Hermit, Page 23

  Mike stared at the spreadsheet but all he saw were boxes with tiny numbers in them. ‘And that’s bona fide evidence?’

  ‘You mean can someone tamper with it? Well, I guess they could reconfigure what each socket meant: they could re-programme it to say socket B is a clock, not a television. But there’d be an audit trail if they do.’ She tapped the keyboard to refresh. ‘And the electric company – the very well-spoken Jason – assures me they haven’t changed from the original settings.’ Lucy turned to face Mike, her face sombre. ‘I believe Jason. As you would.’

  Mike nodded. ‘I’ve never been lied to by Jason. He’s good people. In fact, I’ve never been lied to by any Jason. It’s an intrinsically trustworthy name. So what does the data say?’

  ‘My new bestest friend Jason and I agree that the pattern the previous evening looks kosher. TV goes off just before midnight; so do the lights. Bedroom light the last to go off. Bathroom light is on for fifty-two seconds at 0314.’

  Mike grimaced, then chuckled. ‘You get to Lynch’s age, that kind of goes with the territory. Let me see . . .’ He ducked back a few pages in his notes, finding the timelines from his discussions with Megan and Lynch. ‘Yeah, that fits with both of them claiming he arrived just before midnight and they went to bed.’

  ‘See here? Or is that too small for you, old-timer?’ Mike squinted. ‘Two sockets running low level and briefly until 0030 – my buddy Jason says that’s usually phone-charging. Here’s where it gets really interesting.’

  Lucy highlighted four columns in the spreadsheet, zoomed in and pointed at various cells. ‘Lights on at 0522 – main bedroom, then main bathroom. Hot water in the bathroom 0523 to 0536. En suite lights 0527. Hot water in the en suite 0528 to 0537. Second socket in the en suite 0539 to 0543 – that’ll be a hairdryer. Then, lights off upstairs, lights on downstairs. There’s a kettle . . . and then a toaster. Only thing still on when Dana arrived was the kitchen light. And the data for after Dana arrives fits with her description of what happened: lights, coffee-making, and so on.’ Lucy tapped a file in her in-tray. ‘I have her notes here.’

  Mike puffed his cheeks and sat back. He hadn’t expected it to be so comprehensive, so definitive. Like the technology on phones and fitness devices, the level of data allowed rapid and detailed inferences about private lives. As a detective, it was extremely useful, but part of him was a little queasy about it.

  ‘Jesus, Luce. That’s uh, fulsome. Not to say Stasi-like.’

  ‘I know, right? All they need now is a jam jar with your scent in it and they have the trifecta. If you don’t deliberately sign against it, the electric company can see all this data. You know, so they can, uh, ‘make sure you’re on the best possible tariff’ and all.’ Lucy tutted. ‘I mean, it’s spooky: worrying, in the wrong hands.’ She laid a reassuring hand on his. ‘It’s fine with upstanding citizens like me and Jace, of course.’

  ‘Of course. So we agree they couldn’t have tampered with the actual meter itself – the recording mechanism?’

  ‘Only by leaving a trail that would be pretty obvious. Jason says the settings haven’t been touched since they were originally created, a week after the Cassavettes moved in. Apparently, that’s fairly common – set and forget.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Mike. ‘I sometimes don’t bother to change the clock in the car when it’s daylight-saving time. Just do the calculation in my head for six months. So I can relate.’

  He looked to Lucy, and was embarrassed at her mouthing you old man.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘if they can’t tamper with the recordings, then . . .’

  ‘Way ahead of you. Here’s how they could do it.’ She leaned forward and pulled up the reports from other teams that morning. ‘Search team says there’s no burglar alarm in the Cassavette house, and the clocks by the bed, judging from the search photos, are battery-powered. Door-to-door says Lynch parks round the back of the property, next to some waste ground. So it’s possible to leave the house and drive to the store without leaving a trail of smart meter, lights or any CCTV between one place and the other.’

  ‘No cameras at all?’ Mike had hoped that a second sweep might have found at least one that faced the road. Even something that identified the car type, if not a number plate, might have been effective leverage face to face.

