Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📕

reached out to incorporate a little of the car park. There was a dry fountain in the centre. It showed a bearded man passing a lighted torch to a smaller man. It took only a moment to see the reference: the Greek god Prometheus passing Man the secret of fire.

Prometheus, who had been chained to a rock by Zeus for his treachery. Prometheus, who had suffered a hawk eat his liver. The liver that grew back; the hawk that returned.

The chains...

...the hawk that returned.

The Zippo lighter. The gesture.

The hawk that returned.

All these images. They seemed to fit like jigsaw pieces, then fly apart, then fly together again. What did they mean? Were they memories? Were they memories of the old Saskia?

Not now. This is a different chase. Who are you hunting? Proctor or Brandt?

The hawk that returned.

Spin, measure, snip. The witches, the Fates: Clotho, she spins the thread of life. Lachesis, she determines its length. Atropos, she cuts it.

She began to walk towards the entrance. She was suspicious of the high bushes either side of the car park. A whole army could lie in wait.

Hannah fell into step beside her.

“The driver. Can we trust him?”

Hannah shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“This murder scene is the key. We can’t find Proctor if we don’t know why and how.”

“You remember what I said about the Official Secrets Act? They could refuse to tell us.”

“Refuse? Are you certain?”

“Actually, no.”

“Then we must act as though we are certain. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

They stepped into the foyer.

Neither of them saw the glaring lens of the sniper that lay in the bushes nearby. He had received no orders to shoot. He had used his telescopic lens to get close up digital pictures of both newcomers. They were sent instantly to his commanding officer, Garrel. The long walk to the door meant that there was time to send the pictures, receive them, send orders back, and shoot the pair of them. No orders were received. No action was taken.

The foyer was long and undernourished. A chandelier did hang, but it was gnarled. Some of its bulbs were broken. Paintings covered the walls. Each, when viewed as an individual, was the odd one out. Dark, varnished wood and green felt were endemic. The smell of damp wood and dust was overpowering. Two people were talking quietly. Saskia’s heels made loud, sharp clicks that rang like a knife tapped against a wine glass. The two people turned to face their visitors.

“Good afternoon,” Saskia said loudly. She favoured each with an intimidating look. First was a tall lady wearing a sensible, simple dress. She stood behind the reception desk and said nothing. Second, slouched like a cowboy at the bar, was a shorter man wearing jeans and a navy blue jumper with elbow patches. He was in his late forties, thickening around the middle, with strong shoulders.

“DI George Hannah,” said the man. He ignored Saskia. “Nice to see you again.”

“And you,” replied Hannah. He was impassive. Nobody shook hands.

“I must say that you are persistent, DI Hannah,” the man said.

Saskia smiled thinly. “You have not met me yet.”

“I do apologise. I am Andrew Garrel. I am in charge here.”

Saskia reached inside her jacket and withdrew a small, black device. She noted that Garrel’s thumbs, hooked through his belt-hoops, were pressed white. He was nervous. “Do you mind if I use my voice recorder?”

“You can’t, I’m afraid. Security.”

“Hmm.” She returned the device and, from another pocket, took out a notebook. “Is this safe?”

Hannah made a noise. It didn’t sound like a guffaw, but Garrel’s expression became frosty. “Yes. It’s safe. It’s a bloody notebook. It was nice to meet you. This is as far as you may go. I will have someone escort you out.”

Saskia nodded perfunctorily. She scribbled a note. “Of course. But before we leave, please. I have a question. What do you do, Andrew?”

Garrel folded his arms. “I am in charge of security, miss.”

“Detective,” she corrected. Garrel raised his eyebrows and glanced briefly skywards. “Your rank?” She added quietly, “I assume you are military.”

“I cannot tell you that,” he said.

Saskia exchanged a glance with Hannah and made strokes with her pen. “Why cannot you tell me?”

“I have my orders.”

“Why is that?”

“I also cannot tell you that.”

Saskia peered at him over the notebook. She worked to generate the impression of a school teacher. “Andrew, do you know why I am here?”

Garrel smiled indulgently. “Yes.”

“Why am I here?”

“To do some private police work.”

“What police work?”

“Find a murderer.”

Saskia hit the notepad with the nib of her ballpoint. “Punkt. A murderer. Is this the scene of the murders?”

Garrel shrugged. “I cannot tell you that.”

“Do you want me to find this man?”

Garrel’s grin faltered. “If that’s your job, then, of course.”

“And would you expect me to succeed without your cooperation?”

“Look, love –”

Saskia flashed a dazzling smile. “Detective,” she said.

“Detective. Why do you need to know about here when he’s out there?”

She laughed coldly. “A crime has been committed. I shall solve it. But I work from the start of the trail, not the middle.” She stepped forward until her face was close to Garrel’s. She saw the blackheads on his nose, the bloodshot sleepiness of his eyes. “Now, you have ten minutes. Call your superior and get confirmation that Detective Saskia Brandt from the FIB is to receive your full cooperation. Understand? Then return and explain to me, and my good friend Detective Inspector Hannah, why you have obstructed our investigation.”

Garrel opened his mouth. Then he closed it.

Saskia shooed him away. “Go.”

Garrel frowned. He did not appear to be angry, merely confused. Saskia imagined him as an actor who was dumbstruck by the improvisation of a colleague. After a moment’s pause, he turned on his heel and crossed the foyer. He stepped through a side-door and was gone.

The receptionist said, “You should sit down and wait,” and disappeared through a green curtain behind the front desk. From behind it came the sound of a low conversation. Saskia turned to Hannah but he pointed to a corner