To Snatch a Thief

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



The moment he strode into HQ, Skye jumped up from her workstation and the top of her head blew off. She pondered glumly of the lingering torture Brimstone left in your brain.

‘Could I have a word, sir?’

‘If it’s about last night,’ he said, not bothering to stop. ‘No. Corporal Smith, are those toxicology reports back yet?’

‘On your desk, Lieutenant.’

‘Sergeant Newman, I’m giving a press conference at twelve. I want you there. We’ll give them the usual – all leads are being followed, we’re doing all in our power, blah, blah. Don’t let the media twist your words.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Dawson. Where’s Dawson?’

‘Not in yet, sir.’

She heard Hunter growl; a proper wolf-like sound. Fascinating if not a little creepy.

‘Soon as she comes in, I want to see her.’

They’d reached his office. He hesitated, one hand still on the door handle. ‘You still there? I’ve a briefing at ten, and I’ll need those reports you’re copying.’

‘They’re done.’ She’d crawled out of bed an hour early to make sure they were; a superhuman feat of mind over matter, she reckoned, in her present condition. The fact she’d tossed and turned all night hadn’t helped. ‘Already forwarded to your console, sir.’

He grunted something unintelligible and opened his door. Confused, and not a little scared by her own feelings, she was half-relieved he obviously wasn’t going to talk about what had happened between them last night. But what had happened, she reminded herself for the hundredth time? The near kiss had clearly meant nothing to him; in fact the call had probably been a blessing in disguise. After all, she thought, dejected, how could she, a complete novice as far as men were concerned, ever hope to compete with someone as solar as Narelle? He’d have been disappointed, big time. Best to forget all about it. Except… ‘Actually, it’s about the briefing,’ she ventured.

‘Take a fixer, Forrester, you look like something the cat’s dragged in.’ He shrugged out of his coat and hung it over the back of his chair, then sat at his work station, running a scanner over his upper arm to engage the display. Light bloomed over the rectangular surface. Master lock override acknowledged. Full access granted. His hair was loose today, she noted, flowing over his shoulders as he began running his fingers over the table, selecting, dragging, scrolling.

So that was how he was going to play it. Throw insults so he didn’t have to confront her. Two could play at that game. ‘And a bright and happy good morning to you too, sir,’ Skye retorted, eyes blazing. With clenched teeth, she made a big show of looking around. ‘D’you think maybe, I mean correct me if I’m wrong, but if you had some pictures or photos or even a few of those snazzy executive toys around, it might jazz your office up a bit, and then you’d feel more like starting your day with a breezy smile? Um, I’d like to sit in on the briefing,’ she said, rushing on when his eyes lifted and narrowed.

‘Really. And what parallel universe are you living on?’

‘Look, I’m sorry about that last remark,’ she gushed. ‘You’ve probably been up all night and it’s pissed you off. Well, I can see it has, but you told me if I wanted to help my friends, I had to think like a cadet, so I am.’

He lifted a brow. ‘Try acting like one.’

‘That’s my whole point, I don’t, I can’t. I came from the area these deaths are happening. I know the people there. They won’t talk to snatchers because they don’t trust you, but they’ll talk to me.’

‘Console pause task.’ She’d got his attention. ‘Go on.’

‘Somebody may have noticed something. Some little thing that seemed out of place, but they put it away: too tired, too hungry, too everything to bother thinking about it. I could wheedle it out of them.’

‘Like you’re wheedling me?’

‘How am I doing?’

‘Are you familiar with the law regarding breach of security; the penalties for leaking information that could jeopardise public safety?’

Yeah, yeah.’ She nodded.

‘State it.’

Skye barely managed to not roll her eyes. ‘Yes, I understand I will be taken from this place and hung by the neck until dead.’ She smirked. ‘I’ve watched classic movies.’

He gave her a cool-eyed stare. ‘Don’t be smart. This is no joking matter.’

‘I wasn’t aware I was joking.’

She saw his eyes flash. Heat rose on her neck. She swallowed.

He waited a beat, two. ‘Briefing room, ten o’clock. Sit at the back, only speak if you’re asked to, and lose that grin. That’s an order.’

Too late she realised coffee was essential for those attending a briefing. With hips cocked on tables, officers chatted in groups, insulated cups steaming in everyone’s hand. Ten minutes early, and caffeine deprived, Skye slid, as instructed, onto a chair at the back of the room.

Dawson swaggered over. ‘You sitting in?’ With one hand on the weapon at her slim hip, she lifted her coffee, took a long swig and sighed. ‘God, I needed that.’

Skye felt she needed it more, but as Dawson was armed and she wasn’t, she decided against ripping it out of her hand.

Dawson drank another mouthful. ‘How come you’re here?’

‘Hunter wanted me in.’ It might have been petty and small, but Skye enjoyed the quick burn of annoyance that crossed Dawson’s face.

Hunter strode into the briefing room a few minutes later accompanied by his superior officer, Captain Yao. Shorter than his lieutenant by a good four inches, the captain’s stiff military bearing nevertheless radiated authority. Black hair, blacker oval eyes that looked like they’d miss nothing; his presence snapped the room to attention.

‘Carry on, Lieutenant.’ He moved aside as Hunter ordered the wall screen on, then touched a memory square against it.

And a picture bled onto the screen.