  ‘There is . . . there are some in homes along the route, but none that has any view of the road. They all face the houses, or face inwards from the electric gate to show the visitor’s face. So, effectively, no. It’s ten kilometres – seven minutes if you’re busting it through the backroads – from that edge of Earlville to Jensen’s Store. Dana did the exact route on the way back from Megan’s and timed it, clever girl.’

  ‘All right – Lynch or Megan could have got to the crime scene and back unhindered. But how would they fool the Stasi-meter?’

  Lucy sat back a little to explain. ‘So they get up – in the dark – at 0500. They know not to switch on the lights. No burglar alarm to switch off, no electric clock with a spurt of power when it wakes them up. So far, so good. One of them – let’s say Lynch, but it could be either of them – slips out in darkness, into the car and over to the store. Megan stays in the dark until 0522, then she starts switching on lights and showers in both bathrooms, as if they’re both there.’

  ‘That’s feasible.’ Mike joined fingertips in a prayer motion. ‘Pray continue your bold narrative, madam.’

  ‘Lynch does the business, gets back by 0545, has breakfast with his lover and toddles off to the gym, where he has the shower they pretended he took earlier. Maybe ditches any bloodied clothes along the way. Megan is about to wash the tell-tale sheets when Dana shows up.’

  ‘Ah. If one of them is the killer, and they’re hiding their activities, why not put the sheets in the wash earlier? Why leave evidence that Lynch has, uh, stayed over?’

  Lucy thought for a moment. It was a reasonable question. If the couple were being so forensically aware, and wanted to keep Lynch’s presence a secret if they could, why not wash the sheets straight away?

  ‘Because . . . Dana’s there earlier than they expected.’ Lucy was thinking it through. ‘They thought Lou would only be found when the shop staff arrived, not before. Which would be around 0730. Lou was discovered about two hours earlier than the killer would have anticipated. We found the body thanks to the silent alarm at Jensen’s Store. Maybe Megan doesn’t know the ins and outs of the store’s alarm system. Perhaps she thought it would be switched off since Lou was inside the store: she didn’t realise Lynch would be setting it off.’

  ‘Assuming he did set it off.’ Mike tapped his pen against the corner of the desk, until he sensed it was driving Lucy up the wall. ‘That bit – the entry into the store – is still the trickiest bit for me. We’re assuming Megan knew little about the security in that store, but that might not be entirely true. I mean, she co-signed the loans that paid for it, she co-owns the store, she’s still talking to Lou. Maybe he updated her each time he ramped up the security.’

  They sat for a second.

  ‘Dana,’ they both stated at once.

  ‘We need to talk to Dana,’ said Mike.

  ‘She’s in with Whittler again,’ said Lucy. ‘Explaining how his lovely little cavern is being sullied. He might be sulking and refusing to speak by now. Let’s check.’

  Chapter 24

  Dana closed the door on Nathan. What she really wanted now was what she couldn’t get: an hour by herself in a darkened room with no noise and no people. She could feel she was near the edge. Her thinking was becoming ragged and distracted, buffeting from idea to idea; not fully taking in what was said, or how it was said. It was a warning sign: this time she’d had to finish talking with Nathan because she was exhausted, not because he was too drained to continue. She needed to be better than this, she told herself; had to be sharper. If she couldn’t grab that hour, she’d have to make do with a ten-minute island: drinking in some deep breaths, she texted Father Timms, requ
ested a meet outside the station.

  The investigation had accelerated: she had to run at the same pace.

  Back in her office, she re-checked the canisters in her drawer and tapped her pocket. This time, she remembered to fish out her mobile and switch it on. Three messages from Stu.

  First, he’d requested heavy-duty back-up machinery for tomorrow to help him sweep the cave and surrounding area. As per Dana’s instructions, he’d be the only one inside the cave: she was keeping her promise to Nathan.

  Second, he’d pushed Forensics on the knife.

  Third, she should check her email: knife details.

  The email from Forensics was perfunctory. The store carried more fingerprints than brands of lollies. Twenty-five sets of fingerprints identified, including staff members and customers on police file. Seventy-seven sets with no identification in the system. A full list of current idents had been sent through to Mike and Lucy earlier, before Mike tackled Spencer Lynch.

