To Snatch a Thief

CHAPTER ELEVEN



Skye stood on Maxine’s front step, collar up, hands shoved in her pockets, her feet turning to ice. It was a relief when she heard the locks finally being disengaged.

‘Hi, Maxine.’

‘Come on in dear, you look half frozen to death.’ Maxine’s house was warm and inviting. The kind of family home Skye had always dreamt about, where the bright-coloured furniture looked well-used and comfy. Fake logs burned in the fireplace under a mantelpiece bursting with nick-knacks and photos of children in an assortment of frames. Pictures and more photos hung on the walls. Although Maxine had house rules, it was a place where children could play without worrying about spills or noise. Skye toed her shoes off in the hall. Tonight there was an inviting smell of baking coming from the kitchen.

Lexie raced down the hall, curls flying. Breathless, he shoved a large, white, lumpy blob in her hand. ‘Look. Look, it’s a berg. We made it at school.’

‘Iceberg,’ Maxine explained. ‘Apparently they’ve been learning about global warming. That’s the landmass that broke off Greenland and caused us all the trouble, isn’t it, Alexie?’ But he was gone, racing off to some excitement of his own. Maxine peered at Skye’s face. ‘You look peaky, dear. Difficult day?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Well, nothing that a nice cup of tea and a piece of home-made Victoria sandwich won’t cure, I hope. I’ll bring it through. Go and warm yourself by the fire. Alexie, tidy all that stuff away now, and tell your sister how many sums you got right in your homework tonight, without any help from me.’

Amazed, Skye watched her brother clear the coffee table without protest. ‘You’re awesome, Maxine, she called out. ‘You’ve got the knack; bet you were a solar teacher.’ She ran her eye over the dozens of school photos on her wall, and wondered how many kids Maxine had taught during her career.

The cake was pretty awesome too. Not wanting to waste a morsel, she gathered up the crumbs on her empty plate and pointed a sticky finger to the photographs. ‘Do you remember them all?’

‘Most of them, yes.’ Maxine picked up her tea, sipped. ‘Some stick more than others for one reason or another: the more naughty ones; the ones that have gone on to achieve great things.’ She took another sip, considering Skye over the rim. ‘I don’t think he’d mind me telling you, but Stephen was one of my more challenging students.’ On a sigh, she put down her cup, stared up at the wall.

Skye stopped chewing. ‘Really? Like, why? How?’

‘Well, he’d run wild for a long time before he came to me; there was a lot of anger inside him. I did worry how he would turn out. You see his parents separated when he was ten,’ Maxine added by way of explanation. ‘His father’s Italian, so he stayed in Rome where his work was, still is, I believe. Stephen came to England where his mother originated. He was shipped back and forth, but I think he felt he’d lost them both: his father by distance and his mother by her career.’ Maxine’s mouth lifted slightly at one side. ‘He took his mother’s name, at her insistence. I don’t think she ever forgave her husband the humiliation of his many affairs, so she buried herself in work. Stephen describes her as very successful, but driven. I get the impression a small boy was an inconvenience.’ She picked up the teapot, poured them both another cup. Her warm eyes turned thoughtful. ‘It’s our childhood experiences that mould us to be the people we become.’ She broke off suddenly as though she’d said too much, but then she smiled, settling back in her chair while she cradled her cup. ‘Now, Narelle Keating, she was a very different story; there was one young lady always determined to make her mark in the world, and she has.’

‘Keating? Like the president.’

‘Yes, they’re related. She’s his half-sister, several years younger, and always in her brother’s shadow when she was growing up. That’s her next to Stephen, third from the left in the second row. They were both sixteen.’ Maxine sighed. ‘Time flies.’

Lexie finished his cake, downed a glass of strawberry milk. ‘If you’re gonna talk grown-up stuff, can I watch screen upstairs?’

