“Not the person who actually pushed Tyler,” she said regretfully, as she compared his picture with the genome visualization. An undercover team was assigned to keep Townsend under surveillance.
Greg watched as she turned her team to establishing the link between Tyler and Townsend. It was the accountant who tracked down the partnership in Fire-drake. After that it was plain sailing. The accountant worked well with Alison, running analysis programs through the virtual company's records. The distribution company made their order logs available.
By ten o'clock that evening they had it all worked out. Byrne Tyler was ripping off his Firedrake partner Townsend, who discovered what was happening. Knowing the money would never be paid over, a burglar was hired for a custom theft. But there had been a flaw. Byrne Tyler was awake when the break-in occurred. There must have been a struggle.
Amanda took the case to Vernon at quarter past ten. He reviewed it, and authorized the arrest warrant.
Throughout the interview with Townsend, Greg had felt as if he was the one on trial. Not so far from the truth. He was the one who had brought them all together. The strain was twisting him up inside, having to wait patiently while Amanda asked questions which Townsend didn't understand, let alone have answers for. Finally, he could ask the one question that counted.
Physically, Townsend froze up. His hands gripped the armrests, sweat glistened on his brow as his mouth hung open. In his mind, horror and fright rose like ghouls to contaminate every thought.
“Guilty,” Greg said. He hoped he hadn't sagged at the release of his own tension.
“Thank you, Mr. Mandel,” Amanda said.
It was the tone which alarmed Greg. He hadn't been paying attention to the detective. Now he could sense the doubts rippling through her mind. She held his gaze steadily, and said: “I think we both need to take a break now. No doubt you'd like to consult with your solicitor, Mr. Townsend. Interview suspended.” She switched the AV deck off. “Greg, a word, please.”
“Sure.”
As they left the interview room a frantic Townsend was whispering furiously to Jodie Dobson. Amanda went straight downstairs and out into the station's car park. She rounded on Greg. “What the hell is going on?”
“You were right about him, my question confirmed that.”
“Oh, bollocks, Greg. He doesn't have a clue what's going on.”
“He's guilty. I swear it, Amanda.”
“Yeah?” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a cigarette.
“I thought they were illegal?”
“No. That's a common mistake. Usage just prohibits you from claiming National Health Service treatment. If you choose to make yourself ill, don't expect the state to pay to make you better. So given that smoking actually makes it illegal to go to an NHS hospital, it's easy to see how confused people can get over the actual wording of the law. And it suits the government to encourage that confusion.”
“Are we talking in metaphors here?”
“I don't know, Greg. I don't know what's metaphor, what's confusion, and what's truth. But I'm bloody sure Townsend didn't have anything to do with Tyler's death. Detective's instinct, remember.”
“The evidence points straight at him.”
“Yes. With amazing clarity. Funny how that all fell together yesterday. Why yesterday? Why didn't we have it before?”
“We only discovered the painting had been taken yesterday.”
“So we did. No, actually, you did. On the third visit. What's the matter, Greg—psychic power not what it used to be?”
“It's not an exact science.”
“No, it isn't. But you're right. We're lucky to discover the painting. After all, it must have been stolen during a burglary, and that burglary must have been last Wednesday night. Because it couldn't have been taken afterward; no one else has been alone in Tyler's apartment since then, have they Greg? Alone downstairs while I was taking a stupid call from Mike bloody Wilson.”
Greg spread his arms, trying not to show how alarmed he was getting. “A few seconds.”
“How long does it take to switch something that small?”
“I wouldn't know.”
“Neither does Richard Townsend. He claims he only received that painting yesterday.”
“He claims. Do you think Alan O'Hagen can confirm that?”
“You know as well as I do I'll never get to ask that question. But my investigation only took off once every piece of the puzzle was dumped into Townsend's hands for me to find.” She dropped the half-smoked cigarette and crunched it under her foot. “What the hell happened to you, Greg? You, I thought you, of all people were trustworthy. For Christ's sake, you fought the PSP for a decade while people like me hid behind our desks. This is the world you were fighting for. Are you surprised it's not perfection? Is that it? Do you have so little faith in the police, in me, that you have to fabricate all this crap to set up an innocent man? Who the hell are you protecting, Greg?”
“Amanda, I promise you, Townsend is not innocent. He is responsible for someone's death.”
“But not Tyler. If I asked that in the interview room and he said no, what would you tell me, Greg? Would you tell me he's lying?”
“You have all the evidence you need. It will hold together in court without my testimony. He's an accessory to murder. He's responsible.”
“And you couldn't prove it? Not for the real crime. That's it, isn't it? No proof. So you set him up for this.”
Greg remained silent, wondering where all this shame he was suddenly feeling was coming from.
“Fine, Greg,” she said. “You got your man. But what about Tyler's killer. He's still walking around loose. He got away with it, with murder. Tyler might not have been the best person in the world, but surely he deserves better than us turning our backs on him?”
“Tyler wasn't murdered. It was a genuine accident. Although, if he hadn't been the person he was, it wouldn't have happened.”
“What do you mean?”
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.