  Dana considered the implications. Mike and Lucy would have already cross-referenced the twenty-five against anyone knowing Lou or Megan or potentially involved in the case. That would narrow down the numbers considerably; it would be their responsibility to chase any emerging leads. The seventy-seven were a worry: the killer could be among them, and already had half a day’s start. He or she might be across the country, or overseas, by now. If the killer wasn’t anyone they already knew existed, the possibilities blew out exponentially. The investigation would be weeks and months, maybe years. She shuddered.

  Blood on the knife in question matched Lou Cassavette’s type: but nearly forty per cent of humanity was also A+. DNA to come in a day or two, but not even conjecture at this point. There were no fingerprints of any kind on the blade or handle. Any drops of blood from the blade when it came out of the wound had been smeared by the body falling to the floor, therefore there was no blood trail to indicate how the knife came to be under the freezer. Skittled there inadvertently was most likely but, pending further reports, impossible to prove at this point.

  Dana had spent half the day waiting to find the knife, assuming it would be a major turning point. Some cases squirmed out of reach that way – killer facts turned out not to be so killer, while minor points eventually became crucial. This case was one of those. Almost certainly, the knife they had was the murder weapon: that alone indicated the killing was improvised, in the sense that someone pulled a knife from a packet in the store. It demonstrated a lack of overt planning to kill. But beyond that, it still didn’t prove who. And why remained the biggest question in her mind.

  She was missing something she shouldn’t miss. And she knew it.

  There was a knock on her door and two heads poked around, one above the other, in Scooby-Doo style. Mike and Lucy had emerged from their office. It was possible they’d caught the latest interview with Nathan from the CCTV feed.

  ‘Thelma and Freddy! Come in, guys. How’d it go with Lynch?’

  ‘I don’t like being Freddy,’ pouted Mike as they entered. ‘He was impossibly camp, always wore a cravat, for crying out loud, and he never solved anything.’

  ‘Yes, all true.’ Dana shrugged. ‘He was outperformed by a brainless dog. Your only other option is Shaggy, though; I can’t see you eating a sandwich taller than your upper body. Or saying “zoinks”.’ She tapped her pen against the desk. ‘On the other hand, Freddy got to drive the van; and I’m pretty sure he ended up in bed with Daphne, in the raunchy adults-only sequel they never made. So, you know, all good in the end.’

  Mike remained unconvinced. ‘Still . . . I never sit with my back to a bookcase. And I don’t trust janitors, managers of old mines, or fairground owners.’

  Lucy sniggered behind a fist.

  ‘Okay,’ said Mike. ‘Lynch? He opened up pretty well; he has motive, and he knows the place. But I kinda believe his answers, oddly enough. I went to see Megan after; checked up on some of the things Lynch had claimed. They pretty much corroborate each other, but their alibi is still flimsy.’

  ‘Crap.’

  On the one hand, Dana wanted Megan and Lynch to be cleared unequivocally, so she could put all her thought into unravelling Nathan. However, Nathan’s motivation was mystifying.

  Lucy added her news. ‘When I cross-reffed the list of fingerprint idents from the store, guess who came up? Spencer Lynch.’

  ‘Spence blustered about having a brain snap,’ added Mike. ‘Visited the store intending to check Lou out, then bottled it. Megan apparently had no idea he’d ever been there.’

  Every time Dana was preparing to concede that Megan had no part to play, something cropped up that put her somewhere near the frame.

  ‘What’s your take, Mikey?’

  ‘I think, reluctantly, he might be telling the truth. His fingerprint was there, but partially smudged with another from a store employee, which supports his claim that his visit was last week, and not this morning. Megan’s surprise seemed genuine: I think she’d made it clear Spence wasn’t to do that, and, uh, his job was to agree and obey.’ Mike shook his head. ‘That’s how I see their dynamic, too, by the way. He’s more educated, but she’s smarter. He’s older, but she holds the reins.’

  ‘Yes, that tallies with everything I’ve seen and heard so far. She has – had – two equally grateful men in her life: now she has the one she apparently wants. Yet, so far, I can’t see the whole jealousy motive quite sticking.’

