‘What are you eating?’
Troy looked down. ‘Ice cream.’
‘Yes. It’s a stupid language when you can’t tell the difference between your pudding and “I scream”.’ She mimicked a silent scream. ‘Then there’s “I sing” and the stuff on a cake.’
Troy nodded and smiled. ‘I see what you mean.’
‘It’s even tricky to tell the difference between “new displays” and “nudist plays”.’
Troy laughed. ‘I’ve never been to a nudist play. Sounds revolting.’
After the meal, Lexi settled into a chair and calmly closed her eyes. She took five deep breaths and relaxed into meditation.
With a sigh, Troy turned on his computer and went online. He knew he’d have fifteen uninterrupted minutes.
According to the police files on Dmitri Backhouse, he’d visited a suicide chat room under a username of Backdown. Troy scrolled through endless entries, reading Backdown’s gloomy contributions and looking for any other user who’d encouraged him to die.
There was nothing obvious. Some contributors discussed methods of dying, mostly focusing on degree of pain and certainty of success. Some visitors were endlessly optimistic, probably part of a caring charity, pleading with visitors to seek help. Others were supportive of the decision to end life, but they stopped short of promoting it.
It was clear from his postings that Dmitri Backhouse had lost his faith in God. Like an outer, he saw nothing but the laws of nature. And that had destroyed his sense of worth.
‘If there’s nothing after death, why am I bothering to live? What’s the point? Eighty pointless years. I don’t get it.’
Three visitors had responded almost immediately.
‘Take heart. Outers have no faith. They still lead fulfilling lives.’
‘No road goes on for ever, but they all pass through interesting places before they come to an end.’
‘The point is to help others. There are many ways of doing it. Some are surprising.’
It was the third message that grabbed Troy’s attention. Was it referring to donating organs after death? It had been posted by someone with a username of Charon Angel.
That triggered something in Troy’s memory. He’d heard of Charon. Two minutes of online research told him that, in mythology, Charon was the ferryman who carried the souls of the dead across the River Styx to the underworld. He was the guide between the land of the living and the land of the dead. And he always required payment.
Troy was still staring at the information on the legend when Lexi stirred. Looking up, he said, ‘All systems back up and running?’
‘Mmm. How’s it going?’
Troy shook his head grimly. ‘This job really depresses me.’
Lexi looked surprised. ‘Does it? But you’ve hardly …’ She stopped when she saw Troy break into a mischievous smile.
‘Razor-sharp mind after you’ve turned it back on again, eh?’ he said.
Lexi nodded. ‘You’re going to play a suicidal role online. You want our bad guy to notice your postings and get in touch — if he exists.’
‘Exactly,’ Troy replied. ‘I’m a waste of space. Someone else could do so much more than me. At least, that’s the sort of thing I’m going to write. My body’s the bait.’
‘Good idea. Dangerous tactic.’
‘I don’t mind a bumpy ride — as long as it works.’
Lexi turned towards her own terminal. Her forensic software soon identified the tread of Avril Smallcross’s walking boots among the three sets of impressions near the burial site. The computer defined Unknown Shoeprint 1 as trainer-type, 29.6 cm length (size 12), manufactured by Adibok, no significant wear on either tread. Unknown Shoeprint 2 was smaller: standard walking shoe/boot, 26.2 cm length (size 8), unknown manufacturer, both heels worn, chipped rubber in centre of left shoe.
Putting the graph of round-the-clock temperatures on screen, Lexi assumed that the conditions hadn’t changed much in the last few days. She added into the equation the extent of maggot development and L4G#1’s body temperature when she measured it yesterday. And she calculated that L4G#1 had died on Friday evening and been dumped in the wood very shortly afterwards.
‘It’s warmer than average for April,’ she said. ‘The maggots have lapped it up. I’m pretty sure all the action was on Friday night.’
‘Someone used the cover of darkness to dump the body, then.’
‘More than likely.’
SCENE 7
The experimental music wafted around the room where Lexi relaxed with friends. An outer boy said with a grin, ‘So, you’ve got a new partner in crime. A major. Watch your back is all I’m saying.’
Lexi smiled. ‘He’s on trial with me. And my guess is he’s not the back-stabbing type.’
A girl sucked her forefinger to wet it, dunked it in the pot of termites and then popped them into her mouth. ‘Brain the size of a termite’s,’ she teased, licking her lips.
‘He might not be as stupid as you think. We’ll see.’ Lexi alternated between the bowl of crispy-fried bugs and the live food, pausing only to flick a carapace out from between her teeth.
Another girl exclaimed, ‘You don’t like him, do you? A major!’
Lexi shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Too early to say. But I’ve known a lot worse.’
‘Have you seen what they do after they’ve had a few drinks?’
‘Hey. Just because I’ve got a major partner doesn’t mean it’s my job to defend them,’ Lexi replied. ‘But they’re not the only ones who make a nuisance of themselves.’
‘Have you heard — or seen — how their females go to the toilet? They sit down! Yes, they actually come into contact with it. Hygiene, please!’
Grimacing, Lexi said, ‘So do the boys. On occasions.’
‘Yuck.’
‘Gross!’
Lexi laughed. ‘And you know how they have children, don’t you?’
Almost together, the outers cried, ‘Don’t go there!’
SCENE 8
Grandma was tinkering around in the kitchen. ‘How’s it gone, honey?’ she called out.
‘Okay,’ Troy answered.
‘Is it an interesting case?’
Troy put his head round the door. ‘You don’t want to know the details.’
‘Too true. And what about your partner? Do you get on okay with him?’
‘Her.’
‘Her?’ Straining, she let out a grunt as she bent down to lift a large shepherd’s pie from the oven.
Removing his jacket, Troy entered the kitchen with a smile on his face. ‘Yes, her.’
‘Oh, well. And is she … you know … an outer?’
‘Yes. Lexi. She’s cool.’ He draped his coat over the back of a chair. ‘Smells good,’ he said. He hesitated and then added, ‘The dinner, not Lexi.’
Grandma put the large dish down on the table and began to smother the meal in brown sauce. ‘I’ve always thought it’s best not to mix with outers.’
‘They’re just like us, Gran. Give or take the cooked cockroaches. Anyway,’ he added, ‘it’s policy to pair up major and outer.’
‘They commit most of the crime — and a lot of it’s aimed at us,’ said Grandma.
Troy had heard her opinion many times. It was a widely held view in the major community. He guessed that Lexi knew many outers who believed the exact opposite. ‘It’s not true, Gran. The figures say majors commit crimes against outers just as much as the other way round. Major-on-major and outer-on-outer crimes aren’t exactly rare, either.’