Murder in the Fabric Page 5

to its current stationary spot appeared. Why? Because the technology could do it.

  He glanced at his phone for directions, and realised that he was at Wild Cherry Road, and he needed to turn left. He entered the street, and noticed immediately the difference to North Road. There were a couple of kids playing outside, and they looked up. He had about thirty houses to cover, and he took notice of the numbers, the side of the street that he was aiming for. He walked more slowly.

  He smiled at the kids, and they smiled back. Then they looked away, and he realised they were looking past him. He glanced over his shoulder, and became aware of the car just keeping pace with him, right behind him.

  He stopped, and the car stopped. Through force of habit he looked for the driver, and of course there wasn’t one. Unusually though, there was nobody in the car either. He didn’t feel in any danger, but it was clear that he was meant to stop, to engage with the car.

  The passenger side window slid down, and a screen rotated up into the window space. He could see a young female in a nondescript office. It could have been anywhere. She smiled at him.

  “Good morning. I am wondering what your business is here this morning.” she said. There was just a hint of a Bangalore accent. A camera rose up beside the screen, and clearly began sampling images of his face.

  “I didn’t realise I needed a clearance.” he said.

  “An oversight, Inspector Kostas. It is easily remedied. You may not have been aware of how our coverage has expanded.”

  “Coverage?”

  “You are aware of our presence, of course. Our slogan ‘It doesn’t take a gate’.”

  He was vaguely aware of the expansion of the security coverage. Even had seen one of those cute videos. Come to think of it, it could have been filmed in this street. It had a kids playing behind a gate, throwing a ball onto the street. A gate that disappeared, replaced by drones and sensors. Then a pitch based on the low up front cost, and the guaranteed performance.

  “Yes. How could I not be aware of your presence.”

  “I have you identified. Now I just need to get an authority number from your organisation.” she said.

  He restrained himself. In a sense the ‘gated community’ companies were replacing him. The new high tech way of ‘safety’. This was neither the time or the place to argue.

  “Just a moment.” he said.

  He called Steve, and explained the situation. In the time he took to go through it, Steve had already punched in a code, and the systems had worked themselves out.

  “Thank you Inspector. I see that all of the clearances are resolved. You have a nice day.”

  “You too.”

  Maybe it was just that he was too aware of all this technology. That a simple turn from a main road into a side street brings up a whole world of triggers and certificate exchange. Was it always the way that as you got older that you hankered for the simple things before? He continued towards his destination.

  “Wife history” he muttered. The glasses were hooked to the wall, he didn’t need to say which wife. Context stayed with him.

  Mrs Everyman had a privileged background. Private school. Father lawyer, mother real estate. It frustrated George. Everything here was plain vanilla. No distinguishing marks. If he didn’t have the actual physical bodies, he would assume this was created on a computer somewhere with the express purpose of slipping into the background.

  He took the glasses off as he approached the house. If she was who she appeared to be then being interrogated, however gently, by somebody wearing the glasses was going to provoke a response. Not the response he was looking for.

  “George Kostas. Homicide.” he said, then continued. “I am so sorry about your husband. But, I am afraid I have to ask you some questions.”

  “Homicide” she said. Mid fourties, red hair. Traces of grey, where she had not succeeded with the dye.

  “They told me it was an accident.” she said.

  “They shouldn’t have.” he said, and immediately regretted it. He continued. “Did your husband have any enemies? Somebody who would want to kill him?”

  She looked at George as if he had lost his mind.

  “He was a middle level computer engineer. With a passion for his football team.” she said.

  George paused. She was right, of course. He better use his brain instead of just spitting the standard questions.

  “I’m so sorry.” he said, and turned away. “We are searching for a motive.”

  She was looking at a photo, and in a tired way, she turned towards him.

  “I have to ask. Your marriage?” he said.

  “Was good. Or as good as they are, I guess. You married?” she said.

  “No.”

