Tropic of Death (28 page)

‘People determined to maintain a fake version of events.’

‘Like the weirdos through the looking-glass. I get it!’

‘Yes,’ said Rita. ‘There’s another reason I’m reminded of Alice’s adventures. Byron referred to them in a convention speech he made just over a week ago.’

‘Plugging the virtual future again?’

‘Variations on a theme, yes. He goes on about how simulation could make fantasies indistinguishable from reality. I seem to have hit the same problem in Whitley. Which is why it’s so refreshing to be with you.’

”Cos I’m as straight and frigging open as the Pope!’

‘But not quite as celibate,’ laughed Rita. ‘And talking about straight, am I going to meet your girlfriend at last?’

‘Not till after she’s shot the wedding,’ said Lola. ‘Right now Morgan’s brainstorming on Hayman with some project managers.’

‘So she’s doing a double-header.’

‘Yes, but watch your language. We’re invited to join her on Whitehaven beach tomorrow after she’s done a shoot with a new Italian car and a couple of models.’

‘How does she get on with them?’

‘The models? She doesn’t lust after them, if that’s what you’re asking. They’re anorexic airheads, not her type. She likes smart women with boobs, which is why I’m so popular.’

‘Are you still having rows?’

‘Of course - because I like men.’

‘And she doesn’t?’

‘Uh-uh,’ Lola said, wagging her finger. ‘You’re missing the finer points of dyke ideology. It’s not hetero men, gay men or hetero women who piss her off - but bisexual women like me.’

‘On both sides of the bed at once.’ Rita nodded. ‘Trust you to explore new frontiers of infidelity. I can see this is going to be a distracting weekend.’

‘Good. Drink up. We’ve got lots to get through, including a wild wedding party.’

‘While we’re on the subject, what should I wear?’ asked Rita.

‘Would my red halter-neck be okay?’

‘The one with the low back and high hemline?’

‘Too revealing?’

‘You’ve got to be kidding! The style for this evening will be full-blown, in-your-face sex. The clubland girls up from Melbourne don’t need much excuse anyway. But this being the tropics, there’ll be more bare flesh than fashion. Everything will be hanging out - tits, bums and tongues! So, yes - show off your legs and figure.

I will be.’

It was still early afternoon and the wedding wasn’t scheduled to start until five but Lola had drunk too much wine and needed a siesta. Rita hopped into the passenger seat and her friend drove one of the complimentary electric buggies carelessly along the narrow lanes of the resort. Rita got off outside her palm bungalow and watched Lola head off up the hill in the direction of the villa rented by her girlfriend.

The simplicity of the bungalow suited Rita. She kicked off her shoes, splashed her face with cold water and brewed some coffee to counter the effects of the lunch. Then she logged on to her laptop to send an email to Byron to find he was already online.

After messaging him, she plugged in the webcam, opened the audio channel and watched his face appear on the screen, moving with the slightly jerky movements of the video link.

‘What are you doing online at this time on a Saturday afternoon?’

she asked. ‘Don’t tell me you’re working.’

‘Not work, no,’ he answered, a partial grin on his face. ‘I’m writing the campus footy report on this morning’s match. We won, I kicked a goal, then drank approximately four beers in the pub.’

‘Approximately?’

‘Yes. Research needs to be done on the incompatibility of alcohol and mathematics. There’s a point at which you lose the ability to count accurately.’

‘I passed that point at lunch with Lola.’

‘So how’s Hamilton Island?’

‘A welcome break from Whitley.’

‘I still can’t get over what happened to poor old Steinberg.’

Byron frowned. ‘It’s like bad karma after I went on about my connections up there.’

‘You have more connections than you realise,’ she told him.

‘I’ve met one of your fellow Cambridge students, Paul Giles.’

‘Ah, so he’s there too. The recruiters at Whitley Sands cast a wide net.’

‘He asked me to pass on his greetings. What’s your opinion of him?’

‘A natural grasp of cybernetics. Very quick. Very full-on.’

‘But?’

‘Well, speaking candidly,’ replied Byron, ‘I didn’t enjoy his company. He wasn’t a friend of mine so much as a rival.’

‘In more ways than one.’

Byron paused, throwing her a puzzled look, then caught on.

‘He’s there with Audrey,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised the relationship has survived.’

‘Why?’

‘Too one-sided. I heard they got together in Brussels and thought at the time it was a bad match.’

‘Explain.’

