‘I won’t let you down.’ Troy turned towards Terabyte. ‘Can you get the story out on the media and internet? Everywhere you can think of. “Hurlstone cliff claims the life of second girl this year. An unknown outer, sixteen years old, leapt to her death this evening.” That sort of thing. Make sure you mention the Hurlstone hall of rest.’
‘No problem.’
‘Put seven o’clock in the report,’ Lexi suggested. ‘Then he’s got five hours if he wants my lungs or heart. After that decay will make them useless. Hey presto. All over by midnight.’
‘What if he wants liver or kidneys?’ Troy asked.
‘Then I’ve got a longer wait. Eight to fifteen hours. Might be a good idea to shut me in with some cricket tortillas, preferably topped with radish and orange. And run a tube from the nearest beer barrel.’
SCENE 25
In a white funeral robe, Lexi walked right around her coffin and sighed. ‘It’s small, isn’t it?’
‘It’s the biggest they’ve got,’ Troy said, ‘but, no, you’re not going to have a lot of room.’
‘No chance of inviting a few friends round.’
‘Are you sure …?’
‘Yes.’
‘We could do it with an empty coffin. If he comes in and pulls back the lid … Maybe that’s enough.’
‘I’m not sure — and he might escape. If he attacks a dead body — me — on camera, we get proof and I’ll be so angry, he won’t stand a chance of getting away. That’s a watertight case.’
‘Unlike the coffin,’ Troy said with a smile.
‘What?’
‘The coffin’s not watertight — or airtight. I made sure of that when I asked for it.’
‘Very reassuring.’
At seven thirty, Terabyte announced in their earpieces that the story about Lexi’s tragic leap half an hour earlier had gone live.
‘Okay?’ Troy asked.
‘I suppose,’ she said.
‘There’s no great hurry. Sergio’s got to pick up the story, decide if he wants any of your organs and then get here.’
Outside, a seagull screeched loudly.
‘I think I’d better take up my position. Is my earpiece showing?’
‘No. You’re fine.’
The hall of rest was illuminated dimly by lights sunk into the ceiling. The coffin had been placed on a plinth about fifty centimetres off the ground. Lexi put a small torch inside, roughly where her waist would be. To steady herself as she clambered in, she gripped Troy’s shoulder. Strangely, Troy felt flattered that she trusted him. Before the end of the night, she would have to rely on him much more. She wouldn’t have agreed to be the lure, Troy thought, if she didn’t have complete confidence in him.
Troy moved to the foot of the coffin and took hold of the lid. Before he pushed it forward and over her body, he said, ‘All right?’
She adjusted her funeral gown and nodded. ‘Do it.’
The lid rumbled over her, cutting her off from the real world.
There was a hidden microphone sewn into the inside of her robe. Her voice was a whisper in Troy’s earpiece but it was clear. ‘Can you see the light from my torch out there?’
‘No. It’s okay if you want it on.’ He walked out of the main hall and went into the small annex. There, he spoke quietly into the microphone attached to his sweatshirt. ‘Can you still hear me?’
‘No.’
‘Great. A dead body with a sense of humour.’
‘You must be hoping we’ve wrapped it up by midnight, mustn’t you?’
‘Well …’
‘Sunday’s your day for skiving off to a temple.’
‘Just this once, I imagine God’ll forgive me if I’m still ridding the world of bad guys.’
The two spy cameras were working fine. One was trained on the entrance to the hall of rest. The other focused on the only coffin in the room. Troy had arranged with Spike Pennyworth that there would not be any corpses and none would be allowed to arrive in the night. The whole place was spookily quiet.
After half an hour, concerned for his partner, Troy checked, ‘Are you okay?’
‘This lying down lark isn’t as easy as I thought. It’s hard to relax. Even with my eyes closed and the torch off, I can tell the lid’s a few centimetres from my nose. I guess this is what claustrophobia feels like. Pipe me some music, Troy. Maybe that’ll help.’
‘What sort?’
‘Anything apart from death metal. That wouldn’t be funny. There’s a music app on my computer. Set it to play on random.’
Troy sat and waited, his heart thumping. Despite the cool stillness, he would not fall asleep. His eyes darted from one screen to the other. First the coffin that held his partner and then the doorway. But nothing moved. Nothing stirred at all. Not a sound.
He couldn’t imagine how awful it was for Lexi. She was pretending to be dead, confined to a horribly small space, waiting for a serial killer. She had her partner as a lookout but no other backup. If they’d ringed the place with police officers, the bad guy might well have spotted the trap and refused to take the bait.
At eight thirty, Troy faded the stream of music. ‘Still with me?’
‘Yes. The music helps. Are you still awake?’
‘No.’
‘Very funny,’ she whispered.
‘Just getting my own back.’
‘Any action yet?’
‘Not a sausage.’
‘You’re obsessed with them,’ Lexi said. ‘You’re not eating one now, are you?’
‘No. I’m concentrating.’
‘Good to hear that.’
‘Tell me straightaway if you want out,’ said Troy. ‘Remember the empty coffin option.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘Here’s your music again.’
Ten minutes later, Troy turned down the music volume and whispered into the microphone. ‘Something’s just struck me. If he opens your coffin, won’t the warmth of your body give it away?’
‘Dead bodies stay warm for about eight hours. They go stiff after three or thereabouts. It’s breathing I’m bothered about. That’s something corpses just don’t do. I’m trying to calm down my metabolism. And slow my heartbeat. I can do it. It’s not a myth and I’m in a sort of life-threatening situation. It’s just super-meditation. Super-relaxation — or mini-hibernation.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ Troy said. ‘You’ll have to act quickly if he turns up. Do you still want me to talk to you every half hour?’
‘Yes. It tells me you’re awake.’
Troy chuckled. ‘So, it’s you checking up on me?’
‘Too right.’
‘Not the other way round?’
‘Huh,’ was her only reply.
Troy took a deep breath. His mood kept changing. Sometimes, the atmosphere seemed so serene that he could never imagine anything bad happening. At other times, the dark and the stillness were so creepy that he could imagine all too easily that something terrible was bound to take place at any moment. He felt unsettled and tense. And he was far from certain that they were doing the right thing.
At nine o’clock, Lexi didn’t say much at all. She could have been half asleep. She was probably deep in meditation. If she had been a major, Troy would have called it a spiritual state. At nine thirty, her words were slow and slurred. At ten o’clock, she seemed less groggy. She was both agitated and bored.
At ten thirteen, the door into the hall of rest began to open slowly.
Immediately, Troy’s heart thudded alarmingly in his chest. He jumped up and bent over the monitor.
‘Lexi,’ he said in an urgent hush. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t say anything else, just listen to me. It’s happening. The door’s … Yes. He’s in. And … I … er … I don’t think it’s Sergio Treize. No. It’s an older man. Never seen him before. He’s got a holdall in his hand. He’s near you. He’s put it down and … He’s got out one of those cooled boxes for storing body organs. He’s our man. He’s put that down as well. He’s got something else in his right hand. A knife. Scalpel. Keep still, Lexi. He’s put the scalpel on top of the box. He’s got a jemmy — you know, a crowbar — out of the bag and he’s examining the coffin lid. He’s going to lever it. Hold your breath. He’s realized it’s not sealed. He’s putting the crowbar down. He’s pushing the lid back now. No weapon in his hand.’