Great North Road (62 page)

He told his e-i to change the file. A grainy blue-gray image appeared, showing a dual carriageway with snow falling on it. Buildings along the side were indistinct shadows. Streetlighting was poor. Vehicles were blobs with headlight beams crawling along. “They ripped and burned the macromesh at the A695 junction with Park Road, which is almost level with this lane. Meshes that give a visual on this stretch of road were also ripped. But I found this last night after two hours of searching the logs we didn’t access before; it’s a visual from the mesh on a timber yard on Georges Road, five hundred meters away. They didn’t bother to rip it—it’s got a piss-poor angle and worse resolution because it wasn’t set up to look down the A695. But even with all those disadvantages, it does actually give us a glimpse at the lane. You’re seeing an enhanced image here. Now, this is ten oh three Sunday night.”

The e-i illuminated a pair of headlights coming out of Park Road with a purple bracket. “As far as our preparative analysis of the macromesh showed, this taxi drove down Park Road and took a right turn onto the A695, carrying on westward. The macromesh around the junction was ripped, but that didn’t matter, because the taxi license is the same, from when it enters the rip and then again thirty-two seconds later when it leaves it. All the simulation data shows us a taxi driving along normally, so there’s nothing to check. We didn’t include it in our list of two hundred and seven. Why should we?”

He told his e-i to play the image. O’Rouke leaned forward. The double splash of the taxi’s headlights turned right onto the A695, then took a sharp left into the lane. The headlights vanished. But another vehicle swung out onto the A695 at the same time. “Another citycab, same license code,” Sid said. “They synchronized the switch perfectly. They probably parked the replacement decoy there on Saturday, after all they spent the whole day preparing the bluff for us.”

O’Rouke nodded at the screen, his eyes never leaving the bright glimmer of the headlights. “Run the theater simulation again,” he said in an angry whisper. “Find that motherfucker and bring him to me.”

This time the zone theater control room was packed. This time people wanted to be there, wanted a part of what was happening. News of Sid confronting O’Rouke that morning had been around Market Street station within seconds. Then the private meeting was over, and Sid had authorization to reactivate the big theater simulation …

So the original investigation team was there, with Dedra and Eva on the consoles. Ian stood to one side, along with Abner and Ari. Lorelle was there, completely ignoring Chloe Healy and Jenson San, who were standing right next to her. Right at the front, with his breath misting the glass, O’Rouke was watching Sid himself wading through the knee-high photonic cityscape as he backtracked the taxi through the tangle of those snowy Sunday-night streets. Aldred 2North had arrived at Market Street just as they began running the simulation, standing behind O’Rouke’s shoulder, watching intently.

The image unwound five seconds at a time, allowing Sid and Dedra and Eva to check and confirm the log data each time, ensuring they were still watching the same taxi, that it hadn’t changed its license code, that there hadn’t been another switch.

“You’ve done this for two hundred and seven taxis?” O’Rouke asked. “Just like this, stopping and checking?”

“Yes, sir,” Ian said.

“Bloody hell. That’s … good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sid heard the exchange but held his tongue. O’Rouke had put him back on probation, pending the outcome of this backtrack. Sid knew it would work out okay, but there was no point in deliberately antagonizing the chief constable. He still had a way to go before he could claim his grade-five detective’s pension and take up Aldred’s job offer. Though, actually, O’Rouke’s job would be opening up in a couple of years. No! That was unthinkable—the politics, the backstabbing, the deals.

After forty-three minutes working the simulation, Sid watched the taxi slip down a ramp on Stanhope Street that led to an underground garage beneath the huge St. James singletown. The time on the log was nine fifty-one. He froze the image as the taxi was half out of view down the concrete slope, and gave the bonnet a knowing smile. “This is it,” he said softly. The taxi hadn’t stopped anywhere, hadn’t picked up or dropped off any passenger. “This is where they collected the body.”

“Are you sure?” O’Rouke asked dubiously.

“It drove from here directly to make the Cuttings Garden switch; this has to be it. Even if it isn’t, we can always backtrack it farther. But for now I want every log from every grain of smartdust in the St. James singletown, running from the Thursday before the murder to Monday morning.”

“Aye, man, I’ll get down there myself,” Ian said. “A little personal contact with the security office always smooths the way, and that’s a lot of data we’re asking for.”