‘Audrey’s too cold and aloof for Giles, and he’s too intense for her - one of those people who burns over-bright then goes down in flames. He had some sort of nervous breakdown at Cambridge.

That’s when Audrey took him under her wing. After that he didn’t look back, of course.’

‘I’ve also had a fleeting encounter with your ex,’ said Rita.

Byron grimaced. ‘Not embarrassing, I hope.’

‘I didn’t mention I’m your current bonk, if that’s what you’re referring to.’ She saw him blush. ‘I see what you mean by cold and aloof. She’s one of those women who’re naturally intimidating.’

‘Not the only one I know.’

‘Is that so? Lucky I’ve got a sense of humour. Does Audrey have one?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

Rita was distracted by an icon flashing in the toolbar display.

It was telling her that Audrey Zillman was trying to contact her for a live conversation.

‘Spooky timing,’ she murmured, then told Byron, ‘Got to go, mate. There’s another caller online.’

‘Okay. Don’t let Lola get you plastered.’

‘Are you worried I’ll stray?’

‘That’s a trap question, so I’m not answering.’

‘You’re learning.’

‘Yes, and I’m getting back to my footy report.’

As Byron signed off, Rita clicked the flashing icon. Audrey appeared on the screen, the stilted movements of the webcam image adding an unnatural menace to the austere expression on her face.

‘Hello, Detective Sergeant Marita Van Hassel,’ she said. ‘I see from my online checks that you’re spending the weekend on Hamilton Island. How very pleasant for you.’

‘And I’m hoping to keep it that way. What’s prompted your call, Audrey?’

‘I’ve been accessing your files.’

‘What files?’

‘All of them,’ Audrey replied. ‘Everything relevant to your background. Under security guidelines you’re subject to positive vetting.’

‘I see.’ Rita rubbed her forehead as the effects of the wine kicked in again. ‘That’s something I could do without.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘You tell me.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Audrey said evenly. ‘You’ve passed all the criteria.’

‘I have?’ Rita had a flashback to when she was a teenager in the principal’s office at grammar school. Audrey seemed to possess the daunting aura of a headmistress. ‘Then what’s this about?’

‘There are two items I want to check: one official, one unofficial.’

‘I can feel a headache coming on. Can we start with the official?’

‘If you like,’ said Audrey. ‘As system controller, the human resources files fall within my responsibility and there’s a discrepancy in your security rating.’

‘Really?’

‘You’re registered as an associate officer of the Whitley Sands Security Force with an approved level-one clearance. You’re also confirmed as a police delegate to the Whitley Sands Security Review, again with a level-one clearance.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘You were present in a control room on level five.’ Audrey gave her a probing look. ‘In addition, the project coordinator told me you had a level-five clearance. I’ve examined the updated profiles and you have no such listing. I’d like an explanation.’

‘Can I speak frankly?’

‘Surely that’s your only option.’

‘Fine,’ Rita replied. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Paul Giles lied to you.

He all but hijacked me to level five because of his personal concerns.

If rules were broken, I suggest you take it up with him.’

‘Don’t doubt that I will.’

‘Have you told Maddox?’

‘I’m conducting this check under the data integrity protocols.

It doesn’t require an alert to the security director.’

‘So what’s the point of this?’

‘Because the information in the system is sensitive there are strict directives to maintain the integrity of the data.’

‘And that’s one of your chores?’ asked Rita.

‘It is.’

‘So what’s the unofficial item?’

‘Professor Byron Huxley.’

‘Byron?’ Rita wasn’t expecting this. ‘What about him?’

‘Do you have a relationship with him?’

‘As a matter of fact I do,’ she answered, taken aback by Audrey’s directness. ‘When you say this is unofficial, do you mean it’s personal?’

‘You could put it that way,’ agreed Audrey. ‘He and I share some personal history from our time together at Cambridge. He was an inspired student with a mind that moved beyond the usual parameters. I found him intellectually stimulating and genuinely affectionate.’

‘Did you now? So what went wrong?’

‘Unfortunately, we weren’t emotionally compatible.’

‘I can see that,’ said Rita coolly. ‘But why are we discussing him?’

‘There’s a question mark still outstanding over his rejection of an offer to do breakthrough research in his field at Whitley Sands for an extremely high salary,’ Audrey explained. ‘He turned down the offer and gave no reason. Perhaps you can enlighten me.’