  “Well then.” she said. She looked as if she had aged ten years this morning. People did. Some recovered. Some didn’t. George didn’t hesitate though. This was what he did. As bad as it was, he didn’t like to thing of how many times he had done this. He continued.

  “Somebody had a motive. Somebody smart enough to hack into a highway system, and not leave a trace.”

  Tell it like it is, George thought.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.” she said.

  // Mia

  Mia was alone with the room, and the technology. She fired everything up. No messages from the backers. She had half expected a startup guide, or a manual. She smiled to herself. You leave behind that sort of thing. That meeting across the cafe table where it was all laid out. No choices. As if her whole life had many possible paths, but they all lead to that point.

  He was quietly spoken, mid thirties. As if there was no need to exaggerate things, or speak strongly. The evidence that he laid out in front of her spoke volumes. He didn’t need to say ‘this is where you work for us, or you vanish into the gulag somewhere’.

  She was still adjusting to the view. As if this was the best seats in the house. She was used to sitting down the very front in the cheap seats. All of a sudden transported to the private corporate boxes, the most exclusive. In one swift movement.

  Sitting, watching the messages roll over. In a very real sense this was her home. The internet itself. Physical location was not important, as long as there was a strong connection. No matter where she was on the planet, she was reconnected with a couple of messages. To almost everyone that mattered to her.

  Music. She needed some. Sitting in the room, with the darkening horizon, she listened to her favourite music. Like a buddhist monk with a gong. Oscar came up on the messaging screen.

  “I need some gigolo lessons.” he said

  “Just imagine you are in a hostel in Vientiane. You see a girl that looks cute.” she said

  “You’ve been following me.”

  “Don’t need too.”

  “But from the internet?”

  “Same deal. Casual interaction leads to noticing. Interest is sparked. Stuff happens.” she said.

  “So trawl the candidates for an interest. Make my presence felt.”

  “Now you are learning.”

  Oscar dropped off. She thought about it. Like any skill, with a bit of practice it wasn’t so hard.

  If it was so simple, how come she ended up here, she thought. Solitary soldier, paid by somebody she had never met. Didn’t even know. For a cause that she had no idea about. If she went backwards through her decisions then they all resulted in being at this location at this time.

  // George

  George watched the suburbs flit by the train window on the way back to the fun palace, with not much to show for his efforts. They called it the “fun palace” as a tribute to it’s ridiculous architecture. As a police headquarters, it looked actually like a kid’s fun park. There was also the ironic aspect.

  As far as he could tell from the wall, and talking to the wife, there was nothing mysterious about the victim’s personal life. The wall could do a scan of comings and goings at the house, and look for unusual financial activity. No matter how hard the
participants tried to hide the affair, it would show up somewhere. Nothing. Not even a hint. So he descended into the dungeon again to meet with Alan. Hoping that he had something to show.

  “Two visits in a week. I must have attractions that you can’t resist.” Alan said.

  “Couldn’t keep away. The decor. The excitement.” George said.

  “Yes, I suspected.”

  “Anything?” George asked.

  “Not much. I ran the integrity checks on the code in the car guidance system. It looks for any variation in the code. If somebody has hacked it, then there will be a difference. It’s not possible to hide it.” Alan said.

  “And?”

  “See for yourself.” he said. The screens showed a line by line scan, that compared the code of the version of software that was installed in the car, with what was actually in the car.

  “What am I seeing?” George asked.

  “See the green mask. Well if there is a difference, it will show red.”

  It continued on, at blinding speed.

  “Lots of code.” George said.

  “Yes.” Alan said.

  George watched the green. Lots of it. It took minutes to go through. In the end, it stopped. No red.

  “No tampering?” George said.

  “It would appear so.” Alan said.

  George sat back in his chair. Stared at the ceiling. Reflecting on what he had told the wife. How certain he had been that this was not a simple accident.

  “Nothing.” George said.

  “I didn’t say that.” Alan said.

  A glimmer of hope. Alan continued.

  “Look at this. Compare the size of the two files. ”

  He showed two numbers. One was slightly larger than the other.

  “I don’t