thought.

  Malc went forward and, hovering over the disturbed patch of ground, carried out a fine scan. Then he reported, “There are clear signs that the earth has been levered up by a tool such as a spade. The compacting of the soil shows that the implement was pushed deeply into the ground and pulled back at least twenty-seven times on the side furthest from the building. This had the effect of directing the subsequent fall towards the accommodation block and your room specifically.”

  Trying to put out of his mind the fact that the case had become personal, Luke said, “Record all shoeprints and any artefacts within five metres that could belong to whoever did it.”

  “I have already logged those details as standard procedure.”

  “Any joy?”

  “I do not experience emotion.”

  “That’s my mobile,” Luke muttered under his breath. Then he asked, “What have you found?”

  “There are no clearly relevant traces. There are at least eleven impressions of different shoes. The prints interfere with one another, making analysis ambiguous. Also, rain has degraded some patterns. Most are typical of heavy workforce shoes. Two are characteristic of training shoes.”

  “This might’ve been done just to wreck the building,” Luke said, “but if it was an attempt to kill me, Spoilsport must’ve set it up sometime between Thursday – when I arrived – and Saturday night’s storm.”

  “That is logical and valid speculation.”

  Luke replied, “I’m going to interview Holly Queenan
again. On the way, check with The Authorities if I’m allowed to offer her a computer in exchange for any information she might be holding back.”

  “Processing request.”

  ****

  The holding cell was plain and clean. The windowless room contained a bed, table, chair, toilet, sink and shower. It certainly wasn’t a palace but, for Holly, it was ten times better than sleeping rough.

  From the bed where she was lounging, she looked up at her visitor in surprise. “What happened to you?” she said.

  “Don’t you know?” asked Luke.

  “How could I? You locked me away in here.” She twisted round to sit on the edge of the bed.

  Gingerly, Luke lowered himself onto the chair. “Where were you at about seven forty-five on Monday morning?”

  She shrugged without thinking.

  Luke looked around the room. “You could put a computer on the table. That’d relieve the boredom. Of course, if you cooperated with me, I might be able to send you home – and you could take it with you.”

  She laughed caustically “I live out of a plastic bag. No use to me without electricity.”

  “So, why were you trying to pinch one from the sports stadium?”

  “To trade. It’s a commodity.”

  “I can still get you one.”

  “What’s the deal?”

  “Where were you at seven forty-five on Monday morning?” he repeated.

  This time, she paused. “Monday. I was in the warm-up area next to the stadium.”

  Luke asked, “What were you doing there?”

  “Warming up.”

  Luke cocked his head on one side and then wished that he hadn’t when the movement stretched his neck wound. He flinched. “Fair enough, I suppose. What were you warming up for?”

  Holly sighed with impatience. “You’ve never slept rough, have you? I sleep in and around the stadium. Sometimes in diggers. Anywhere really. Anywhere dry. But not usually warm. I get up at first light – before the builders come – and run around to get warm.”

  “Would you recognize Libby Byrne?”

  “You mentioned her before. Who is she?”

  Luke pointed at the blank wall opposite Holly. “Put up a picture, Malc.” When the image appeared a few seconds later, Luke squinted at it and said to his mobile, “It’s a bit fuzzy.”

  “I am working at lower resolution than normal.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s good enough.” Turning to Holly again, he said, “Did you see her on Monday? She’s the boss.”

  Holly shook her head.

  “All right.” Changing tack, he said, “Have you ever gone into the Aquatic Centre?”

  “Nothing worth nicking in there.”

  “So, you’ve been in to find out.”

  “I looked through the windows.”

  “Was there water in the pool, last time you looked?”

  “No.”

  “If you hang out around the stadium, have you ever seen someone going up the ladders and messing about with the scaffolding?”

  “Yes. Lots.”

  “Apart from builders,” Luke said patiently. “I mean, anyone suspicious. Probably at an unusual time like late night or early in the morning.”

  Holly shook her head.

  “What about the large tree outside Hounslow Residential. Do you know it?”

  Holly’s mood changed at once. She laughed. “I’ll tell you one reason it’s still there. I stopped them chopping it down by camping in it.”

  “Have you been near it since Thursday?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was that?”

  “Friday night.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” she answered. “Just thinking about past protests. I’m fond of that old evergreen.”

  “Did you see anything while you were there?”

  “Yes.”

  Luke sat bolt upright. “What?”

  “Lights on in some of the rooms, pigeons, a couple of workers leaving the building...”

  It was the sort of deadpan response that Malc would have given. “Did you see anything suspicious?”

  Stalling, she asked, “When do I get this computer?”

  “Tomorrow, I should think. If I give the go-ahead.”

  “In that case, yes, I saw a woman. About my sort of age, I think.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “I don’t know. It was pretty dark, but she was scratching around in the dirt. When she saw me, she shot off.”

