To Snatch a Thief

CHAPTER NINE



If you believed the nightly news, Skye mused, the entire population north of Leicestershire was pouring into the south, like water over sand. It was a wonder England didn’t upend. Those with winter homes shook off the dust sheets and cosied down to run their businesses from home. Others, who’d pre-booked, moved into rented flats and apartments, paying through the nose for the privilege of being warm. The country groaned under the pressure. Amenities struggled to cope. Hotels closed their books. Tempers frayed. Arguments in shops over short supplies, escalated into brawls.

So, she puzzled, how in the world did Hunter swing it?

‘The lock’s programmed to recognise your micro-chip,’ he was saying, as she stood in her new home, grinning from ear to ear like Alice’s Cheshire cat. ‘There’s also a security camera in the street outside which relays a visual of any callers to the screens located in each room, including that one.’ He pointed to a glass panel on the inside of the door. ‘Lights are voice activated, as is the heating, window shields and screen; rent’s payable to the department in global dollars, deducted straight out of your salary.’

She could hardly contain her excitement. Arms outstretched, she spun a full circle. ‘There are rugs on the floor,’ she sighed. ‘And a stacked food dispenser in the kitchen; I mean it’s totally loaded with food.’

‘It’ll give you a head start; don’t pig it all at once.’ Hunter frowned as she danced around him; that mixture of amusement and irritation on his face that today, she thought, couldn’t possibly annoy her.

‘Remember you’re in uniform, Forrester. Try to act appropriately.’ He gave an impatient sigh, tapped his klip. ‘I’ve got work to get back to. So have you…’

‘What’s down there?’ Rushing down a short hallway, she stopped dead. ‘V-i-Vid! Two bedrooms, Lexie’s going to go ballistic, and the bathroom’s to die for. So, if this was a safe-house, why isn’t it used anymore?’

When she turned, he had a shoulder against the wall watching her. ‘It was compromised. The department occasionally uses it for visiting officials. Mostly it’s left empty.’ He smiled for the first time. ‘I cashed in a few favours. The place is yours as long as you stick in the job.’

She was speechless. Almost. ‘Um, probably not appropriate to give you a hug, sir?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ There was a hint of warning in his eyes. She grinned. He almost looked scared. ‘The friend I told you about lives a short walk from here,’ he hurried on. ‘Her name’s Maxine McCullough. I’ll give you her address so you can take Lexie to meet her after school.’

Maxine’s hair was short and grey, her eyes a gentle brown. She lived in a quiet street in a well-kept semi-detached with a post-box red front door.

‘So you’re Alexei.’ The soft highland burr made Skye think of mountains and heather. ‘We’re having tea in the kitchen,’ she told him. ‘I believe there’s chocolate cake and fizzers. Never fails,’ she whispered, as Lexie’s eyes lit up. ‘My granddaughter Beatrice is through there. You’ll be in the same class at your new school. Why don’t you go and find her.’ As the boy sped away, she hooked her arm through Skye’s. ‘My daughter and son-in-law have such busy lives. Beatrice comes to me quite often. I find time weighs heavy since I was widowed, so we keep each other company.’ She patted Skye’s hand in a motherly way and they walked slowly down the hall. ‘Stephen,’ she continued. ‘I taught him at school, did he tell you that? And the dear boy’s always kept in touch, even when he was all those trillions of miles away on Stella Frontier. I’m very fond of him.’

Skye’s antennae swivelled in her direction. ‘Hunter’s worked off-planet?’

‘Oh, yes, for over a year.’ Sympathy swam in her eyes. ‘It was such a tragedy… such a terrible thing, but…’ Her shoulders lifted and fell as she patted Skye’s hand again. ‘Anyway, he’s fine now. Although of course one’s never completely…but, as far as it goes, he’s fine, and that’s what’s important. And a lieutenant - imagine. He’s done very well for himself.’

Skye was more than curious, however, as childish laughter rang out from the direction Lexie had disappeared, Maxine’s face brightened. ‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘I hoped they’d get on. Now… Stephen’s told me a bit about you. So, while I pour the tea tell me in what ways I can help.

Drumming her fingers on her knees, Skye scowled at the half empty incident room. Everybody but me, she grumbled. I knew them, I found them, I’m going to their memorial service tomorrow, but I’m the one stuck here while everyone else is out collecting evidence or whatever. It just wasn’t fair. She slipped a hand in her pocket and fingered the thin glass of the memory square she’d become somewhat obsessed with. The events of the last few days had driven it to the back of her mind, but now she pressed it to her screen, watching Corporal Blake’s files open yet again.

