Fatal Connection (6 page)

The car slowed as it negotiated the busy road that led to the electronics company called Switcher and, beyond it, to central Pickling. Both Troy and Lexi looked to the left where the security lights mounted on Pickling Prison’s walls dispelled the dusk.

‘We can stop here for a bit, if you like,’ Lexi said. ‘I don’t mind.’

Troy glanced at the illuminated prison and then turned his head away. ‘We’ve still got things to do. Important things.’

Lexi glanced sideways at him. ‘Okay. It’s up to
you.’ She didn’t alter the car’s instructions and it continued towards Switcher.

Fifteen minutes later, the car turned left where two flattened squirrels lay dead in the road. It rolled gently down a drive to the company’s main entrance. Inside, the manager took Troy and Lexi to a secure storeroom at one corner of the building. Opening it with a code, she led them into the plain windowless chamber. Using a key attached to her uniform, she unlocked a cupboard that bore a hazard warning sign.

‘There you go,’ she pronounced. ‘Our stock of mercury. All safely stowed away according to chemical regulations. Double-locked.’

Troy nodded. ‘But it doesn’t just stay here. You bring it in and take it out to make switches with it. Have you ever lost any?’

‘Not a significant amount.’

Lexi pounced. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Well, no process can be one hundred per cent efficient,’ the outer replied. Smiling, she added, ‘When you eat a cricket cookie, you always lose the odd crumb.’

‘How much mercury has gone astray?’ Lexi asked bluntly.

‘A few milligrams with every operation. In terms
of health and safety, an almost insignificant amount.’

‘Almost,’ Lexi repeated.

Troy interrupted. ‘What’s that noise?’

Above their heads, there was a faint scratching sound. It stopped as soon as they all began to listen.

The manager shook her head with annoyance. ‘Oh, there’s a squirrel farm across the way. It’s supposed to be secure but it isn’t. They’re crafty little creatures. They get everywhere around here. Quite a few that escape come in our direction. They make up almost all the road-kill. Some that get across the road find their way under our eves. They’re a nuisance. They nest in the roof space and chew wood, electric cables and insulation.’

‘Do they come down here – into the places where your people work?’ Troy asked.

‘I’ve never seen them, but one or two of my staff have reported sightings.’

Troy and Lexi exchanged a glance.

‘Does the farm supply squirrel meat for majors?’ said Troy.

‘Squirrel pies and that sort of thing.’ The manager grimaced. Pointing upwards she said, ‘Anyway, this latest batch had better make the most of it tonight.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the pest controller’s coming back in the
morning. That’ll be the end of them – till the next lot of escapees look for lodgings.’

Troy nodded. ‘What time are they coming? The pest controllers, that is.’

‘Early. At first light, they said.’

‘We’ll be here,’ he replied.

In the warm night air outside Switcher, Troy said, ‘This could be making sense.’

Walking back towards the main road, Lexi replied, ‘Yeah. A few squirrels jaywalk across the street and take up residence at Switcher. They forage around the factory, pick up mercury and stagger back to the farm. They’re slaughtered before the mercury kills them and, hey presto, they end up in pies – which end up in majors.’

‘Thousands of squirrels go into thousands of pies and almost all of them are fine,’ Troy said, ‘because they’re made with unpolluted squirrels that haven’t left the farm. But maybe just a few squirrels have been in Switcher – where there’s some mercury on the loose – and they make a few contaminated pies. Like four in the last couple of weeks.’

‘That’d explain why there hasn’t been a mass poisoning.’

‘Exactly. Four poisoned pies get sent out to shops
or restaurants and are eaten by four random majors.’

Lexi smiled. ‘Not a human multiple murderer but four pesky squirrels.’

‘It fits. A tidy explanation.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘I suppose analysing the stomach contents of our victims won’t help.’

‘No,’ Lexi replied. ‘If it’s food that caused the trouble, it will have gone through them before symptoms set in.’ She paused before adding, ‘But I need to look at concentrations of mercury in contaminated squirrels – and see if it’s enough to kill an adult major. I’m not going to wait till morning. There’s something I can do right now. I’m going to analyse some road-kill. They’ll have the equipment I need in Pickling Crime Central.’

‘I’d better tell my grandma I’m stuck here. She’ll be delighted. Then I’ll find a bed for the night.’

‘Yeah. You go and get some sleep. I’ve got some serious scraping to do.’ Lexi extracted a pair of latex gloves and a couple of evidence bags from her pocket.

Troy stood across the road from Pickling Prison and trembled. He wasn’t cold. The night was mild and the southerly breeze was warm. Something about the quiet, grim building made him shudder. Troy’s sight had adjusted to the dark, so the glare from the security lamps stung his eyes. The brightness outside the prison suggested shadowiness within. It was the darkness behind the light that troubled him. He lingered, watching and wondering. Wondering what his father was doing and how he was coping.

Was Winston Goodhart asleep or lying restlessly
on an uncomfortable bunk, thinking about his life, his wife and his son? How was he treated by the other prisoners? How was he treated by the guards? What was the food like? What colour was his hair now? Or had he gone bald? Did he have his head shaved? If he walked out right now, would Troy recognize him? How did he pass the time? Did he get to kick a ball around some exercise yard?

