I drained my gin and Daniel held out his arm. ‘Now, Madame, if you would do me the honour …’
I rose and took it. I picked up the esky, he elevated Horatio, and we went downstairs to de-cat. Then, leaving Horatio to continue his post-lunch pre-dinner nap, we went out into the street.
It was a filthy day. The heat had settled down on the city like a lid on a saucepan. I was soaked in sweat within seconds.
So it was with great relief that we stumbled into the New York Deli. Uncle Solly was sitting in his usual chair in his white cook’s apron, drinking a tall glass of something pink.
‘Dollinks!’ he exclaimed. ‘You look melted! Come, sit, drink a little cool drink with me.’ He snapped his fingers and one of his multitudinous ‘nephews’ poured and carried. It was Campari and soda, icy cold and bitter.
Daniel dispatched his in one long draught.
‘Good, Ari, you got the proportions right – give the man another,’ ordered Uncle Solly. He eyed me with his bright, penetrating gaze. ‘Corinna, dollink! Are you okay? This weather – what can you do? And how about this ox?’ He gestured to Daniel. ‘He been treating you right?’
‘Yes, Uncle, dear,’ I said. ‘He’s a mensch. But we’ve had a sad case come our way. A soldier who’s been in Afghanistan.’
‘That’s a sad case indeed,’ said Uncle Solly. ‘There are no good stories coming out of that place.’
‘We wondered …’ I began delicately.
‘If you could get a good dinner from the New York Deli?’ he finished, jumping up. Several people had come into the shop. ‘Of course! For you, everything. The good sausages, the salt beef, the salads, the olives! You step in the back, ask Eph about the new pastrami.’
I can take a hint, so I collected Daniel and we stepped around the counter and into the back room.
Which was a surprise. The first section was the kitchen, with refrigerators and boxes of produce and a lovely long counter with bowls and knives and other implements. Behind that, though, there was a computer installation which looked like it could run the International Space Station all by itself.
Staring at the oversized screens, fingers poised over keyboards, was a pair of twins. Small, dark, undistinguished-looking. Both female. Both with that faraway gaze as if half of them is always still in the Matrix.
One twin removed her radio headset and said, ‘I’m Eph. Uncle sent to you ask about … ?’
‘Afghanistan,’ I said. ‘A returned soldier called Alasdair, a missing dog, and possible local involvement.’
‘Geordie,’ she said.
‘You know about it?’ I asked, surprised.
‘It’s our business to know everything that happens in the city,’ she said, matter-of-factly. To her left was a bank of screens showing what had to be police CCTV. This was hacking of a high or Lone Gunmen order – the Lone Gunmen being Insula’s IT Miracles While U Wait consortium. Their knowledge of computers was only equalled by their incomprehension of almost everything else, including nutrition or basic housekeeping.
‘All right,’ said Daniel patiently. ‘What can you tell us?’
Which is, I noticed, not the same as ‘What’s happening?’.
‘Go and tell Ari to give you two more Cokes,’ she ordered him. ‘And tell him more ice this time. I’m lining up the images. It will take a couple of minutes.’
Daniel went. I sat beside her. She smelt very sweetly of something like patchouli oil and cola. The film flowed. The life of the city, running backwards, light/dark/light. The Mouse Police would be scampering out to ram-raid the Japanese restaurant at … that one. I would be opening the door of my bakery at about … that frame. It was fascinating.
Daniel returned with the supplies. The silent twin reached for hers without ever taking her eyes off the screen. She was watching something altogether different. Several youths tipping over rubbish skips. Youthful high spirits, their defence counsel would say to the magistrate. Who wouldn’t believe it, either.
Refreshed with Coke, Eph clicked a key.
‘This footage is from outside a club in King Street that is of interest to us,’ she explained. ‘It has political people visiting it. Here’s your soldier.’
Alasdair went past, Geordie at his side. As Big Charlie had noted, he looked like a dangerous dude. Shoulders straight, gaze flickering from right to left and up and down, alert, wary. I wondered if he had brought his sidearm back with him. Geordie was a smallish, vaguely border collie-esque black-and-white dog. He stuck close to Alasdair’s heel, watching him all the time. They were not just comrades, they were a partnership. Man and dog strolled out of shot.
‘Next camera’s not as good,’ said Eph. ‘Sorry. But here –’ she clicked it along frame by frame ‘– is when it happened.’
Two men – no, three. One pounced on Alasdair from behind and hit him with a small club. I didn’t recognise the weapon. Geordie launched himself off the ground, teeth bared, as his master crumpled to the footpath. He sank his fangs into the forearm of one man before he was stuffed into a sack and the three men hurried away. A few seconds later Alasdair sat up and looked around groggily. He put a hand to his head then got gingerly to his feet. He opened his mouth, as if calling out. Then he staggered out of the frame.
‘I’m printing all we can see of those faces,’ said Eph. ‘Which isn’t much. Hoodies are the height of fashion for every crim in this city.’ Her tone was dispassionate as she continued, ‘We pick your man up again at McDonald’s. Soup Run.’
I saw the admirable Sister Mary direct that night’s heavy, a huge Maori called Ma’ani, to carry Alasdair into the back of the van for first aid. The doctor was Jorgen, who had also just come back from a war zone. That must have helped. Alasdair was in the van for some time. When he emerged, he was clutching the envelope on which Sister Mary had written the directions for my bakery. He went on his unsteady way, his lips moving as if he was still calling for Geordie. I was almost in tears as I watched.
That settled several things. The dog had been kidnapped. Alasdair had been deliberately targeted. That meant they wanted something from him. Now we just had to find out who did it and get Geordie back unhurt. Eph handed Daniel a printout, which he scanned quickly and thrust into his pocket. He must have been thinking along the same lines, because he asked Eph, ‘Did you recognise the men who took Geordie?’
‘They’re not on our database. Not political, as far as we know. But we couldn’t see much of their faces so we can’t be sure.’
‘Is there anything connected with Afghanistan, sappers or dogs that we should know?’
‘Afghanistan is rotten,’ she said in her expressionless voice. ‘We’re keeping an eye on several people. Here are their names and a summary of what we know. You should call Ari on the special line before you approach any of them.’
‘All right,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m a bit surprised you had all this ready for us. Did you know we were coming?’
Eph gave him a quick grin of satisfaction. ‘It wasn’t hard to guess that Alasdair would find you, and you’d come to us. That’s how come we had all this ready for you.’