As always the back of her neck tingled.

No illegals were found in the house; the junkie died at the scene; the informant who’d rung in the tip-off, poofed into thin air. Lieutenant Hunter underwent an internal investigation because a weapon had been discharged which resulted in a fatality. He was cleared of any misconduct. No wonder you were crabby back then, she said, thinking out loud. Corporal Blake died and you killed a man. You must have been going through hell.

It was all so frustrating. Doggedly, she went back to the two bodies dragged out of the Thames. Willow had a black mark for possession. Did she know the junkie who’d killed Blake? And even if she did, how would that help anything?

There were two addresses where she’d briefly worked. Corporal Blake had been thorough; a statement from each boss was pasted on the file, along with their chip information. The last, a Vincent Lesoto, had not been flattering.

Skye chewed her lip, fighting an internal battle. Dawson would skin her alive if she contacted anyone directly, but… She wasn’t here was she, and this wasn’t her investigation.

‘Mr Lesoto?’

‘Yes?’ Sleepy-eyed, yawning, Vincent scrubbed a hand down his ebony face. ‘Who is this?’ His head was skewed sideways, like he was lying down. The background lighting was on low. His personal details, she noted, said he was forty-five, originally from California, USA but relocated to London after the 2084 quake, and owned two high-class nightclubs, one of which was listed as his home address. Financials said he was worth a cool twelve million.

‘I’m sorry to bother you. This is Private Forrester from LMCFHQ. I have some questions regarding Willow Frobisher.’ She decided giving herself a short-lived promotion would carry more weight than, cadet.

‘Who did you say you were?’ He yawned again, studied something off-screen with one eye screwed shut, then swore. ‘Nine o’clock, Jesus. Look, baby I work nights. I’ve only just gotten to bed.’

‘Private Skye Forrester from LMCFHQ. I’m sorry if I woke you. This won’t take long. I understand Willow Frobisher worked for you?’

‘Hang on.’ Propping on an elbow, he treated her to the sight of a buff naked body, barely made decent by a white duvet hovering at waist level in an interesting fashion. He ran a hand over his head. ‘I spoke to you people at the time. I don’t know what else I can add. I hardly knew her.’

‘She worked as a cleaner at your club, Dominoes?’

‘Not long. I explained to the other lady cop, Willow came to me asking for work. I felt sorry for the kid, said she’d run away from home. I took her on for a two week’s trial. She didn’t last one. Found her nosing around my office one morning – looking for loose cash or drugs. I don’t keep either on the premises so she was wasting her time. Gave her what I owed her and told her to take a hike. She said she had another job to go to anyway that paid better and I could stick it. The bitch had no class, you know.’

‘Do you know where the other job was?’

‘Doubt she had one. She was just riled because I’d fired her.’

‘So you never saw her again?’

‘Never gave her another thought except that one time.’ He paused. ‘Saw on the screen what happened to that officer, what was her name?’

‘Blake, Corporal Blake.’

‘Yeah, that was it, Blake. Gave me quite a shock seeing as I’d spoken to her and everything… you just never know.’

‘No, you don’t. Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you…’ Just as she was about to disconnect, Skye stopped. ‘Hang on. Um, you said you didn’t give her another thought, except that one time. Did you mean when she worked for you, or did you see her somewhere else after she left?’

His sleepy brown eyes filled with apology. ‘Yeah, I did. I know I should have gotten in touch, but I thought hell, it wouldn’t bring her back and I’m busy and, like I said I work nights and…’ He shrugged. ‘Not an excuse I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Mr Lesoto. Where did you see her?’

‘Seeing Corporal Blake on the news like that started me thinking about Willow and what happened to her and something came back to me. It was Saturday lunchtime. I was cruising on the river, drinking, having a meal, relaxing with friends. I just happened to look over and saw her. Only got a glimpse but I’m sure it was her. She had really long blonde hair and a way of standing, you know…Anyway.’ He shook his head as if to clear it. ‘She was chatting up a tram driver over at the Palace docks, and I remember thinking she’d earn more money as a professional tom than a cleaner; there’s always girls hanging around the docks. Then she walked back towards the building and I forgot about it till Corporal Blake…’ His head gave a small shake. Out of the blue he flashed Skye a grin. ‘Hey, beautiful, you look too pretty to be a snatcher. You ever want a career change, honey, you come talk to me. I could use a girl with your looks at the club.’

