Page 19

Josiah

Josiah strode down to the forensics lab, glaring at anyone he passed on the way. The idea of putting an ID tag on someone and having them invade his most private, personal space was unthinkable. He was angry that Esther had even suggested it.

He threw open the lab door and stormed inside. Mel and her forensics team were busy working, but they all looked up at his dramatic entrance.

“Ah, Josiah – and in a good mood, too, I see,” Mel said cheerily. Normally he enjoyed the way she teased him, like a wayward little sister, but he wasn’t up for that today.

She shoved her chair away from her desk and rolled herself across the floor towards him. “What’s bugging you?”

“What did you find on Alexander Lytton’s clothing?” he demanded.

“Which set? The ones he was wearing when you brought him in, or those we took out of his duck?” She gestured at the tables in the sterile area of her lab, which were covered in several neatly wrapped piles of plastic.

“Both.”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Well, the ones he was wearing showed a bit of sweat and dirt – I think you knocked him over? There was nothing I wouldn’t expect to find there. Faint traces of his own blood on the inside back of the shirt, but there were some pre-existing injuries, I believe? No trace of any blood not his own. No firearm residue.”

“And the ones in his duck?”

“Gym clothes.” She pointed at a lycra vest and shorts, jockstrap, a pair of white socks, and trainers. “Lots of sweat, all consistent with him spending a couple of hours at the gym.”

“Which, according to his personal trainer, was precisely what he did.” Josiah checked his holopad to see the signed statement from D’Angelo Clarke that had arrived in the latest infodump, courtesy of Reed.

“None of this incriminates Lytton,” Mel said, waving her hand at the clothing.

“But none of it exonerates him, either.”

“No,” she agreed.

“He could have shot Dacre, changed, carried his clothes and the gun out of the house wrapped in plastic in his gym bag, disposed of them, and taken a shower at the gym.

“Yes – but where on earth would an indentured servant get a gun?”

“Dacre could have owned it. Or Alexander could have acquired it. Dacre allowed him a certain amount of freedom.”

“How did he pay for it?”

“That’s easy – sex.” Josiah shrugged. “But I think someone else killed Dacre. Someone who watched the house, waited until Alexander left, and then knocked on the door. Someone Elliot knew, or at least was happy enough to let into the house. Someone who knew they had a brief window of time between Alexander leaving for his regular gym session and the housekeeper arriving. They shot Elliot through the forehead at point-blank range – one shot. Would they have been covered with blood as they left?”

“No, not from the angle of the shot.” Mel shook her head. “There would have been faint spatter on their clothing, but nothing more than that. Was anything taken from the house?”

“The housekeeper says not.” Josiah shifted uneasily, remembering the holopicture he was sure he’d seen, but the housekeeper had said otherwise, and she knew the house better than him. “I believe it was personal – the murderer visited the house with the sole intention of murdering Dacre.”

“Or it could have been a professional hit,” Mel suggested. “Single gunshot wound to the head, quick in and out, clean crime scene…?”

“Maybe. Have you found any other prints in the house?”

“No – and we’ve swept the entire place now.”

“So, Dacre, Lytton, and Boucher are the only people we know for sure were in that house in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Have you ruled out Boucher?” she asked.

“Her story checks out.” Josiah glanced at his holopad again. Reed had found several traffic cameras that showed her waiting for a bus on the road outside her apartment block and then getting off again at a stop near Dacre’s house at 10.27a.m. She’d made her call to the police shortly after entering the house and finding his body. “So, you have no leads for me,” he said stonily, putting his holopad away.

She looked at him steadily. “Joe, I’ve been working on this case non-stop; you know everything I know.”

He turned on his heel and strode towards the door without another word.

“You’re welcome!” she yelled after him.

Josiah thrust his way forcefully through the media scrum outside. They parted to make way for him, backing off in the face of his death stare. He climbed into his duck, drove to the edge of the floating city, and shot off across the water with his favourite Pre-R rock playlist blaring out.

A glance at his watch showed he had four hours to either charge Lytton or send him into the probate system; he refused to even consider the third option Esther had given him.

