Val McDermid - Crack Down

I’d seen him before, no question about it. The problem was, I didn’t have a clue where or when.

I stopped running and took a couple of seconds to work out exactly where I was. I could feel the prickle of sweat under my helmet as I swivelled my head from side to side. I turned sharp right and started running again. As I rounded the next corner, my heart sank. I’d hesitated too long. The tank was heading straight for me, blocking the entire width of the street. Desperately, I turned back, in time to see the helicopter closing off my retreat by dropping a block of what looked remarkably like granite into the street.

Resigned to defeat, I pulled off my helmet and glove. In the next playing area, Davy was still inside his helmet, one hand on the joystick that controlled the tank, the other punching the air triumphantly. I hate kids. They’re always better at the computer games where hand — eye coordination is vital.

I tapped the top of his helmet and undid the straps. Reluctantly, he let go the joystick and climbed out of the seat. ‘Time up, cybernaut,’ I said. I glanced at my watch. ‘They’ll be closing soon.’ The brand new VIRUS Centre (Virtual Reality UniverSe, I kid you not) had proved to be the best possible way of amusing Davy without doing my head in. It had only opened a month before, and secretly I’d been dying to try out the twenty game scenarios promised in their lavish brochure. I’d been wary about coming on a bank holiday Monday, but it had been surprisingly quiet. I blame the parents. Not that I’m complaining — their absence gave me and Davy a lot more scope for enjoying ourselves.

I suppose I should have felt guilty, indulging myself with swords and sorcery while Richard was still languishing, but he seemed to think that his son’s enjoyment was just as important as my attempts to get him released. Besides, Alexis had had to go into the office anyway to do some last-minute work on the child porn exposé that would launch the Chronicle ’s latest campaign. At least I’d pitched her into trying to find out who lived at Hickory Dell.

We headed back to the car via the souvenir shop. ‘Enjoy yourself?’ I asked. Pretty redundant question, really.

‘It was boss. Top wicked.’ I took that to mean approval. ‘It was a lot better than Ice World,’ he said judiciously. ‘Skating gets boring after a while. Your ankles get sore. And the other stuff was pretty boring. You know, all that discovering the South Pole stuff. The models are really naff, and they don’t do anything. ’S not surprising there was hardly anybody there,’ he added, dismissing Alexis’s attempts to entertain him.

‘Wasn’t there?’ I asked, more for something to say than out of interest.

‘There was no queues,’ he said indignantly. ‘Anything worth doing always has queues.’ He looked around the souvenir shop, where we were the only customers. ‘Except this place,’ he qualified.

How bizarre to be part of a generation where queues are a sign of approval. Me, I’d pay money to avoid standing in line. I’m the driver everyone hates, the one who jumps the queue of standing traffic on the motorway and sneaks in just as the three lanes narrow to two. I nearly said something, but Davy was already delving through a box of transfers.

I left him to his browsing and ambled over to the ego board by the door. It displayed five-inch by three-inch colour photographs of the creators and senior staff of the VIRUS Centre, captioned with their names and executive titles. They all looked interchangeable with the mugshots on the board down the local supermarket. I turned back to check on Davy, and suddenly my subconscious swung into action. No queues at Ice World, coupled with the ego board, had finally woken my memory. The answer had been there all the time, only I’d been too dozy to spot it.

• •

When we got back, Alexis was sitting in my conservatory, trying to look like she was engrossed in the evening paper. I knew she was only pretending; Chris gave the game away. ‘You were right,’ she said to Alexis in a surprised voice. ‘It was Kate’s car. Hello, you two. Have a good day?’

That was all the encouragement Davy needed. He launched into a blow-by-blow account of the VIRUS Centre. Like an angel, Chris steered him off towards the kitchen, seducing him with promises of fish fingers and baked beans. I collapsed on the sofa and groaned. ‘Thank God for contraception,’ I muttered.

‘I don’t know what you’re going on about,’ Alexis said. ‘He’s good as gold. You want to spend a day looking after my nephew. He’s hyperactive and his mother’s the kind of divvy who fills him up with E numbers. Any more complaints from you and I won’t tell you what I’ve found out today.’

I closed my eyes and leaned back. ‘The occupant of Hickory Dell is Eliot James,’ I intoned. ‘Boss man at Tonik Leisure Services. Owners of, among other things, Ice World. Which, if what Davy says is right, must be struggling. If you’re half-empty on a cold bank holiday Sunday morning, you’re not going to weather the recession indefinitely.’ I sneaked an eyelid half-open. Alexis’s expression moved from fury to disappointment to amusement. Luckily for me, it stopped there.

‘Nobody loves a smartass,’ she growled. ‘OK, clever clogs. So what else have you dug up about Jammy James while you’ve supposedly been off entertaining me laddo? I mean, I don’t know why I bother putting myself out when you just bugger off and do it yourself anyway!’

I sat up and tried to look apologetic. ‘I haven’t been doing any digging, I promise you. Like I said this morning, I knew I’d seen him before, I just couldn’t get a handle on it. Then Davy told me Ice World was as lively as Antarctica on a Saturday night, which set me wondering how these theme parks cover their overheads when the punters haven’t got enough money to take the family out on a bank holiday. We were in the souvenir shop, and they’ve got one of those boards with the flattering photos of the top brass that are meant to make you think this is a really user-friendly operation. I was staring at that, and then I remembered that I’d seen the guy I trailed on one of those ego boards. Add that to the personalized number plate on the car…’

‘What personalized plate?’ Alexis protested. ‘You never said anything to me about a personalized plate!’

I gave a guilty smile. ‘I…ah…I forgot to mention that. TON IK. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

Alexis shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It’s worse working for you than for my brain-dead newsdesk. So what else have you remembered?’

‘That’s it,’ I promised. ‘Have you got anything?’

Alexis pulled a face. ‘Bits and pieces. Nothing really. But I’ve arranged to meet one of my contacts in half an hour, and he’s promised me the full SP on Jammy. Oh, and by the way — Ruth’s coming round at nine o’clock for a powwow. And so’s Della.’

‘What?’ I howled.

Alexis shrugged. ‘Della rang up after Ruth had arranged to come round. I thought they might as well come together to save us having to go over everything twice.’

‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might not want them to know the same things?’

Alexis looked amused. ‘Which one were you planning on lying to — the lawyer or the copper?’

I left Davy to Alexis and Chris, and headed for the office to develop the films I’d shot in Carlisle. In the cool silence of the darkroom, I concentrated on the job in hand, forcing myself to switch off from the ins and outs of the case. That way, I hoped, my subconscious would get on with processing the information in peace, and come up with some useful inspirations.