Skye laughed. ‘Did you really just do that, Lex?’ He’d put his hand up as though he was in class. ‘Yeah, if it’s okay with Maxine, go ahead. But we’ll be going home soon, so don’t make a mess.’ He raced off at break-neck speed and they heard him thumping up the stairs. But before they went she wanted Maxine to go on with her story. Fascinated, she stood to examine the photo more closely. ‘Hunter and the president’s sister went to school together. Vivid!’ Hunter looked younger of course, she noted, minus the face jewellery and his hair was shorter, but apart from that he was much the same. She switched to the girl standing beside him, gasped. Wow! was an understatement. ‘She’s solar. I mean, Narelle is seriously good looking. Did she and Hunter….? Sorry, stupid question; none of my business.’ Knowing she was blushing, Skye turned from the picture and sat back down. But she so wanted to know.

Maxine gave a little smile. ‘They were inseparable all through sixth form. I don’t know if they continued seeing each other after they left, but I did wonder when they were first both on Stella Frontier. Oh, yes,’ she said when Skye raised her eyebrows. ‘Narelle was a brilliant student. She became head of the military’s research laboratory there.’ The same sad look that Skye had seen the first time they’d met and she’d mentioned Hunter worked off-planet, entered the older woman’s eyes. ‘It was through her Stephen met Anya.’

She was burning to ask more, but Maxine glanced at the time. ‘You’d better be getting Lexie home. The weather forecast’s not good for tonight.’

They walked home through the dark streets, Skye’s mind whirling with images. As she finished loading the last of the supper things into the dishwasher, Lexie wandered in studying something in his hand. His forehead was wrinkled in deep creases as he concentrated. Skye didn’t take much notice; she had one eye on the screen in the living area where some do-gooder female was knocking the president for not solving the country’s problems. To be honest Skye was more interested in the way her beautiful cashmere sweater toned perfectly with her tailored slacks, and how those two items alone would have fed a family of five for a month where she came from.

‘In the interest of energy saving, it is advisable to fully fill the baskets before commencing a wash and rinse cycle,’ the dishwasher lectured, obviously insulted by the stingy amount of crockery she’d given it.

‘Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Lexie, ‘bout time you got ready for bed.’ He ignored her. The thing in his hand caught her eye. ‘Lex, how many times have I told you not to play with my klip,’ she grumbled. ‘It may be old, but it’s the only one I’ve got. Give it here before you drop it.’

‘Not playing.’ He pointed toward the bathroom. ‘Found it in there. It’s got words.’ Screwing his face up even more, his lips started moving as he began to read silently; a skill he was trying to master. After only a second he gave up, scowled and thrust the thing at her. ‘Can’t do it.’

‘Show me.’ The shock was like a punch in the guts. ‘Lex,’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘When did you find this? How long ago did it signal? Did you answer it?’

His turned defensive. ‘I didn’t do nothing. I didn’t touch anything. I told you, I found it there.’ He waved an arm over his shoulder towards the bathroom.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, Lex. I know you did. I must have left it after my shower.’ She softened her voice, smiled. ‘I’m not cross with you. It’s fine.’ But it wasn’t fine at all. The text message was brutal and to the point, and set alarm bells screaming in her head. If you want to stay alive, forget Willow Frobisher existed. People get nosey, they die.

‘Stay here! Don’t move.’ Although she knew it was stupid, she raced through every room, double-checking all locks were engaged on doors and windows. Nothing jumped out from a cupboard, nor crawled from under the beds, although she humiliated herself by looking - childhood fears, she acknowledged, were never far from the surface. Once she was satisfied, her heart settled down and she returned to the living area. Lexie was curled in a ball in a chair, one fist knuckled to an eye. He was sucking his thumb, something he only did in times of extreme distress. The last time Skye had seen him do it, had been when she’d been sentenced. ‘Oh, Lexie,’ she moaned, going to him. ‘It’s alright. It’s just me being stupid. You know how sometimes you get scared for no reason? Well, that happens to grown-ups too. I just thought of something scary and it made me all shivery and silly for a minute. Good job I’ve got a big, brave brother to give me a hug so I don’t feel scared anymore.’ He lifted his head to study her with moist eyes and after a moment crawled into her lap. A few seconds later he took his wet thumb out of his mouth and she felt it slither round her neck. Once she felt him relax, she sighed. ‘Thanks, Lex. I feel better now. Hey, why don’t you choose one of your movies to watch on screen? We’ll pig out on a packet of bugs too, and I’ll let you have all the hoppers. What d’you say?’