Dacre’s solicitor was next on his interview list: perhaps he held a missing piece of this jigsaw puzzle.

Isaac Juniper worked in a plush office building in West Wickham.

“I was sorry to hear about Elliot,” Juniper said, showing Josiah into his personal office and closing the door behind them. “He was a friend as well as a client – I’ve known him for years. ”

Juniper was a tall, bespectacled man with a gentle charm. Josiah knew immediately that he was gay.

“It’s hard to believe.” Juniper sighed, shaking his head. “I mean, he was just here in this office on Monday, finalising his will. That seems ironic now, given that he died the next day.” He took off his glasses and gave them a wipe, looking genuinely upset.

“That’s something I want to talk to you about,” Josiah said. “Why did he visit your office – why not just call or email you the revisions to his will?”

“He needed a witness biosig from someone who wasn’t a beneficiary of the new will, but also, I think, he just wanted to talk. He was upset about an incident involving Christopher, and he wanted to chat to me over a cuppa. He was like that – very impulsive and a tad demanding – but I was fond of him.”

“Christopher? You mean Alexander – that’s his real name.”

Juniper put his glasses back on and pushed them up his nose. “Sorry. I knew him as Christopher.”

“Did Elliot tell you why he was changing his will?”

“Yes. It was going to be a grand statement of his love; he was going to set Chris… I mean, Alexander, free in the event of his death. I believe he intended to take him out to dinner that evening and show him the will then.”

“He didn’t do that. He showed it to him the minute he received it. Do you know why he’d do that if he had a fancy meal planned?”

“Well, Elliot was impetuous, so it’s likely he was simply too excited to wait.”

“Do you know why he intended to set Alexander free in his will? I mean, why wait until his death – why not do it immediately if he wanted it to have any real meaning?” Josiah asked.

Juniper laughed. “You had to know Elliot. He’d spent a good deal of money on Alexander, and much as he loved that young man, I don’t think he felt confident his feelings were reciprocated. If he set Alexander free during his lifetime, he risked Alexander leaving him. Freeing the IS in his will seems romantic, but it’s a fairly empty gesture – more for the show of the thing than the substance.” Alexander had made much the same observation .

“Did you know that Dacre was so badly in debt that the will is irrelevant – Alexander’s contract will be sold to pay off his debts.”

Juniper sighed. “Yes. Elliot discussed his financial situation with me freely. I told him that I thought he’d have to sell his expensive servant to meet his debts, but he refused to accept this. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had offers. He was rather proud of the fact that he’d turned down two bids to purchase Alexander in the past few months.”

Josiah looked up sharply. “That’s interesting. Do you know who these prospective purchasers were?”

“He didn’t say.”

“And these bids came in the past few months – so, since June?”

“Yes – is that important?”

“It could be. Alexander was sentenced to seven years of servitude by the state. After that his houder could sell him or free him, but he had to serve those seven years first – and they were up in June.”

“So, it’s possible those two bidders wanted to buy Alexander in order to set him free?” Juniper asked.

“Possibly, but that’s a lot of money to lose. You’d have to be very wealthy and very besotted to do it. Did Elliot give you any information about these two people?”

“No. I only know that there were two interested parties. I told Elliot that if he was canny, he could play one off against the other and push up the price, but he absolutely wouldn’t consider selling Alexander.” Juniper gave a wistful little smile. “You know, I really do believe he loved him.”

“What is your view of Alexander?” Josiah asked, watching the lawyer closely. “Do you think he killed Dacre?”

Juniper gave him a thoughtful look. “I knew you’d ask me that, and honestly, I don’t know. I’m quite good at reading people, but I never could fathom Alexander. On the surface, he was the ideal servant – Elliot certainly thought so. At first, I mistook him for just another one of those pretty boys Elliot took up with after his husband died, but the more I saw of him, the more I wondered. Do you know that he has a first-class degree from Oxford?”

“It’s in the file, yes.”

