Fatal Connection (3 page)

The beginnings of a spreadsheet decorated the large screen in the forensic department of Shepford Crime Central. Lexi sipped beer and ate cricket pâté on banana worm bread as she entered data methodically.

‘Shepford in the middle of the country, Pullover Creek and Hoops down south, and Pickling up north. Not even close on an atlas. A school student, a seller of pet fish, a furniture maker and a fossil hunter. Pick a common factor out of that lot, if you can. By the way, Keaton’s real job was in his local insect farm. Yummy.’

‘An insect farm?’ As part of his breakfast, Troy swallowed a chunk of black pudding.

‘You don’t have to be an outer to make outer food. But he wasn’t the most dedicated worker. He cracked open more rocks than water beetles. More interested in hunting fossils than producing meat.’ She paused, thinking. ‘There’s a sort of common thread between two of them. One deleted everything from his phone and another lost hers. Richard Featherstone and Alyssa Bending.’

‘That link’s hanging by a thread,’ Troy replied with a grin. ‘Way south of solid. Both could have been an accident.’

‘Yeah. But it’s about all we’ve got. Except that all four were healthy before they died. Swimming, cycling, climbing, chasing fish around the country, golf, smashing rocks.’

‘What did you get from Keaton Hathaway’s latest notebook?’

‘I went through it last night. No fingerprints – which means a careful major ripped the pages out with gloves on, or it was an outer. But there was a hair. Human, silver colour. Short. A bit like mine. Before you ask, no, I’m sure it’s not contamination. It’s not mine.’

‘Good find. I hope you’re giving it some welly.’

‘I would, but you keep dragging me off to the four corners of the country. I’ve given it to the specialists to analyse the DNA in the root. Waiting for results. They’ll tell us for sure it’s not mine.’

‘Did the forensic team find anything else in his flat?’

‘Lots, but what’s relevant and what’s nothing to do with it? No mercury except for the tiny amounts in his rock samples. And they didn’t find the torn-out pages.’

‘We’re at a crossroads,’ said Troy. ‘But instead of three ways to go we’ve got hundreds.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t want to follow up Richard Featherstone first because the woman who knew him best hardly knows anything. Married, but barely in touch with each other. She’s not going to help much. I think Alyssa’s a better way forward. I’m going to contact the garden centre where she worked.’

It didn’t take him long to set up a video call to the manager of Pullover Creek Garden Centre and Plant Nursery. After introducing himself and his investigation, Troy said, ‘Alyssa Bending. She worked in your aquatic centre.’

The manager nodded. ‘Yes. I was very upset to hear the news. We all were. It’s bad enough for us here in the garden centre. It must be awful for her family.’

‘Do you use mercuric nitrate for sterilizing bulbs?’

On-screen, she looked surprised for an instant. ‘Not for ages. No. It’s harmful.’

‘Do you still have old stock?’ Troy asked.

‘I’d be very surprised. But I’ll check and let you know if we do. What’s this got to do with Alyssa?’

‘I heard you sent her on various trips to fish suppliers.’

‘Yes. It was part of her job description. She got to go all over the place. She took advantage, mind.’

‘Oh?’

‘I’m not complaining. I’d have done the same. If it was somewhere nice or the weather was really good, she’d turn a half-day outing into a day. A day’s worth of work got turned into two days.’ The manager smiled. ‘She tacked on mini-holidays.’

‘When was her last trip, where did she go and how long did she take?’

The manager checked out a monitor on her desk. ‘Yes. She went to a fish breeder in Tight End on Friday the twenty-fifth of April. I put aside a day for it, but she didn’t come back to work on the Saturday. I don’t know what she did afterwards. It might have been because it was a lovely weekend up on the north coast. Like summer. Warm and sunny.’

‘Thanks,’ Troy replied. ‘That’s helpful.’ He
terminated the call and turned to his partner. ‘Good lead. Fancy a trip to Tight End?’

‘A few hours alone with you in a car? To the fifth corner of the country? Sounds great.’

He ignored Lexi’s jokey sarcasm. ‘I knew you’d jump at the chance. Plenty of opportunity for you to meditate.’

Like most majors, Troy had just rested his body with a long period of overnight sleep. Outers like Lexi refreshed themselves with short periods of meditation. Several times each day, she would turn off for fifteen minutes. The distances that they were travelling in this case were ideal for her regular relaxation.

Lexi clicked the keypad of her computer. ‘There’s a recycling factory there. It deals with batteries and that sort of thing. Worth a visit.’ She hesitated before adding, ‘By the way, no recycling centres have got back to me about thefts or break-ins. No mercury reported missing recently.’ Browsing more tourism information, she said, ‘Thinking about Richard Featherstone, there’s a golf course somewhere near Tight End as well.’