  Dana was suddenly hungry. Adrenaline made her feel over-caffeinated and shaky. She indicated the stairs towards the canteen. As they ascended, Lucy updated Dana about the smart meter and what it might mean. Dana cursed herself for not mentioning it at the briefing – it had taken Spencer’s alibi claim for it to resurface. Another slip that others had thankfully caught. Another indication that the Day was stealing her professional expertise. She’d spent longer, she calculated, vomiting behind a building than she had thinking about the smart meter as an alibi.

  ‘Jeez, I’m hopeless today, Luce. Megan mentioned that this morning. Ages ago. I should have told you, even if I didn’t share at the briefing. We could be hours into that if I’d concentrated.’

  Lucy waved a hand. ‘Ah, I’m a woman ahead of her time. So I’ve caught us up. No harm, no foul. Besides, I’m not happy with it,’ Lucy continued. ‘It looks like it’s providing an alibi but it’s possible to fool it.’

  They paused at the top floor, Dana out of breath and tweaking her kneecap. ‘I hear you. So, as an alibi, it’s weak. In which case, the other evidence becomes more weighty. We need full value on the will and the other paperwork. At least that might help us decide if they had enough motive.’

  Dana’s phone went: Rainer. Mike mimed swilling coffee and went ahead. Lucy skulked on the landing while Dana took the call.

  ‘Uh huh, okay. Good, that’s one less thing to worry about. And definitely not last night? Right, right. Yes, start on that. Hospital records, too. There’s something there, I’m sure of it. Danke.’

  ‘So international right now,’ Lucy grinned. ‘Spanish and German on the same day?’

  ‘I’m a global village. Rainer found the red-hair source for Lou’s sleeping bag. One of the girls who works shifts at Jensen’s. Uses the store as a rendezvous because her parents consider her boyfriend a bad influence. Apparently, the alarm code is so widely known it’s useless. But the redhead wasn’t there last night – at a concert interstate and definitely got back this morning.’

  Lucy folded her arms and tapped one foot against the other. ‘So no evidence Lou was cheating?’

  ‘Absolutely zero. Which makes me feel pretty crappy now. I jumped into suspecting him because he’s not as good-looking as his wife. Clearly, being the cuter of the two should have made her more likely to be the cheater.’

  There was something underpinning Dana’s comment. Lucy thought of pursuing it but bit her tongue and instead said, ‘Rainer was smart about it. There were three redheads on the employee list I gave him. He rang Forensics and double-checked i
f the red hair was natural or dyed, then tried the youngest first, because she had the pale skin and freckles to go with it. He’s a bright spark.’

  ‘He is,’ replied Dana as they came through the canteen doors. ‘Might be able to find him a secondment, or something.’

  Dana’s mind was still on the potential to fake alibis. It meant she couldn’t drop Megan or Spencer Lynch as suspects. Like Mike, she hadn’t fully appreciated what technology could do to place people at particular times and locations. The public sometimes seemed to imagine the police had an infinite array of databases that placed everyone to the minute and to the millimetre: the curse of television, she presumed. They forgot that the police had no such thing; and that even if they did the data might be unreliable, insufficient, out of date, manipulated or contradictory. In short, it would need checking out.

  All the same, the smart meter appeared to Dana to be a viable resource. But Lucy was adamant that the smart meter was as much a red herring as proof: it could provide false assurance without the data itself being doctored.

  The cloud was now low and glowering, threatening heavy rain later in the day. Dana’s knee felt better for the walk, despite the stairs. She checked she still had the nebuliser in her pocket.

  They grabbed a table by the window. The canteen had once been split into a highly civilised senior officers’ lounge, and a scrappy set of tables and chairs for the grunts. Bill had the divide ripped out in his first week, cementing his reputation as Billy Win-Win. Now they all shared the scratchy plastic chairs, smeared cutlery and wobbly tables. One wall was lined with the photos of fallen comrades, another with posters for an upcoming three-legged race for charity. From the sublime, to ridiculous.

  The canteen was on the third floor, high enough to see beyond the outbuildings and most treetops to the horizon. In the west the stacks of the smelter punched the skyline. At night, they took on a science-fiction hue; all hulking metal, warning lights and billowing vapour. By day, even from this distance, they looked like rusty, clattering steam-punk: a relic from another era.