Troy remembered playing football with his dad – at least, playing with a football in the garden and a park. But perhaps Dad had done that only for his son’s sake. Perhaps Winston Goodhart didn’t like football. Troy sighed and stared for a moment at the ground. He didn’t even know if his own father liked football. He should know that – and a lot more.

He looked up again. Once this case was over, maybe he’d come back to Pickling. Maybe then he’d find the courage and forgiveness to visit prisoner Goodhart.

An hour after he trudged away, a grey squirrel nesting behind a cupboard in the prison kitchen bit through a cable and electrocuted itself. The live wire sparked and set fire to the animal’s dry bedding. The flames spread to the cupboard itself and the cooking
oil inside. That was the start of a catastrophic chain of events.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from the rear of the prison and dispersed in the breeze. It seemed innocent, like the vapour trail of an aeroplane decorating the sky. No one outside took any notice. Inside, a smoke alarm sounded but, in the dead of night, the response was slow. When it came, it was too late. The kitchen was already ablaze and the flames were ready to spread.

As soon as Lexi saw Troy in the harsh morning sunlight outside Switcher, she shook her head. ‘Those squashed squirrels didn’t have a significant concentration of mercury in them.’

Troy shrugged. ‘That might still fit. Maybe some big fat tyre splatted them before they got here for a mercury meal.’

‘Yeah. It’s still a useful result. A background reading. Any poisoned squirrel would have to have a lot more than those two.’

‘A lot more and it’d be dead.’

‘Mercury takes a while to kill. It could live long enough to get into a pie,’ Lexi answered. ‘Anyway, I need samples from the live ones in the attic – to see if they’ve absorbed mercury.’

They both looked towards the main road. They could see the roof of the squirrel farm, flying a bright blue flag. A yellow van with a big black rat painted on the side announced the arrival of two pest controllers.

One of them walked over to the corner of the building where the infestation had been reported. She peered at the ground for a few moments and then called out, ‘It’s squirrels all right. I can see some droppings. Get the traps and bait them.’

Her mate yelled back, ‘I’m on it.’

The first pest controller went up to the detectives and said, ‘The droppings are distinctive. Like a brown rat’s but rounder, one-and-a-half to two centimetres.’

‘They’re clever,’ Troy said. ‘Must be difficult to catch.’

With a cheeky smile, she replied, ‘Hey, we’re outers. We can outwit any furry creature.’

‘And non-furry ones,’ Lexi replied, nudging her partner.

Outers were more evolved than majors. Over the years, they had lost some strength because they’d led
the invention of tools – from axes to giant earthmovers – that took care of physically demanding tasks. They also became intelligent ahead of majors. Their brain size increased. Their women opted for motherhood later in life to maximize their careers, and their babies’ head sizes caused more and more difficulties during childbirth. Their population crashed. Then they invented something to solve that problem too. They outsourced their reproduction to an artificial womb where eggs were fertilized and infants were incubated. This proved so popular, the change became irreversible. Female outers lost the ability to carry a pregnancy.

‘Squirrels look cute,’ the controller said, ‘but they’re rodents. Vermin, pests. Once we’ve got this lot caged, we’ll destroy them – humanely of course.’

‘I’ll take them away for analysis,’ Lexi said.

‘Fair enough.’

Lexi grabbed her vibrating life-logger and read the confidential message that she had just received. While the pest controllers went towards the entrance to set up their traps, Lexi glanced at her partner.

‘What is it?’ Troy asked.

‘I’m sorry, Troy. You’ve just been relieved of this case – at least for the moment.’

‘What?’ he exclaimed.

‘They’ve asked me to break some bad news. You’re wanted urgently at Pickling Hospital.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

As an outer, Lexi didn’t have parents and didn’t understand their value, but Troy belonged to a different species with different ideas. She gulped and said, ‘It’s your father.’

Gazing at his unconscious father in the sterile room, Troy still didn’t know the colour of his hair. It had burnt away. Much of his face was covered with dressings. One bare arm was landscaped with bruises and blisters. He was breathing only with the aid of a machine, and a monitor registered his weak heartbeat with bleeps.

Troy wasn’t sure what he felt. Mostly, it was a mixture of anger and fear. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hold his dad’s hand? Should he say something? Would his dad be able to feel or hear
anything? The outer doctor thought not. But the major son thought there would still be something inside this broken man, some unseen connection to the world.

‘Hello, Dad,’ he said. ‘It’s me. Troy.’

Did his father’s heartbeat quicken just a tiny bit? Troy liked to think so.

‘Gran’s on her way. That’s what the hospital said. They’re racing her here.’

He stood beside the bed and listened to the hissing of a pump that was forcing air into his dad’s unwilling, smoke-damaged lungs.

‘I’m sorry I never got around to visiting. I wish …’ He sighed and started again. ‘Did you know I’m a detective now? Did Gran tell you? Two cases down, working on number three. You’d be … interested. It’s going well. North of well.’ Doing his best to smile, he added, ‘Though, we might be chasing a bunch of squirrels this time.’