She grinned back. ‘Thanks, I’ll bear it in mind. If you think of anything else, ring me on this number.’ After they disconnected, she breathed out a long satisfied sigh.

“Bowing under public outrage as three new fatalities rock the tight-knit and previously uncontaminated community of the southwest suburbs, President Keating will again address to the nation tonight. Sources close to the president admit extra-terrestrial involvement cannot be discounted as the cause of this horrific and rapidly spreading epidemic.

The question on everyone’s lips today is: has man’s exploration and exploitation of the universe finally brought retribution crashing down on our heads? The public demand answers. Remember, you heard it first on this channel.

This is Simon Newell for Daybreak News, outside Parliament Tower.”

‘Moron. Screen off.’ With more force than was necessary, Skye threw her pathetic belongings onto the bed, glad that Lexie had slept-over with Beatrice and Maxine and had hopefully been spared the Abbott’s pictures on the screen. She scowled at the empty cupboard that had held her clothes and sighed. ‘She’d only two outfits to choose from: one, which might have worked, had a rip in the sleeve and ketchup stains down the front, and the spangly purple with a pelmet for a skirt wouldn’t be suitable for a memorial service anyway.’ She gave up and pulled on a black sweater with jeans, dragged her hair into a barrette and considered herself done. The dead wouldn’t care what she looked like.

But she had somewhere else to go first.

Icy needles stung her face as a wind, howling straight from the arctic, buffeted the little ferry’s prow. She stood with a dozen other passengers, willing to bear the brunt of the weather, riding the choppy white-topped waves which were already souping to ice, gloved hands gripping the handrail, as the palace docks drew near.

‘Imagine living there?’ The middle-aged man next to her balanced himself with the rail, his eyes red and streaming in the wind. He pointed to the huge palace. Skye couldn’t begin to, but she nodded. The lines on his pale face deepened as he frowned. ‘Sacrilege in my opinion,’ he added. ‘To sell our national heritage to a conglomerate. If I’d been around then, I’d have voted against it but, at the time public sentiment was running in a different direction.’ He shot her a smile which crinkled his eyes. The hair showing under his Russian-style hat was still thick and brown, which could have been due to anti-greying tablets, Skye decided, although he didn’t seem the vain type. Still, she thought, these days you never knew what enhancements people used. ‘Bit of cheek, if you ask me,’ he said. ‘Them calling themselves Royalty Trading. Still,’ he added with a shrug. ‘I guess if you’re a food industry giant as big as they are, you can call yourselves whatever you jolly well like.’

They both looked up as a refuse train lumbered over their heads, the distinctive stink thankfully whipped away by the breeze.

‘I worked at the Watford waste management centre for almost twenty years,’ the man said. ‘You get used to the smell.’ He looked wistful all of a sudden and she wondered why.

‘Shuttle pilot,’ he went on. ‘Invalided out with space sickness. Gets to you after a time - all that weightlessness.’ He tapped his chest. ‘Does the old ticker in.’

Wow! She’d never have guessed to look at him now. Young spacies were generally considered hot. ‘What’s it like, you know, going to the moon?’ She grinned when he smiled. ‘Guess everyone asks you that.’

‘Yeah, and I’m sorry to disillusion you. The space dump’s not glamorous, especially since EarthCleanse took over running it: too many countries dumping too much un-treated material and too little legislation to control it. Politicians create more hot air than the methane rigs, and never actually agree on anything. I miss the flying but not the hassles.’

She would have liked to ask him more, but they were pulling into the docks.

Skye paused on the landing stage to watch cranes haul cargo from a container’s black hold before making her way to the impressive front gates where a small group of people were gathered. Three men in tailored overcoats stood slightly apart, their breath steaming as they discussed their day’s business.

As the suits requested entry, static crackled from a speaker in the wrought iron grille. ‘A security body scan is necessary for persons entering Royalty premises,’ a smooth voice recited. ‘Please proceed to the footplate, one at a time, for processing.’

Skye waited her turn.

‘Fabulous isn’t it?’ The woman had her arms wrapped tight around her chest as she stamped her feet. Over-wrapped even for a polar expedition, her eyes sparkled inside a fur-lined hood. We decided to come here before we left New York. Of all the places we’ve visited in Europe the palace was the one thing my husband wanted to see. He’s real keen on history. That’s him, filming through the bars.’