‘There’s a golf course somewhere near everywhere.’

‘Yeah. True. There’s a sports centre down the road
towards Loose End. No swimming pool, but it’s got a gym, climbing centre, running track and a velodrome for cycling. That might have attracted Miley Quist.’

‘What about Keaton Hathaway?’

‘Last night I checked every single scan of his notebooks – and copied the lot into our life-loggers. There’s no mention of Loose End or Tight End.’

‘Maybe there was on the bits that got torn out. Let’s go take a look.’

It was difficult to imagine that, ten days ago, Tight End had enjoyed a summery weekend. As Troy and Lexi emerged from their car, a fierce wind blew rain almost horizontally across the town. The young detectives leaned into the gale and dashed to the fish breeding centre. They slammed the door, shutting out the raging storm. Inside, the reception was calm and warm. An oasis. Brightly coloured tropical fish flashed inside rows of tanks. Air bubbling through the water made a soothing gurgle and the lights of the aquaria shimmered attractively.

Lexi and Troy shook the raindrops from their coats while they waited to see a supervisor. Fascinated by the hypnotic movement of the fish, Lexi said, ‘I’ve always fancied being a scuba diver. Swimming with fish, especially sharks. They’re powerful, sleek and charismatic.’

The supervisor entered the reception and, overhearing her, said with a smile, ‘We don’t keep them, I’m afraid. We only supply fish that are quite a bit smaller.’

Once he had introduced himself, he sat down with two fish tanks behind him at shoulder-height. The detectives took seats opposite him. Troy angled for answers and Lexi gazed at fish.

Showing an image of Alyssa Bending on his life-logger, Troy said, ‘Have you had a visit from her recently?’

‘From the rather nicely named Pullover Creek Garden Centre, as I recall.’

‘When was she here?’

The supervisor consulted his small laptop. ‘Friday the twenty-fifth. April, that is.’

‘Did she seem okay to you? I mean, she didn’t look ill or anything?’

‘Quite the opposite. She looked very happy.’

‘And she didn’t have any accidents while she was here?’

‘No. Nothing like that.’

‘Did she say where she was going next?’

The supervisor took a breath as he thought about it. ‘I don’t think so. I didn’t ask. It was all very business-like.’

‘Do you use mercury-containing pesticides?’

Shocked at the suggestion, he said, ‘Absolutely not. Read the small print on almost any pesticide.
Harmful to aquatic organisms. Keep away from fish. Causes long-term damage to aquatic environments.
That sort of thing. So, no, we don’t allow any in the building at all. On pain of death.’ He hesitated for an instant. ‘That’s a joke, by the way.’

Showing the photographs of the other three victims, Troy asked, ‘Have any of these people ever dropped in?’ He recited their names.

‘No.’

‘Did you do a deal with Alyssa?’

‘She was impressed with our quality. Anyone would be. She ordered some chevron tang, mandarin fish and quite a few tetras. With options for others later.’

‘And that was it? Nothing unusual to tell me?’

‘No. Oh, you asked about where she was going. I left her here in reception but I remember she went up to the desk …’ He turned and called out to the
receptionist, ‘That rep from Pullover Creek Garden Centre. Did I hear her ask you for directions?’

‘Erm. I believe she did, yes.’

‘Where to?’ Troy asked.

‘It was … er … a restaurant.’

‘Any particular one?’

The receptionist paused, his fingers fiddling with a small gold badge on his lapel. ‘I think it was the Doom Merchant. That’s where most people go around here.’

‘Weird name,’ Troy said with a frown.

The supervisor smiled wryly. ‘Someone’s idea of wit. It stands for Dining Outers Or Majors.’

Troy faced Lexi and said, ‘Fancy a bite to eat?’

The Doom Merchant was huge. It had one large dining area and several side rooms for small groups. On each table were two menus. One was labelled
Major Feasts
and it was a list of meals based on animal protein, designed for majors. The other was called
Ins and Outs
, offering a varied insect diet for outers.

Troy and Lexi ordered their separate meals before showing the waiter a photograph of Alyssa Bending. He glanced at the image, shrugged helplessly and waved an arm vaguely around his busy restaurant.
‘There are probably a few in right now who look quite like her.’

‘If she booked in advance …’

Impatiently, the waiter interrupted. ‘We don’t take bookings. It’s first come, first served.’

Wind and rain battered the nearest window, as if trying to get through to the two detectives.

