Greg slowly took his cybofax from his jacket pocket, and flipped it open. The face of Tyler's killer looked out blankly from the screen. Greg typed in a few simple instructions, altering the characteristics age-projection program. The face evolved again, but not running its standard eighteen-to-eighty cycle. This time it went back eight years. Daniel Sullivan stared out at Amanda.
“Oh, fuck,” she whispered.
“He found out that Tyler was blackmailing his sister into having sex,” Greg said. “So that night he sneaked into the Ingalo's boot. He must have got in through the cloakroom window, probably even saw them on the bed together. Tyler heard him moving around and went to investigate. Daniel pushed him. A little boy incensed at what he'd seen happen to the sister he loved.”
“And she covered for him,” Amanda said. “Turned down the air-conditioning, took the crystal from the AV deck, wiped his fingerprints, then drove him home.”
“Yeah.”
“You knew it all the minute you walked into the bungalow, didn't you?”
“That poor kid was so scared I'm just surprised no one else noticed him.”
“I need another cigarette.”
“You shouldn't. They'll kill you.” He waited to see what she'd do.
She took the packet of twenty from her pocket, and after a long moment handed them to him. “You keep them, and don't tell the health police, huh?”
“I don't have time right now. I have to organize a funeral.”
“Anyone I know?”
“My father-in-law. He died after a hit-and-run.”
Amanda paused for a moment. “Take care, Greg.”
“And you.” He got into the Ranger, and drove out of the station car park. A last glance in the rearview mirror showed him Amanda squaring her shoulders, then marching back into the station.