“Yeah, good call, man, get on it,” Sid said. He glanced at O’Rouke. “I think we need to finalize strategy, sir.”

“That was a real phoenix flight you pulled off this morning,” Aldred said in the lift on the way to the sixth floor. Having him along made Sid feel a whole lot safer.

“A phoenix?”

“Rising out of the ashes.”

“I told you he was the man,” O’Rouke said. “Right back at the start. I said our Sid would crack this for you.”

“I do remember,” Aldred said. “But nonetheless, that was impressive.”

“The map is not the territory,” Sid explained.

“That’s what I tell all my detectives on their orientation day,” O’Rouke said. “Set them straight, get their heads screwed on right to begin with.”

“We rely too much on data analysis,” Sid said, brave enough to ignore the chief constable. “We don’t get our hands dirty anymore. It allowed the gang to take advantage of us.”

Aldred gave him an approving nod. “Well that’s just come to an end.”

This time Sid was offered a seat opposite O’Rouke’s desk as the windows turned opaque. With Aldred in the chair next to him, he knew whatever he asked for would be granted.

“We need to have absolutes now,” he said. “So I want all the logs Ian collects from the St. James singletown to be worked into a simulation. I’ll need agency help formatting the memories, and a lot of AI time.”

“I’ll clear that for you,” O’Rouke said.

“Thank you. But what I really need to know is what to do about our two observers, Stevens and Scrupsis? I’m supposed to update both of them immediately we have a critical development, and this certainly counts. We do have to tell them, but I really don’t think we deserve interference now.”

“Inform them both together,” Aldred said. “Let them battle for jurisdiction. I’ll have a word with Augustine, he’ll know who to call; we need to make sure they don’t ruin this by having a turf war that attracts attention in Brussels. We haven’t got the taxi driver yet. And we can’t let him slip away from us now. This situation must remain absolutely secure.”

“Working up another simulation should help,” O’Rouke said. “It’ll damp down expectations around the station.”

“There’s something you need to know,” Aldred said.

Sid gave the North a surprised sideways glance. He didn’t like the tone at all—it verged on embarrassment, which was completely wrong for any North, let along Aldred. O’Rouke, whose political awareness was infinitely greater than Sid’s, also stiffened up. “Anything you contribute will be valuable,” the chief constable said in a neutral voice.

“I live in the St. James singletown A penthouse in the South Wing.”

“I see,” Sid said, trying to work through implications. Legally, Aldred probably couldn’t continue as their case liaison; any defense lawyer would argue that his presence was prejudicial, a potential evidence contaminant. But then this was never entirely about what would go to court.

“In fact there are several of my brothers living in the St. James,” Aldred said. “I suppose it’s inevitable. The place is exclusive, and slap in the center of town. It’s perfect for us.”

“It might have some implications on the case,” O’Rouke said carefully. “From a purely legal perspective. Detective?”

Oh, thank you.
“Do you have an alibi for the Friday of the murder?” Sid asked with a level voice.

“An alibi?” Aldred lifted both eyebrows.

“Yes, sir. As soon as we can confirm that, then we can show any defense lawyer reviewing our logs that there’s no prejudicial influence involved.”

“Ah, I understand. Actually, I was in London that day, taking some meetings. Let’s see.” He muttered something to his e-i. “I left the St. James in my car that morning at nine forty-five, drove straight to my department’s headquarters. My helicopter was booked and on the roof pad, so I flew down to London. My e-i can give you the meeting schedule, along with the names and contact codes for everyone in the meetings. I flew back up to Newcastle at ten that night. Got back to the St. James about one o’clock Saturday morning.”

Sid nodded with considerable relief. “That’s easy enough to check. Let me have the files, and the license code of the car you used, and I’ll have Eva run a confirmation. Shouldn’t take her more than an hour.”

“Excellent.”

“You get this sorted out fast,” O’Rouke said.

“Yes, sir.”

“So could the victim be one of the St. James residents?” O’Rouke asked.

“No, sir,” Sid said. “Every A North is accounted for.”

“So is it significant the murder happened in a singletown where several of the brothers live?”