While he programmed the screen, she hit recall on her klip but got nothing but static. She knew HQ’s Technology Division, with all their wizardry, could probably trace the caller, but she’d have to clear using them through Dawson and, as she wasn’t ready to share this with her yet, she’d have to find a way around it. Putting that problem aside for the moment, she concentrated on getting her jittery thoughts into some sort of order.

Seated with Lexie on the sofa she wrapped her arms around her brother and pretended to watch the cartoon while considering possibilities. She hadn’t left her address with the receptionist at Royalty, but they’d scanned her ID at the gates. However this one wasn’t listed in any public directories. Locations of safe-houses were protected from hackers by layers of security, and Hunter had said the safety measures installed here were built to withstand terrorist attack, so she figured they were safe enough.

She pressed her fingers to her forehead, tried to think. It followed that the receptionist at Royalty had shown Willow’s photo around, someone had recognised her and that someone didn’t want her probing any further. Why? Was the caller actually concerned for her safety because he or she knew what happened to Willow and thought the same thing could happen to her, or was it the person responsible for Willow’s death warning her off? Whichever, it linked her to Royalty where Jonathon Powter had also worked. If she ran a computer probability now, Skye would bet it came out in the high eighties that the two deaths were connected. Corporal Blake had been suspicious. People get nosey around here, they die. She shivered. She’d nearly died today. Again the thought struck her. Was it taking too much of a quantum leap to imagine Corporal Blake’s death was arranged too?

Well, she’d keep an open mind on that. And Royalty weren’t the only ones who knew she was asking questions about Willow and had her number. Frowning, she rubbed at the raised mark under her collarbone where the tracker sat just under the skin. Vincent had seemed friendly enough, she considered, but that could have been a front and she only had his word that Willow left the club alive. Maybe she’d been jumping to conclusions and the receptionist had shredded Willow’s photo the minute she left.

By the time the film finished, she’d given herself a headache, and was still going round in circles, so took a fixer and followed a sleepy Lexie to bed.

She had no time to bluff her way into Technology the next morning as Hunter called both Dawson and Skye into his office the moment they arrived. It was a three-sided glass cubicle housing an interactive work station, a leather swivel chair and a three shelf bookcase of hardcopy files. A window to the right, gave a fourth floor view over the city. An incident board covered with maps and red dots dominated the back wall.

‘Dawson,’ Hunter began, launching straight in. ‘Last night Officers Ryan and Carberry attended an incident at this address. Some joker posted a fake letter bomb through the letterbox and, naturally, scared the victims witless.’ He slid a memory square over his desk.

‘Details copied from the attending officer’s report. Neighbours were interviewed at the time, but I want you to talk to them again. Try for some background gossip in the street; any grievances or feuds. Take Forrester with you. It’ll give her experience in the field.’

Dawson stayed poker-faced although there was a faint flush creeping up from her collar. Her eyes lifted to a spot on the ceiling and stayed there. She didn’t need to voice her opinion of Hunter’s orders; her tightly pressed lips shouted volumes. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘That’ll be all, Dawson. Forrester, a minute.’

She couldn’t believe her luck. He was sending her out on a case at last. She positively beamed at him. ‘Thank you, thank you….This is so positively solar.’

‘Is there anyone…?’ Amusement flickered behind his eyes then was gone. ‘Who you’ve annoyed more than usual recently that you need to tell me about?’ His gaze tracked hers to Dawson’s retreating back.

Skye brought her eyes back to his. Probably half the planet, she thought. ‘Nope.’

‘Hmm.’ Hunter blew out a breath. ‘I’m giving you this chance, Forrester. Dawson’s a good snatcher; you can learn a lot from her. Just keep quiet, let her do the talking and listen.’

Nothing could dampen her spirits. ‘I will, I will,’ she assured him. ‘You can count on me, I promise.’ Without waiting to be dismissed, she spun on her heels and, raising her arms above her head, did a quick hip wiggle outside his office. It wasn’t until she glanced over her shoulder and caught his incredulous expression, she realised her mistake. Oops.