His phone throbbed with an incoming call. Troy felt guilty to take it under the circumstances, but the screen announced it was from the police commander. He turned to one side and whispered, ‘Troy Goodhart.’

‘I’ll be brief, Troy. You have other things on your mind. I’ve spoken to your dad’s doctor and I
understand there’s little time left. I’m truly sorry. As a result, I’ve consulted the highest legal authorities. Given the need to act quickly, we’ve made an immediate decision and I’m going to confirm it in writing for you. As soon as you get it, I want you to be my representative in Pickling and read it to your father.’

Unnerved, Troy replied, ‘I’m not sure he’ll …’

‘Have faith, Troy. Read it anyway.’

‘All right.’

Bemused, Troy turned back to the eerily still patient stretched out on the bed, connected to the world by tubes and wires. Apart from his obvious wounds, he looked fit. Perhaps it was true what an undercover police officer had told Troy: there’s not much to do in prison apart from working out in the gym.

‘Do you still kick a ball about? Do they let you do that in prison? Prisoners versus the guards. Or would that be asking for trouble?’ Troy paused. ‘I was south of hopeless at school. Square peg in a round hole. I couldn’t do all that clever, outer stuff. But the teachers noticed I always seemed to know what was in someone else’s mind. They called me perceptive. They did some tests, decided I was good at talking to people and working them out. They thought I’d make
a good police officer – with an outer partner. So, here I am. Detective Goodhart.’ He spread his arms. ‘Just like you and Mum.’

Troy’s skills of perceptiveness and easy conversation had no value in that hospital room. He couldn’t be perceptive with a stranger who was completely inert. There was no reaction to guide him. If his father heard – and understood – what Troy was saying, would he be proud and happy? Troy didn’t know. Not even the heart monitor provided a response. Troy might be good at talking to people, but only when he got something back. In this one-way conversation, he felt awkward and tongue-tied.

He tried to imagine being locked helplessly in a cell as flames churned inevitably down the corridor, the heat became unbearable and clouds of lethal smoke swirled in through the vents. At least that was how he pictured his father’s fate. He didn’t know any better because he hadn’t been given any details.

‘It must have been awful,’ Troy muttered. ‘Someone must have let you out.’ He shook his head. ‘If only they’d done it sooner.’

Troy talked about living with Gran and working with Lexi Iona Four. He talked about his investigations – his successes and frustrations – and mercury. ‘It’s a weird runny metal. A wolf in sheep’s
clothing. It’s fun – all bright and silvery and harmless – but it causes all sorts of bother if it’s let loose. It changes into deadly stuff.’

Making Troy jump, Gran burst clumsily through the door and let out a cry. With barely a glance at Troy, she dashed to her son’s bedside, clutched his left hand in both of hers and mumbled, ‘Oh, honey …’

Normally when Troy looked at his grandmother, he saw a strong woman. A woman who would never show any sign of weakness. Physically, nothing had changed, but right now Troy saw a frail ghost of his grandma. And she seemed to fade further as she stared at her sickly son, deathly pale and unresponsive. His plight was draining the strength from both of them.

She looked up at Troy. ‘Has he said anything?’

Troy shook his head.

‘They told me they could open all the cells at the push of a button,’ Gran said to Winston. ‘That’s what happens in an emergency like a fire. So, what went wrong? How did you get like this?’

Troy felt the vibration of his life-logger. For an instant Gran scowled at him from across the bed because he wasn’t paying attention to the last moments of his father’s life. Head down, Troy didn’t spot her expression. He swallowed as he scanned the
message and felt his spine shiver. Looking up again, he said, ‘I’ve got something from the police commander. It’s not what I expected. Erm … I think you’d both better hear it. He wants me to read it out.’

Gran looked puzzled.

Troy steeled himself and said, ‘I hope you’re getting this, Dad. It’s … important.’

Winston Goodhart did not react but, sensing Troy’s sincerity and urgency, Gran nodded reassuringly at him.

Troy cleared his throat and spoke loudly, in case it helped his dad to hear.
‘I will get straight to the point. What I am about to tell you rests on two facts. I know your state of mind was deeply affected by your wife’s death and this may have influenced your conduct afterwards. Secondly, in the last few hours, you have acted gallantly and without thought for your own safety. By all accounts, you could have left the prison like everyone else, but you alone chose to go back into danger and rescue an injured prisoner. In doing so, you saw two trapped guards in even greater peril. The details are not yet clear but, once you had carried out the prisoner, you went back inside and, showing immense physical and mental strength, you freed the two prison guards and dragged them to safety. We do know that you were struck by falling masonry, suffered many burns and breathed in too many toxic fumes. For your bravery
and
selfless acts of the highest order, the state
…’ Troy hesitated, sniffed and blinked. ‘I really hope you can hear me, Dad.’ He took a deep breath to get him through the final two sentences.
‘The state pardons you of all crimes. You are a free man.’

There was silence in the room, apart from Gran’s sobs and the beeping of Winston’s heart monitor. Then, after seven seconds, the monitor stopped and let out a continuous, forlorn howl. The regular spikes on the screen came to an abrupt end.

Troy lowered his eyes, ashamed. The state had forgiven his dad before he had.