“We’ll know more when we have the taxi driver in custody and identify the precise location of the murder.” Sid hated giving non-answers like that, but after this long in the force they slid so easily off the tongue.

“Okay. I want every update as it happens.”

“Of course. There is one thing,” Sid said, and resisted the smile at how he was suddenly the center of attention. This kind of political trading was what these two knew best.

“What is it, Detective?”

“Once we’ve identified the taxi driver, I’d like my team to perform the arrest,” Sid said. “They deserve that. They’ve worked their arses off for over two months now.”

Aldred and O’Rouke exchanged a glance.

“Fair enough,” O’Rouke said. “I’ll front the press conference afterward to announce that we have a suspect in custody, and I’ll make sure you get full credit.”

It was all Sid could do not to laugh out loud. O’Rouke knew every trick in the file, and played them all ruthlessly. “Thank you, sir.”

T
HURSDAY,
M
ARCH 14, 2143

Sid should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Ian had called as soon as he reached the massive singletown to say the building had suffered a sustained rip attack on the Saturday in question. The electronic support company St. James employed to maintain its network hadn’t fully restored the meshes until Monday lunchtime.

But Sid’s breakthrough had inspired the team. They got creative.

Sid stood in Office3’s virtual booth and stared at the poor-resolution image that filled the air around him. It showed a big lobby with tall plants, expensive black-and-blue marble walls, with thick pillars supporting a ribbed vault roof. “What am I looking at?” he asked.

“The personal visual log from Vicky Thellwell, who’s the receptionist on the main desk,” Eva said. “It’s a security thing. The St. James upgrades the smartcells of employees who deal with their residents and important clients. Their visual log from all the time they’re on the premises is stored in a secure cache for five years in case legal needs it.”

“Okay,” Sid said. “Run it.”

At nine twenty-seven PM on Sunday, January thirteenth, Vicky Thellwell was dealing with a young couple who were checking in to one of the St. James’s three luxury boutique hotels. Personal visuals always made Sid slightly giddy, and this was no exception. Vicky’s eyeballs seemed to dart about like a hummingbird. Smiling at the couple, looking down at her keyspace, a display pane, scanning the lobby for the porters, back to the couple, a glance at how much luggage they’d wheeled in, slightly longer look at the man, concentrating on his face (Sid supposed he was quite handsome), a track down his clothes (presumably assessing style and price).

“Here it comes,” Eva warned.

Behind the couple, one of the lift doors opened. There was a man inside, with a very large wheeled luggage bag. Three people got in, and the doors slid shut. The image froze in a smear of light: as the doors closed Vicky was looking away.

“Maybe,” Sid said reluctantly. “The bag he’s got could be big enough.”

“We calculated the size and volume,” Eva said. “It’s big enough.”

“Okay, granted, and the time is about right. Do we know if the lift was going up or down?”

“We couldn’t check,” Ari said. “But it was going up. He was on his way to collect the body.”

“You sound very confident about that,” Sid said.

“We weren’t here all night for nothing, you know,” Eva retorted.

“Go on then, pet,” Sid said. “Enjoy your moment.”

“Actually, it was Ari’s idea,” she said.

“Simple enough,” Ari said. “The singletown was ripped. But the gang couldn’t know in advance what was coming in and out of the garage they used.”

“Smart,” Sid said, trying to keep his voice approving rather than surprised. Maybe Aldred was right, he didn’t expect a 3 to come up with impressive ideas. “What was there?”

“Another taxi came in to pick up a client who’d pre-booked while our target was parked. It’s owned by an independent driver, name of Matt Jorden, who is a careful man when it comes to liability and security. His taxi has a band of smartdust, and he keeps the mesh log.”

The image surrounding Sid changed. He was looking out across a typical underground garage, with unpainted concrete walls and ceiling, occupied by rows of cars parked between pillars. Matt Jorden’s taxi was parked in the temporary stop bay outside a set of automatic glass doors that led to the lifts.

Their suspect came out the doors, tugging the huge bag along. Sid could see how he was struggling with the weight as the little wheels juddered along the rough concrete. His back was to Jorden’s taxi the whole time as he walked down to the end of the temporary stop bay. Then he went around to the boot of his taxi, which was blocked from view by two cabs parked between them. A minute later, it drove away. The time in the corner of the display was nine fifty.