Following her gaze to a second Scott of the Antarctic hugging the iron railings, Skye raised her eyebrows. Beyond, a courtyard which had once been famous for its changing of the guard ceremony, was now a chock-a-block-full staff car park. She had a feeling hubby was fifty years too late.

Skye stepped forward, planted her feet on the designated spot. The security scanner blinked rapidly while processing her micro-chip then, starting at her head, roved down her body. When it got to her collarbone, it stopped. Uh-oh. This could be embarrassing. The red light turned violet remained static for a second, during which she shifted uncomfortably, before reverting to its original colour and moving on. Whatever it thought the tracker was it hadn’t identified it as a bomb.

‘Cleared. Please wait while an escort is sent out to collect you.’

From around the side of the building two unmanned white golf-carts appeared, slid silently towards the gates and stopped.

Her heart rate escalated as she heard a sharp click and the iron grille swung loose on its hinges. If Hunter was tracking her now, she was in big trouble. She said a silent prayer and walked through.

The suits took the first cart and were whisked away towards the palace. Skye settled into the second. ‘Please take a seat and ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened. For security reasons, photography is not permitted anywhere within Royalty Trading.’

Most of the pre-recorded hype, playing on a screen in the cart, whizzed straight over Skye’s head: Royalty’s superior own-brand products, it’s green credentials, it’s hydroponic, GI modified farms; its guaranteed same day, warehouse to home dispenser delivery service; its quest for nutritional excellence, blah, blah, yawn.

Outside the building might look like it always had, Skye reflected, but inside was pure twenty first century. Once you were past the covered entry, up the steps and through the old wooden doors, pinned back against the interior wall, you entered a whole different world. Like being dropped into a hologram film set.

She stood just inside the doorway, her mouth hanging open. It took a few double-takes before she realised the people gliding across the floor weren’t actually walking on water, but that their feet were on black marble tiles, so polished they looked like liquid - as if the whole floor was one black lake. Three massive chandeliers hanging down the full length of the foyer were mirrored in the same black tiles lining the walls, giving the impression of being surrounded by light. For once, words failed her.

Three, immaculately groomed, female receptionists with pasted-on smiles sat at a curved chrome counter. Lining the length of one wall was a bank of lifts. Next to them, a moving photovoltaic touch-finger map directed the way to anywhere anyone wanted to go in the building, and the quickest way to get there. Taking a deep breath, Skye approached the nearest receptionist, opened her bag and took out Willow Frobisher’s photo she’d printed from her ID shot. ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for my cousin, I think she may work here?’

The woman’s smile remained, but Skye didn’t mistake the way her eyes ran over her shabby clothes. ‘A great deal of people work here,’ she said. ‘May I have your cousin’s name?’ She tapped it into her console. ‘No, I’m sorry, that name doesn’t appear on our staff lists.’

‘What about past lists? She could have been a cleaner, sometimes she works as a cleaner. A friend of a friend thought they saw her here. Look back as far as June.’

A faint colour deepened the receptionist’s cheeks. ‘If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll contact human resources. If they’re busy, it may take a while.’ She glanced over to an arrangement of squashy looking chairs clustered around three glass tables, some of which were already taken. ‘Please take a seat. You may order refreshment by keying in your preference on the touch pad located in the arm of your chair.’

‘No thanks, I’ll stand.’

The woman’s smile weakened, but she punched some numbers, and after a couple of minutes, spoke into a headset. Was there something about her that got people’s back up? Skye wondered. She seemed to go through life annoying them without even trying. It had been a simple enough request, but the woman was definitely looking snotty about it.

She was wondering about that, when the receptionist nodded to the person on the other end of her call and disengaged.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We have no information on this person. She is not in any of our past employment records. Is there anything else…?’

Skye took a gamble. ‘Um, would it be alright if I left the picture with you? Perhaps you could show it around.’ Putting on a worried expression she tried to look appealing. ‘You see Willow had a row with her mum and dad and stormed out and… Naturally we’re all worried because she hasn’t got in touch. I’ll keep asking around, but just in case, I’ll write my personal klip number on the back so if anyone remembers seeing her they can ring me.’

Training obviously kicked in to keep woman’s temper in check. She pulled the photo across the counter and folded her hands on top of it. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Now, as we have many restricted areas, it is a requirement that you be escorted back to the main gates. Please make yourself comfortable while you wait.’

She was politely being told to clear off, Skye realised, but at least the receptionist had taken the photo. What she did with it now was out of her control.