They inched through the snarl of traffic in silence. Every so often, Dawson cursed under her breath, drumming her fingers on the controls as lights changed against them or teenagers on air-scooters breached legal restrictions by skimming through pedestrians at breakneck speed. Privates were not allocated Darts and the cruiser had no flight facility, plus the seats were worn and stained in substances Skye didn’t want to think about.

Eventually though, still staring at the traffic ahead, Dawson tilted her head. ‘So, what’s it like, living in luxury?’

Skye looked over, surprised. ‘Um, the flat’s great.’

‘Hope they’ve done an inventory.’

She ignored the insult; she was too pleased to be out and about at last.

‘Hunter drop by often?’

‘No, not at all. What makes you say that?’

She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Payback. Thought he’d be collecting by now. If he’s not yet, he will soon.’ Skye didn’t personally know what a lemon tasted like, but she knew they were sour. Dawson looked like she’d been sucking on one for a week.

As she felt her face start to burn, Dawson glanced at her and sneered. ‘Oh come on. You’re not that naive surely. He watches you – a lot. At some point he’ll call in the favour. And don’t try and tell me you won’t take it; it’s the only way you’ll succeed in this job – on your back.’

If there weren’t a hundred witnesses on the footpaths Skye would have slapped her. As it was she raised her hand but Dawson saw a hole in the traffic ahead and yanked the cruiser out and forward, flinging her back in her seat. ‘What is it with you?’ Skye demanded. ‘What have I done to make you hate me so much?’

Dawson swivelled her head, raising an eyebrow as her eyes raked over Skye. ‘You really want to know? Okay, I’ll tell you. I hate everything you are: a free-loader with a hard luck story you wear as an excuse round your neck. Boo Hoo!’ She patted a hand to her heart before her face hardened further. ‘Don’t expect my heart to bleed. We all got problems. Suck it up. Go out and work instead of taking from people who do. Did you ever stop to think that might have been the last twenty globals the guy you robbed had in his wallet? He might look rich to you, but he’s probably mortgaged up to the hilt, hit with kid maintenance payments and screwed by his ex for every damn thing. Now he can’t even buy himself a coffee at lunch time.’

Skye opened her mouth, ready to fire back a brilliantly cutting retort, but none came to mind. Partly, because the snatcher had touched a raw nerve - she hadn’t thought about it before, but lately her conscience had been pricking - and partly because she could see it would be pointless to explain. Dawson saw things as either black or white, with no idea of what it was like to be raised in the slums: where men like her dad lined up in the cold with fifty others after a single job, but they stayed anyway because there was nowhere else to go. Where she’d learned to steal a handful of dollars from those she thought wouldn’t miss them, to keep her and her brother alive.

But Dawson was raving on; getting well into stride. ‘Know why I joined the Force? I joined to lock bludgers and thieves and those who prey on the innocent where they belong. And some idiot of a politician comes up with this asinine scheme, and now Hunter.’ She almost choked on the name. ‘Hunter, who dates the most beautiful woman on the planet…’ The thought had her shaking her head. ‘Goes mental, and manoeuvres a teenage slut right where he wants her – within easy reach.’

Skye’s heart sank at the thought everyone at HQ might think the same. ‘Bullshit,’ she snapped. ‘That’s absolute bullshit. You saw what happened to the Abbot’s. You know why he moved us out.’ And who the hell was he dating?

‘Yeah, conveniently to someplace where he has a master key.’

Temper firing, Skye rounded on her. ‘Well you can think what you like, but I’m telling you now, the only reason he watches me, if he watches me at all, is because he doesn’t trust me to go straight, and that’s God’s truth.’

‘Really? You don’t honestly believe that. C’mon, you’ve been around. You’ve got to know what effect you have on men. You know exactly what you’re doing flashing those big green come- to-bed-with-me-eyes. And the way you wear your hair, like you’ve just rolled out of the sheets. He’s male. Of course he’s going to be interested.’

Totally gobsmacked, Skye studied Dawson’s profile. Where had all that come from? Dawson was a bitch, she thought, but there was more here; some other reason for her loathing me.

Suddenly, with a flash, it came to her. ‘He turned you down, didn’t he? And you’re still teed off about it.’

She shrugged. ‘His loss, not mine.’