While she waited for her fried locusts with chilli and lime, Lexi used her life-logger to circulate Alyssa’s name and image to all hotels in the area. ‘She must have stayed somewhere overnight,’ she said to her partner.

Troy nodded. ‘Worth a try, but she could have gone a long way before bedtime.’

‘We’ll see.’ Lexi looked at him and said, ‘In case you’re wondering, no one online is moaning about food poisoning or feeling ill after visiting the Doom Merchant. Hey presto, no mercury in the meals.’

‘That’s comforting.’

Lexi examined her life-logger again and said, ‘Switch to Pickling mode. I’ve just got the results on the hair from Keaton Hathaway’s journal. The DNA wasn’t mine. Don’t know whose it is. The profile wasn’t in any database. But here’s the good news. I asked the specialists to give me the best picture they could from analysing the DNA. First, it’s a man’s –
almost certainly. Definitely an outer, probably brown eyes. He might be taller than average, but that’s little better than a guess. Is that enough welly for you?’

Troy smiled. ‘Yeah. Shiveringly good.’

Lexi let her life-logger hang on her waist again. Keeping her voice just above the hubbub in the restaurant, she said, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. What have you got against Pickling?’

At once, a cloud came over Troy.

He was saved from finding an immediate answer by the waiter, who returned with a grey squirrel pie for a major and fried locusts for an outer.

After he’d gone and they’d both begun their separate meals, Troy said, ‘I don’t talk about this. I’ve never told anyone. But you’re … different.’ He studied his fork for a moment, before finding the courage to continue. ‘Pickling’s got a prison. That’s where my dad is.’

‘You mean he’s a guard? Or …’ She stopped as she looked into his sombre face.

‘No, he’s not a guard.’

‘Oh,’ Lexi gasped. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s a long story.’ For Troy, the other diners had dissolved. It was just him, his memories and the matter-of-fact outer girl who had become a friend as well as a work partner. ‘You’d probably look it up in
police files if I didn’t tell you, so … It started with Mum. Like my dad, she was a police officer. She was off-duty one day when she saw two thugs – lads with guns – go for a much older man. Thinking it was a mugging – as anyone would – she stepped in, protecting the man on his own. It was an impulse thing.’ Troy gazed down at his plateful of pie, soaked in brown sauce. ‘She saved him. She took the bullets herself.’

As an outer, Lexi didn’t have parents, but she knew that they meant a great deal to majors. She said nothing. Instead, she reached out and touched his arm.

After a few seconds, Troy looked up again. ‘The funny thing was who the older man was. The godfather of a gang. Blackmail, drug dealing, armed robbery, people trafficking, the lot. The lads who attacked him were two of his victims.’ He sighed and wiped his eyes. ‘The gang was very grateful. The boss “compensated” Dad. Made sure he was “comfortable”. I was too young to know what was going on. I just knew I didn’t have a mother any more. I like to think Dad refused the money at first, but … I don’t know. He started getting all sorts of favours. His next cases got solved when witnesses came forward. I guess, being on the inside, the gang
knew who was up to what and delivered the culprits to Dad. Suddenly he was north of successful and had wall-to-wall cash.’ Troy shook his head. ‘The next step was the worst. The boss paid him to look the other way while they were doing jobs. To cut the story short, a detective got whiff of a nasty smell and Dad was done for corruption.’

‘The law comes down heavily when it’s a police officer who’s been turned.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You said you’d never been to Pickling. I know prison visits aren’t exactly encouraged, but haven’t you been to see him?’

‘No.’ Troy looked up at the ceiling before adding, ‘Two muggers robbed me of a mother but you don’t expect your own dad to rob you of a father.’

The storm had blown itself out. It ceased to hammer on the window.

Lexi gazed sadly at her partner. Deciding that he’d had enough, she said, ‘I don’t know about squirrel pie, but locusts aren’t improved by being cold.’

Feeling oddly lighter in mood, Troy tucked into his tepid pie. At the same time, he applied his mind to the investigation. It was a sure way of burying more
painful thoughts. Between mouthfuls, he said, ‘That connection you made – two mobiles, one lost and the other reset. You might have a point. If you think of mobiles as places to put information, Richard’s and Alyssa’s have both gone. It’s a pity phone records aren’t backed up to some great big remote database. Anyway, Keaton wrote information down in a notebook. His latest has gone. A brown-eyed, silver-haired male outer probably ripped it out. Miley never stored it in her phone or wrote it down in the first place.’ He shrugged. ‘Missing information. I suppose it’s more a case of things turning out the same than a real connection. So …’

‘We carry on looking.’

‘Exactly. And hope we recognize the link when it’s staring us in the face.’

‘We’ll see.’