“You don’t get a first from one of the finest universities in the world unless you’re pretty bloody clever, and yet he pranced around in those skimpy little outfits at Elliot’s parties, handing out croc like some brainless bimbo. It seemed… weird.” Juniper shrugged.

“So, to repeat my question – do you think Alexander could have killed Elliot Dacre? Is he capable of murder?” Josiah pressed.

Juniper hesitated. “It has to be a possibility, surely?” he said at last. “I went to many of Elliot’s parties, and we often lunched together; I’ve talked to Alexander a few times, but despite that I have no idea who he really is. So, I have to say yes, it’s possible.”

“Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Elliot? Did he have any enemies? What about the debts he owed?”

Juniper shook his head. “Elliot was a sweet man – I can’t imagine him having any enemies. As for his debts, they were all owed to banks, and they don’t usually deal with bad debts by having their customers murdered.” He gave a wry smile. “Elliot always managed to sweet-talk them into extending his credit, and it’s entirely possible he’d have paid off his debts in time. He owned a lot of beautiful things – his house is full of them. I’m certain that Alexander was the last thing he’d sell.”

“What about his drug habit? Elliot was a habitual croc user.”

“True, but he was only ever a recreational user. It’s illegal to manufacture croc but not illegal to take it, as I’m sure you know, Investigator.” Juniper inclined his head. “As long as you don’t drive under the influence.”

“What about other drugs?”

Juniper grimaced. “Well, Elliot didn’t use anything stronger than croc himself, but I did see him hand out harder drugs to certain VIP guests at his parties – he did like to take care of his celebrity friends. I don’t think Elliot owed a vast sum to his dealer, though – or he never confided in me about it if he was in over his head. He didn’t seem worried about it, and like I said, there were expensive items in the house that he could have sold if his situation had become urgent.”

Josiah nodded thoughtfully. “Well, thank you, Mr Juniper.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’m not sure I have. Look, I wouldn’t like to think that anything I said condemned that young man to…” Juniper trailed off, looking upset. “I don’t know anything bad about him. I just don’t think any of us ever actually knew him, including Elliot. Especially Elliot.” He took off his glasses and wiped them, blinking rapidly. “Poor, dear Elliot.”

Josiah drove back towards Ghost Eye, mulling over what he’d learned. Elliot Dacre seemed to have had no enemies. By all accounts he’d been a genial party animal with a flair for the dramatic, and he had clearly doted on his beautiful young servant. There was no motive for killing him, and Josiah still had no concrete leads. Their one and only suspect was Alexander. He glanced at his watch – he had one hour before he had to release Alexander or charge him.

Pulling over near a lost zone, he climbed out of his duck and leaned against the wall to think. He didn’t owe this IS anything – why not charge him with Dacre’s murder and wash his hands of the case? There were no other suspects, no other leads, and nothing to imply that Alexander hadn’t killed his houder except his own gut feeling – and since when did he allow his feelings to dictate a case?

Charging Alexander was the simplest option and wouldn’t do his reputation as the infamous indiehunter any harm, either. The media would love it. Wasn’t this precisely what they all wanted? Alexander was already notorious – nobody would have any sympathy for him. His ambiguous personality and refusal to help himself were frustrating – so why the hell should he throw the IS any kind of lifeline?

He gazed out over the murky grey water for a long time, in an agony of indecision. Finally, he asked himself the one question he could no longer avoid: What would Peter do?

“You’ve got twenty-four hours’ leave,” Hunt told him. “Go to LKG with everyone else. Enjoy it.” He grinned, knowingly.

“Leave, sir?” Josiah stared at him blankly.

“Yup. We’ve just won our first Olympic gold medal since the Rising. Everyone back home is celebrating Lytton’s win – why shouldn’t we? ”

The entire company had gathered around Hunt’s nanopad earlier to watch Charles Lytton storming to a thrilling finish.

“To be honest, I’m not that interested in sport, sir.”

“It’s not about the bloody sport, Joe. Nobody cares about rowing. It’s the fact that we finally won gold again, after all these years.”

“What about the convoy, sir?”

