Chapter 51
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, inside the Aquatics Centre in the grounds of the Olympic Park, US diver Hunter Pierce flipped backwards off the ten-metre platform. She spun through the chlorine-tainted air, corkscrewing twice before slicing the water with a cutting sound, leaving a shallow whirlpool on the surface and little else.
Knight joined the packed house, cheering, clapping and whistling. But no one in the crowd celebrated more than the American diver’s three children – one boy and two girls – in the front row, stamping their feet and waving their hands at their mother as she surfaced, grinning wildly.
That was Pierce’s fourth attempt, and her best in Knight’s estimation. After three dives she had been in third place behind athletes from South Korea and Panama. The Chinese were a surprisingly distant fourth and fifth.
She’s in the zone, Knight thought. She feels it.
As he’d been for much of the past two hours, Knight was standing in the exit gangway opposite the ten-metre platform, watching the crowd and the competition. Nearly four days had passed since Teeter’s death, four days without subsequent attack, and one day since the discovery of the software program in Selena Farrell’s computer designed to breach and take over the Olympic Stadium’s electronic scoreboard system.
Everyone was saying it was over. Capturing the mad professor was only a matter of time. The investigation was simply a manhunt now.
But Knight was nevertheless concerned that another killing might be coming. He’d taken to studying the Olympic schedule at all hours of the night, trying to anticipate where Cronus might strike again. It would be somewhere high-profile, he figured, with intense media coverage, as there was here in the Aquatics Centre as Pierce tried to become the oldest woman ever to win the platform competition.
The American diver hoisted herself from the pool, grabbed a towel, ran over, and slapped the outstretched hands of her children before heading towards the jacuzzi to keep her muscles supple. Before she got there, a roar went up at the scores that flashed on the board: all high eights and nines. Pierce had just moved herself into the silver medal position.
Knight clapped again with even more enthusiasm. The London Games needed a feel-good story to counteract the pall that Cronus had cast over the Games, and this was it. Pierce was defying her age, the odds, and the murders. Indeed, she’d become something of a spokesman for the US Team, decrying Cronus in the wake of Teeter’s death. And now here she was, within striking distance of gold.
I am damn lucky to be here, Knight thought. Despite everything, I’m lucky in many ways, especially to have found that Marta.
The woman felt like a gift from on high. His kids were different creatures around her, as if she were the Pied Piper or something. Luke was even talking about using the ‘big-boy loo’. And she was incredibly professional. His house had never looked so organised and clean. All in all, it was as if a great weight had been lifted from Knight’s shoulders, freeing him to hunt for the madman stalking the Olympics.
At the same time, however, his mother had begun to retreat into her old pre-Denton Marshall ways. She’d opted to hold a memorial for Marshall after the Olympics, and had then disappeared into her work. And there was a bitterness that crept into her voice every time Knight talked to her.
‘Do you ever answer your mobile, Knight?’ Karen Pope complained.
Startled, Knight looked round, surprised to see the reporter standing next to him in the entryway. ‘I’ve been having problems with it, actually,’ he said.
That was true. For the past day, there’d been an odd static audible during Knight’s cellular connections, but he had not had time to have the phone looked at.
‘Get a new phone, then,’ Pope snapped. ‘I’m under a lot of pressure to produce and I need your help.’
‘Looks to me like you’re doing just fine on your own,’ Knight said.
Indeed, in addition to the story about the things found on Farrell’s home computer, Pope had published an article detailing the results of Teeter’s autopsy: the shot-putter had been given a cocktail not of poisons but of drugs designed to radically raise his blood pressure and heart rate, which had resulted in a haemorrhage of his pulmonary artery, hence the bloody foam that Knight had seen on his lips.
In the same story, Pope had got an inside scoop from Mike Lancer explaining how Farrell must have isolated a flaw in the Olympics’ IT system, which had allowed her a gateway into the Games’ server and the scoreboard set-up.
Lancer said the flaw had been isolated and fixed and all volunteers were being doubly scrutinised. Lancer also revealed that security cameras had caught a woman wearing a Games Master uniform handing Teeter a bottle of water shortly before the Parade of Athletes but she’d been wearing one of the hats given to volunteers, which had hidden her face.
‘Please, Knight,’ Pope pleaded. ‘I need something here.’
‘You know more than me,’ he replied, watching as the Panamanian in third place made an over-rotation on her last dive, costing her critical points.
Then the South Korean athlete in first place faltered. Her jump lacked snap and it affected the entire trajectory of her dive, resulting in a mediocre score.
The door was wide open for Pierce now, Knight thought, growing excited. He could not take his gaze off the American doctor as she began to climb to the top of the diving tower for her fifth and final dive.
Pope poked him in the arm and said, ‘Someone told me Inspector Pottersfield is your sister-in-law. You have to know things that I don’t.’
‘Elaine does not talk to me unless she absolutely has to,’ Knight said, lowering his binoculars.
‘Why’s that?’ Pope asked, sceptically.
‘Because she thinks I’m responsible for my wife’s death.’