Eyes narrowed to slits, Dawson approached a junction at speed, leant on the horn as the lights changed and flew across the intersection without touching the brakes.

‘Look.’ Skye gasped, thinking they might get on better, and possibly survive, if they took Hunter out of the equation. ‘Despite what you think, I don’t sleep around. I don’t bother to flirt. In fact I’ve never even had a proper boy…’ she broke off as Dawson let out a hoot.

‘Well, that explains everything,’ she crowed. ‘Women might have had sexual equality for decades but, let’s face it, you’re every man’s secret fantasy. Wait till the others hear there’s an endangered species in our midst. We might put it on a tee-shirt.’

Still sniggering she swerved violently to the left and pulled into a residential street where she actually found the rarity of a parking space.

Glad she feels better, Skye grunted. But her happy mood was in tatters. She hung back as Dawson knocked on the first door, leant against the cruiser and kicked her heel against the tyre. Her hands were cold and she’d forgotten her hat so the tips of her ears were going numb. A dusting of snowflakes settled on her shoulders like dandruff.

Apart from different paintwork, the grey stone terraced houses on both sides of the street all looked the same. Three granite steps, swept clear of snow, led from the pavement directly to the front doors which each had a brass knocker and letterbox. On the opposite side of the road a lopsided snowman blocked the pavement outside a house with a navy blue door.

While she brooded, a movement caught her eye. A boy about Lexie’s age came out of it wrapped up warm against the cold in boots, anorak and woolly hat. In one gloved hand he held a knitted scarf which he began to wind around the snowman’s icy neck.

‘Keeping him warm?’ Skye called over and smiled as he looked up.

Several things happened in quick succession.

A door opened two houses down. A grey-haired old biddy in sheepskin slippers stepped out. Under her arm was a spiteful-looking Chihuahua.

Skye’s stomach muscles quivered as she saw the woman stride the short distance, grab hold of the small boy’s arm, and try to drag him along the pavement towards her front steps. ‘Hey!’

She’d fought with Lexie often - bedtime could be a battlefield. She saw the boy’s face darken into a familiar scowl equal to the hideous dog. He squirmed, kicking at the woman’s corduroy-covered ankles while the Chihuahua barked in rapid-fire, high-pitched yaps, mixed with murderous growls.

Pushing off from the vehicle Skye ran across the road. ‘What the fudge? What d’you think you’re doing? Leave him alone!’

The woman ignored her and tugged harder, all the while muttering some sort of weird incantation. Since cell regeneration had become standard practice it was impossible to tell people’s exact age but, whatever years this one has on the clock, Skye thought, she was strong.

‘Did you hear me? Let him go!’ Skye took hold of her elbow, but she did no more than swing her head round. ‘Oh, great.’ The pupils of her eyes were dilated, the expression blank. Nobody home. Events escalated then. The blue door yanked open and a woman – the boy’s mother Skye presumed - appeared at the top of the steps.

‘Jayden! Jayden, what’s going…? Oh, my God. Jayden.’ She started down the steps and slipped, landing heavily on her bum.

Across the street, Dawson turned and Skye saw her face boggle.

With audible clicks, the Chihuahua’s yellow teeth snapped inches from the little boy’s ear.

‘Pestilence, plague, pandemic,’ the woman intoned.

Skye had had enough. ‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Curling her thumb across her palm, she made a fist over it and, in full view of the street’s twitching curtains, decked her.

In slow motion, the woman’s eyes rolled back in her head, her knees sagged and she toppled like a felled tree onto the wet pavement. The dog wriggled out from her grip and, coward that it was, ran back into the house yelping blue murder.

Small boys don’t fight under Queensbury Rules. He continued to kick at the woman while she was down, so Skye grabbed him by the collar, holding him at arm’s length while she whipped out her cadet ID card and waved it under the woman’s nose, hoping she couldn’t focus too clearly. ‘I’m arresting you for… Jayden, will you stop… attempted abduction of a minor,’ she announced. ‘You have the right to remain silent…’ Unable to remember any more, she finished with, ‘Dawson, tell the old bag she’s nicked.’

Dawson’s face was a picture. ‘What the hell have you done!’ she gasped.