“I’ll stay behind with a couple of guards, but I’m not anticipating any trouble. We aren’t in a scavenger area, and nobody would dare attack us so close to the Barkhausen supply camp.”

Josiah hesitated. “I’m not sure, sir – seems risky to me.”

Hunt pointed at the tent flap. “Go! You work hard, and you deserve to have some fun. On that subject…” He gave Josiah a conspiratorial grin. “The others will all head for the big red barge with the loud music, but you won’t find what you’re looking for there. Look for the blue barge with the rooster painted on the side; that’s the one for you. Now, bugger off!”

Josiah would have preferred to stay in the camp, with Captain Hunt, but he did as he was told. Besides, it would be fun to do something different after months on the road. He pulled on a red shirt and denim jeans and then walked down to LKG with the rest of the unit.

They smelled the city before they saw it; a rank mix of sewage, food, and people rose up from the water ahead. Lastkahn Ghetto, commonly known as LKG, had been one of the first boat cities to emerge after the Rising and was still the largest anywhere in the world.

They all slowed down and then stopped, awestruck, as they reached the water’s edge. Ahead, as far as the eye could see, were thousands of floating vessels, crammed tightly together: boats, barges, and rafts of all shapes and sizes.

LKG was a city of flotsam and jetsam: noisy, colourful, and full of life. Some of the soldiers had been here before, and they ran ahead, eager to enjoy their time off.

There were several ramps reaching onto the boats from the shore; Big Jen led the way, jumping effortlessly onto the nearest one. Josiah followed her, leaping from boat to boat until they reached the heart of a bustling marketplace. He jumped onto a boat selling fresh vegetables, while the one next to it contained racks of jewellery. Another barge had a variety of cheeses hanging from the roof, and yet another smelled enticingly of freshly baked bread.

Josiah bought some hachée from a fat woman with a gap-toothed smile and ate it as he explored the busy market. All human life seemed to have washed up here. Young and old, male and female, and every race under the sun, all intermingled in this city without walls.

There were some sad sights, too – orphaned children begging in gangs, people with terrible injuries from fights with the scavs, and old war veterans from Rosengarten and Poznan, missing limbs and covered in scars. Josiah threw a coin into the hat of a man with no eyes who said he’d fought at Rosengarten and then followed the rest of the unit.

He bought a juicy bone for Hattie on a raft so ramshackle it looked more like driftwood and found a book on Pre-R cars for Captain Hunt on a barge crammed full of old books.

As night fell, they stopped shopping and went looking for something else, ending up at the red barge with the loud music, as Hunt had predicted. Josiah peeked inside to see a gaudily decorated bar with men and women dancing, kissing, and pairing off in dark corners.

“This place isn’t for me,” he said as they jostled to join the queue at the entrance.

“Knew it! You owe me five hundred quid, Banksy,” Big Jen crowed. “You need that one, Sarge.” She jerked her head at a blue barge with a rooster painted on the side.

Josiah lined up at the blue barge, paid a handful of coins to get in, and entered a dimly lit bar. It was much like the other one, except that in here men were dancing with men. Josiah paused for a moment as he realised that Hunt knew he was gay. He’d always been very private about his personal life, but it seemed his captain knew him better than he’d have expected.

After ordering a drink, he stood at the bar, looking around. His gaze met that of a young man around twenty years old, with curly black hair and soulful dark eyes, dressed in tight jeans and a plain white tee-shirt. Josiah looked away and then looked back again to find the pretty boy still gazing at him. He smiled, and the boy came over.

“Hey, big blond boy. I am Yannis,” he said, in an accent Josiah couldn’t place. Yannis looked Mediterranean; his skin was golden brown and his dark hair was oiled so that it glistened in the orange glow from the barge lamps.

“Josiah,” he replied as they shook hands. He bought two more drinks, one for himself and one for Yannis. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” he said, by way of conversation. It had been a long time since he’d last tried to pick up a man in a bar, and he’d never been good at it.

“Where is home these days?” Yannis shrugged. “We are all nomads now. You, also, are not from these parts. You are English, yes?”