‘It might mean old folk like my grandma, who says she can feel it in her bones.’
‘Quite. Not a clue.’
‘Anyway,’ said Troy, ‘I’m stopping for a bit because it gives us time to find out who the site administrator is.’
‘You’re hoping they’ll tell us who Charon Angel is.’
‘Exactly.’
They both began to check out databases and directories.
After half an hour of research, Lexi announced, ‘I told you I was the methodical one. The administrator’s called Sergio Treize, based in … Switzerland.’
‘Switzerland?’ Troy exclaimed. ‘Excellent. The world’s best chocolate. I’ll grab my skis.’
Lexi smiled. ‘Don’t bother. Our laws don’t stretch that far. If he doesn’t want to cooperate, he doesn’t have to.’
Tapping the computer screen, Troy said, ‘You’ve got enough info here for me to put in a video call. What time is it in Switzerland?’
‘I think they’re an hour ahead of us,’ Lexi answered.
‘That’s all right then.’
The first three attempts failed, but Troy got through to Sergio Treize at the fourth try. The outer’s head, shoulders and chest were displayed on Troy’s screen. In his thirties, he wore a sweatshirt with an abstract image and logo, prominent white-rimmed spectacles and he was bald. Oddly, he shook his head from side to side at least twice every minute, giving the impression of trying to dislodge a fly from his cheek without using a hand. Troy assumed he had a nervous tic.
With his computer recording the video conversation, Troy introduced himself.
‘So,’ Sergio said in a French accent, ‘you’re a detective.’ His words and movements were not quite synchronized by the technology.
‘Yes. Investigating a possible assisted suicide.’
‘Is that a crime?’
‘Over here, yes.’ After a brief pause, Troy added, ‘As you’ll know.’
‘I’m aware of several overseas people using my services because they’ve got no local equivalents.’
‘I’m interested in the chat room.’
Sergio’s head gave another nervous shake. ‘It’s very comforting for those who need it.’
‘There’s a contributor called Charon Angel.’
‘Is there?’
‘Yes,’ Troy replied. ‘I need to know who he or she is.’
‘The site guarantees anonymity.’
‘No one deserves a guarantee if they take advantage of people at real low points.’
‘What makes you think …’ Sergio hesitated. Clearly, he’d forgotten the username.
‘Charon Angel.’
‘Yes. What makes you think Charon Angel has been abusing the site — and the people who visit it?’
‘I reckon he’s scouting for body parts.’
‘What?’ Sergio cried, visibly shocked.
‘For medical transplants,’ Troy explained.
‘I find that hard to believe.’ Sergio turned his head to the side and stroked his chin for a few seconds. ‘I’m looking at his contributions now. I can’t see anything definite. He’s either a perfectly good visitor — in which case you don’t need his name — or you’re right and he’ll have supplied a false name and details. Either way, it won’t help you to hand over his profile, so I’m ending this call.’
‘Just tell me. Is he in Switzerland, over here, or somewhere else?’
‘He’s in Switzerland.’
‘Thanks,’ Troy said. ‘Why don’t you keep an eye on what he does? If he posts anything suspicious, send me as much information as you can. All right?’
Sergio shrugged. ‘I’m a busy man, but I’ll monitor him. And, by that, I mean him or her.’
As soon as the image on the screen faded, Troy said to Lexi, ‘Who’s the best computer geek in Crime Central? I’ve got a hacking job I want doing.’
SCENE 11
April showers had not yet arrived. Lying down on the dry ground beside the last line of trees, Lexi raised the binoculars to her eyes and focused on the left-hand side of the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. Then she glanced down at the plan of the building that she’d unearthed and spread it out on the soil. ‘There’s no obvious basement,’ she whispered, ‘but there’s a whole wing Gianna Humble didn’t take us into.’
‘She never said she’d show us everything,’ Troy replied. ‘Maybe that’s where the clean rooms and operating theatres are. No one but doctors and patients would be allowed in. And everyone would have to be scrubbed up.’
A private ambulance came to a halt at the front of the clinic. There was no siren, no panic. A couple of nurses opened the back doors and carefully extracted a patient on a stretcher. Wheeled legs unfolded automatically from underneath the carrier as it emerged from the vehicle, allowing a smooth and effortless transfer to the treatment centre.
Attached to a convenient tree trunk, Lexi’s tiny spy camera recorded all of the comings and goings at the main entrance.
Lexi nodded towards the new arrival and said, ‘That’s one thing I’ve come for.’
Troy looked puzzled. ‘The patient, ambulance, or the trolley?’
‘I think it’s called a gurney. Saying trolley makes it sound like supermarket shopping. Anyway, I need to get my hands on one before we go.’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘Are we going to the back to set up another camera?’
‘Yeah,’ she answered. ‘Keep low so no one sees us.’
They stayed out of view of the clinic until they were at the edge of the wood opposite the rear entrance. Lexi fixed her second miniature camera to a branch, giving her a clear view of the area where body parts were delivered.
‘That’s done,’ she announced as she crouched down next to her partner. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what arrives in the next few days. Let’s go back round to the front. I want to check out what you call a trolley.’
‘Okay.’
When they reached the spot where Lexi had attached the first spy camera, they squatted down again. After a while, a nurse came out of the clinic, pushing the gurney. She left it near the ambulance and went back in through the automatic door.
Seeing an opportunity, Lexi began to scramble to her feet.
Troy’s arm shot out. He grabbed the sleeve of her jacket and yanked her back down.
‘What …?’ she said in an urgent whisper.
‘Look.’
A man wearing a suit and a peaked cap had appeared outside the clinic.
‘So?’ said Lexi. ‘It doesn’t matter who sees me now. I’m not going to break in or anything. I’m just going to measure a gurney.’
‘I saw him here yesterday,’ Troy told her as he watched the well-built man walk towards a cab. ‘Don’t you think it’s weird to be that smart and top it off with a baseball cap?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘but probably not illegal. Shall I get onto the fashion police and see what they think?’
Troy smiled wryly. ‘No. I want to find out who he is.’
Lexi nodded towards the camera. ‘You’ll have his picture to help.’
Pointing at the cab, Troy said, ‘That’s even better.’ He checked the exact time on his life-logger.
Standing up and brushing the dirt from her sleeves and trouser legs, Lexi said, ‘I’ve got a job to do.’
From the edge of the wood, Troy watched Lexi while he spoke into his phone. ‘Travel? Yes. I’ve just watched a middle-aged man take a cab from the Rural Retreat Transplant Clinic. At fifteen twenty-seven precisely. Can you trace it? I want his name and where he’s going. Thanks.’