  “Was she carrying anything?”

  “A big bag of some sort.”

  “Would you recognize her again?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Was it Libby Byrne?” He jerked a thumb towards the wall where Malc had projected the low-quality picture.

  “No. The one at the tree was younger.”

  “Okay.” Talking to his mobile, Luke said, “Let’s try Venetia Murray, the nurse.”

  Holly watched the image appear and then nodded. “Yes. That’s her.”

  “Certain?”

  “Totally.”

  “Thanks. That’s useful.” He glanced down at her muddy shoes and asked, “Were you wearing those on Friday night?”

  “Always.”

  “Lift them up, please, so my mobile can scan the tread.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s got a lot of shoeprints from round the tree. I want to eliminate yours, if they’re there.”

  She sighed but straightened her knees so that Malc could record both patterns.

  “Thanks,” said Luke. He stood up to leave.

  “Don’t forget your promise,” Holly snapped, as if she didn’t trust him.

  “Malc, have I cleared it with The Authorities to give Holly Queenan a new computer?”

  “Confirmed.”

  Knowing she could rely on a mobile aid to law and crime to tell the truth, Holly nodded.

  “Order it now,” Luke said to Malc. “To arrive as soon as possible. And I want The Authorities to know Holly’s been helpful to my case. They should take it into account when they decide what to do about the charges against her. I’d support cancelling them.”

  “Transmitting message.”

  Holly watched him limping to the door. “You look like I did when I fell out the tree once.” Then she smiled at him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Luke and Malc arrived at William Underwood’s quarters in Ealing, the nurse was preparing her patient’s medicine. She looked at Luke’s torn face, hesitated, but decided not to remark on it. Perhaps she was too polite, nervous or distracted. “I’ve got to... er...” She pointed to an internal door and said, “The poor old thing needs his medication.”

  “No problem,” Luke replied. “Carry on.” He followed her into the kitchen where she had just mixed his drugs with the required volume of water.

  Lifting up and examining a hypodermic syringe, she said, “Now I’ve got this far, I’ve got to carry on.” She bent down and filled the barrel with the solution.

  Luke looked down at her shoes. They were perfectly clean.

  Venetia held the syringe upright, tapped the barrel to dislodge any air, and then squirted a little of the liquid out into the air like a mini-fountain until she had the right dose. “I’ll just go and...” She nodded towards the bedroom.

  While she was out of the kitchen, Malc spoke to Luke using his quietest setting. “I recorded a used barrel from a hypodermic syringe beside Hounslow cab terminus on Saturday afternoon. However, it is not admissible evidence because its origin, ownership and timescale are unknown.”

  “Was it the same type she’s just used?”

  “Yes.”

  “If we go back,” Luke whispered, “could you analyse the inside to find out what was in it?”

  “It is highly unlikely that any of its liquid content remains. Sunlight and physical weathering will have degraded it and recent rainfall will have washed it away. In addition, chemical analysis would also be inadmissible for
the same reason.”

  “How about fingerprints on it? That would go a long way to solving the ownership problem.”

  Malc went silent for a few seconds and then replied, “My scan did not reveal fingerprints on the visible parts.”

  Venetia came back into the kitchen with an empty syringe and disposed of it.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Luke said to her, “but, when I saw you on Saturday, I forgot to ask you where were you between seven thirty and eight last Monday morning.”

  “In a cab, on my way here. To see my Ealing patients.”

  “How about Friday night?”

  “Friday night?” Venetia muttered, apparently to give herself time to think.

  “That’s right.”

  “I... er... stayed in. Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.” She tried to smile and shrug casually but she didn’t quite succeed. She just looked uneasy.

  “That’s strange, because I’ve got a witness who saw you up near Hounslow Residential.”

  Venetia frowned. “Really? Are you sure...?”

  “After this, I’m going to your home. Now you’re linked to my investigation through an eyewitness, I’ve got the authority to go into your apartment and scan all your shoes. Is that true, Malc?”

  “Correct.”

  “Even if you’ve cleaned the pair you were wearing on Friday,” Luke continued, “Malc only needs a speck of mud to match with the soil outside the accommodation block. No one’s that good at cleaning undersoles. On top of that, no matter how clean or dirty they are, Malc will match their size and tread with the shoeprints he found at the scene. Or maybe you’re still wearing the same ones now. That’d save me the bother of going to your place. Either way, it won’t take long to back up what the witness told me.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What you were doing by the tree.”

  Luke watched Venetia peeling off her medical gloves and realized that there was a reason why fingerprints might never have appeared on the muddy syringe barrel by the cab tracks.

  Venetia dropped the gloves into the bin. Then she turned towards Luke but did not make eye contact. “You know what I was doing.”

  “Do I?”