Rita thought she detected a note of regret in the remark, even a touch of pathos. Maybe Audrey was human after all, with the true feelings of a woman carefully concealed behind a mask.

‘It wasn’t because of you,’ Rita said, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. It was the oppressive regime that didn’t appeal to him.

If you understand Byron at all, you’ll realise he needs his independence.’

Audrey paused, as if considering this, then said, ‘That’s true.’

‘While we’re on the subject of personal history,’ Rita continued,

‘what is your current relationship with Paul Giles?’

‘Professional.’

‘And that’s all? What about the emotional side?’

‘From my point of view,’ answered Audrey, ‘it’s nonexistent.’

‘That sounds harsh.’

‘It’s simply a fact.’ Audrey’s eyes seemed to be staring directly into Rita’s as she went on. ‘My focus is on the science of intelligence and pushing the boundaries of research. For the past year I’ve left all individual relationships behind.’

For some reason, the statement made Rita shiver. ‘With all due respect, that seems inhuman, Audrey.’

‘On the contrary, I have the entire spectrum of humanity within my reach.
Humani nihil a me alienum puto.
‘

‘Sorry, my Latin is basic.’

‘Nothing human is alien to me.’

‘Very objective,’ said Rita. ‘I take it that’s because you have the Omniscient Tracker at your disposal.’

‘The name’s a nod to Jeremy Bentham.’

‘With a wink to George Orwell. Playing God with technology leaves a bad taste.’

‘Which do you find distasteful?’ asked Audrey. ‘The technology or God?’

‘I have no doubts about the power of technology.’

‘But you don’t believe in God?’

‘Whose version of God?’

‘Everyone’s,’ Audrey answered. ‘The force that holds the universe intact.’

‘Omniscient or not,’ Rita persisted, ‘you must be lonely if you’ve cut out all relationships. How can you function without emotional support? Don’t you feel the need of love in your life?’

‘What is falling in love but brain chemistry - adrenalin and dopamine forming vivid snapshot memories that stick in the mind and won’t go away. I’m not lonely in the way you think.’ Audrey gave a cryptic smile. ‘We must resume this debate when we next speak. Goodbye for now. I hope you enjoy your holiday.’

With that the face flickered and dissolved from the screen, leaving Rita with an odd sense of numbness, as though she’d been speaking to an emotional vacuum or been touched by almost sublime coldness. There was something frightening about the woman. Byron had had a lucky escape.

Rita freshened up with a shower, did her hair and applied her make-up, before wriggling into her slinky red halter-neck. A pair of high heels and she was ready for action. But first she needed to touch base with Sutcliffe. She picked up her mobile and punched in his number.

‘I’m about to go to the wedding,’ she said. ‘Anything I need to know?’

‘Yeah, Billy’s mobile is switched off,’ he told her. ‘Not even his lawyers have been able to contact him.’

‘Why would they need to?’

‘They’ve got the jitters. The search warrants have given us free rein to go through his business accounts and they haven’t been able to tell him. We’re even putting his links with the council under the microscope. The mayor’s well and truly pissed off.’

‘What about evidence?’

‘Not yet,’ said Sutcliffe. ‘We’re still conducting formal interviews.

It’s obvious he’s got motive for killing Rachel Macarthur and the
Times
reporter but he’s also got alibis provided by his staff. That pisses
me
off. I need to be able to put some real pressure on him.

So, like I said, keep an eye on him, watch who he talks to and listen out for any hint of funding from the proceeds of crime.’

‘And if we get into a stand-off ?’

‘Like you said - rattle his cage. Tell him he’s got a taskforce on his arse. Tell him Whitley Council doesn’t want to know him anymore.’ Sutcliffe gave a brief grunt. ‘On the other hand, don’t put yourself in harm’s way. This guy’s a maniac of one sort or another. There are a couple of uniforms on the island and I’m getting them to position themselves outside the villa gates. If things go pear-shaped, call them in as backup. Don’t hesitate.’

‘Okay. Anything else?’

‘Yeah. Don’t drink too much bubbly.’

Rita observed the wedding from a seat at the back. The venue was the internal courtyard of Vic Barrano’s villa, a two-storey mansion with marble pillars, a driveway curving through an avenue of palm trees and a view overlooking the waters of Catseye Bay. Men in dark glasses and black suits patrolled the grounds and manned the gates. Rita was on the guest list as an editorial assistant to Lola, but she had to show some ID - her driving licence - before they let her in.