Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📗

McMurray brightened. Her eyes had never left the gun. “That’s a fine idea. We’ll have a cup of tea.”

Saskia walked slowly out of the room and down the brightly-carpeted stairs, past the china figurines and plastic ducks flying up the wall. Her heart rate dropped with each step. The noise of a television became louder. She remembered the ghostly reflection and decided that Mrs McMurray had been right. She needed sleep.

Why was she so nervous? Again, she thought of the envelope on the bed. Again, her mind turned away. Not yet.

Mrs McMurray. Walking into a room like that she got what she deserved. She marvelled again at the therapeutic powers of British tea. What Mrs McMurray really needed was -

A bullet?

She froze on the stairs.

Is that what she needs, Frau Brandt? Spin, measure, and...snip!

Saskia cleared her throat and continued walking. That voice was just her conscience. Had to be. But she remembered the words of Frank Stone when he had spoken to her in the park: “Your own pattern is not really destroyed by the new, alien pattern

– it’s kind’ve knocked sideways.”

Was it her real mind rising from its subconscious swamp? She could not be sure. One thing was clear, however. If she even suspected that she could lose her new mind to her old one, then that gun would find itself pointed at her temple.

The final murder, said a voice. Snip.

Breaking the Code

Saturday, 16th September 2023

At 9 a.m. on Saturday morning, one week into her career, Saskia found herself being driven across Edinburgh with Hannah. Their driver had the radio on. She didn’t recognise a single song. Hannah started his report. There had been a sighting the night before. Proctor had checked into a hotel in Northallerton, two-hundred and thirty kilometres from Edinburgh and one-hundred and sixty kilometres from the downed glider in Belford. Hannah had been keen to go there, but not Saskia. Her instinct told her that she should not waste time driving to Belford. Hannah shrugged. Local police and some officers from the Edinburgh team were on the case. They were competent.

Hannah continued his report. As Saskia had suspected, there was little useful evidence at the scene. The glider had been discovered by a farmer. It was near an isolated, empty equipment shed. The remains of a laptop computer had been found: a generic Korean model, available from hundreds of outlets nationwide. It had self-destructed. A wider search revealed motorbike tracks. A forensic SOCO, Scene of Crime Officer, had reported that there were four bikes. The farmer had no clue. They were not his. He owned two trail bikes and they were kept in a garage at the main farm. They were untouched.

“What about the hotel?”

“Well, late last night, a constable in Northallerton reported the flight of a man who matched Proctor’s description. He had checked into the hotel under the name Harrison. He was moments from being arrested when the constable was called away on a rape-in-progress, which was found to be a false alarm. The constable had abandoned the scene and, when he returned some twenty minutes later, following a cup of tea at a place called McCabe’s –”

“Donner Wetter,” Saskia exclaimed. “The English and their narcotic tea.”

“– following that,” continued Hannah, “he found that Proctor had vanished. He had used a legitimate credit card to pay for the accommodation. The name was David Harrison. The number was traced to a Mr David Anthony Pearson, formerly of Fife and life. He’s dead.”

“What else?”

Hannah frowned at his handheld computer’s screen. “It’s so much easier to read paper.” He cleared his throat. “House-tohouse enquiries turned up Mrs Taome Gallagher. Tay to her friends. Bit of a wind-bag by the sounds of it. She spoke to a man matching Proctor’s description around the time he checked in. According to the credit card people, that was 6:02 p.m. Said he was riding a shiny, chrome motorbike and wanted to park in her alleyway. We have an APB on him.”

“Ay pee bee?”

“All Points Bulletin. The description is released nationally.”

Saskia stared at the shops flashing by her window. They were approaching some traffic lights. “I thought the investigation was intended to be more secret.”

“It was.” He shrugged. “But we all agreed and the guv said he was fed up working with one hand tied behind his back. Anyway, they can’t fire all of us.”

“English has some nice expressions,” Saskia said, partly to herself. “Does Proctor’s bike fit with the tracks found next to the glider?”

“Yes, but what about the other tracks? My guess would be that he was met by a group of people. His team. They gave him some supplies and then rode away.”

Saskia shook her head. “No. I think that would be a waste of effort. According to the abducted minister, the glider was computer controlled. Proctor’s benefactor knew it would land there. Why not put all the supplies in the shed?”

Hannah consulted his notes. “Dunno. About the glider being computer controlled, I’m not convinced. How reliable is the minister’s statement? She got thumped on the head. You should have interviewed her. Checked her out.”

She waved her hand. They pulled away from the traffic lights. “No. I will get my information from you. I want to concentrate on Proctor’s destination. We will find him that way. The other information is...it makes my reasoning cloudy. But I do think that the glider was computer controlled. The sudden increase in its weight when Proctor was pulled into the air would have made flight very difficult. I do not think we should search for a pilot.”

“Well, you’re the expert.”

Saskia looked at him to see if he was joking. His eyes were fixed on the computer screen. He was trying not to smile. She flicked his thigh with the back of her hand.

“Ow!”

“How many churches in Scotland have a female minister?”

“Not sure. Not many.”

“Yes. Therefore, not many churches from which the fake minister could choose. She was constrained again by the proximity to research centre. Anything further away would have