‘Sydney Vernon Moyer, better known as Legs. Licensed street performer; worked a hip-hop dance routine with twenty eight year old son, Clive, outside pubs and clubs; lived with same son in one room flat for past five years. According to Clive, he worked alone last night, which apparently wasn’t unusual. Alleged his father was fine when he left him at nineteen hundred hours. When he got back just before midnight, Sydney was, as you see in this crime scene picture, deceased in his chair. Note the upturned mug on the floor. ME report states time of death took place at eight thirty P.M. Stomach contents show the deceased ate a light meal of soy cheese and bread around six o’clock, plus a half pint of beer. The son verifies he and his father shared a pint and a sandwich at that time. There was also a microscopic amount of black tea in the stomach, which was also the beverage found in the mug and in spill stains on Sydney’s clothing and floor. Tiny traces of an unknown substance in the throat. Food samples taken from the flat came up negative. No signs of forced entry, son alibied by pub landlord for time of death.’

Without pausing, Hunter touched the square. ‘Open file UXD thirty two: Three previous victims,’ he continued. ‘Shiralee, Michael and Thomas Abbott.’

And there they were as she’d found them.

For a moment Skye was swept back to the horror of that room. She squeezed her eyes shut, but they were there behind the lids, just as she’d seen them at night in dreams.

‘Split screen,’ Hunter ordered, and moved the square against one corner of the second screen. ‘Forensic report on deceased: as in all victims, no sign of external or internal injury, no marks or needle-sticks, no bruising or abrasion indicating the victims struggled prior to death. Again, as previously, microscopic particles of unknown substance found in throat area, but here we finally got lucky.’

Anticipation rippled around the room; a collective holding of breath.

‘Forensics finally came good. Tests on food samples in the flat showed traces of the same substance in the carton of soy milk on the table.’

‘Y-es!’ Newman punched the air with his fist.

‘Two hours later that substance poofed into thin air. Conclusion: short shelf life once exposed to the atmosphere.’

‘So we got to it faster than with the other cases.’ Newman commented. ‘Or they screwed the damn lid back on quick.’

‘We can’t tell.’

‘Does it prove it was murder?’ Corporal Smith asked. He had the world-weary look of a man who’d been working all night and was running on empty. Skye knew none of them had time off since the spate of deaths started; it was beginning to show.

‘We’ll get to that. Hunter split the screen into three, moved the memory square again. The map of Hammersmith, Skye had seen in his office flowed from it. Three close-grouped red dots decorated an area she recognised as her old street. ‘As you would expect, there were no surveillance cameras inside the tenement itself; one vandalised in the street outside. Cruiser patrols reported nothing suspicious. No chip-scanner locks on flat door. Somebody could have bunged the landlord for the key codes - he’d definitely be up for it - watched the victims go out and replaced one carton of soy milk with the tampered one.’

‘Motive, Lieutenant?

‘None that we can ascertain. Interviews with deceased’s family and friends indicate they had no contact with ex co-habit, the father of the two boys. No known acquaintances with grievances or grudges plus, when you link them to the other cases…’

‘It doesn’t fly for me.’ Newman shook his head. ‘It’s not target specific. None of the previous deceased groups knew one another, there’s no connection between any of them.’

‘Okay, two possibilities.’ Hunter held up two fingers. ‘One: some maniac, with a highly advanced knowledge of chemicals, picks victims at random. Breaks into their homes and leaves contaminated food. Two: the food, milk in this case, gets doctored at source.

Again, the victims who ended up with it were not targeted specifically, just unlucky. I don’t need to tell you what would happen if the media got hold of that theory.’

‘So, do we recall the product?’ Smith offered. ‘Get it off the shelves?’

Hunter shot a look to Captain Yao who spoke for the first time. ‘The General’s tried to convince The Health Department to do just that,’ he explained. ‘But they say, rightly enough, the public aren’t stupid. They’re afraid there’d be mass panic. Also,’ he added, clearly frustrated. ‘They say Sydney Moyer hadn’t drunk milk, and there was no trace of it in the carton in his dispenser. We need more before they’ll sanction a total recall.’

‘I want to know where the victims bought their food supplies.’ Hunter took up the thread. His eyes panned to Skye, held for a moment before moving across the room. ‘Cross-match couriers, freight depots, manufacturers. The first victims wouldn’t have automated re-ordering. They’d have shopped in the old-fashioned way. We need to find out where.’ He tapped the first screen with the back of his hand. ‘The dispenser in the Abbott’s case was programmed to re-order from Stocklands One-Stop Warehouse. That’s where we start. Smith, you’re with me. We’ll have a talk with management. Get a feel of how the place is run.’

‘General Redwood’s willing to fast-track a warrant. Forensics should be able to start going through Stocklands this afternoon,’ Captain Yao promised.

‘This is an extremely sophisticated toxin,’ Hunter continued. ‘There’s a laboratory somewhere with the capabilities of making it. So we look at research facilities, universities, hospitals, clinics, state and privately owned. We run searches on employees in all the above who may have connections to fringe groups, cults, extremist religions, fanatics or any damn thing that springs to mind.’

Almost, Skye almost raised her hand, but a sharp look from Hunter stopped her.

‘Maybe some nutter with a beef against poverty, sir?’ Dawson pointed her empty cup at the splatter of red dots on Hunter’s map. ‘Thinks they should be humanely put out of their misery or some such shit.’

Skye wondered if anyone else caught it; the slight hesitation, the fractional change in his eyes before the shutter came down. ‘It’s an angle.’ Hunter shrugged. ‘We’ve got precious little to go on, so follow up any lead you can.’