Genius Squad (5 page)

‘Yes.’

‘And you would go to his office, and have counselling sessions.’

‘Except that they weren’t really counselling sessions,’ Cadel admitted. ‘Sometimes we’d talk about how to lie, or how not to get caught sabotaging systems. But mostly we would make broadcasts to Dr Darkkon.’

‘Who was in a Californian prison at that time.’

‘Yes.’ Cadel nodded. ‘They had a special transmitter.’

‘And you would talk about your future – perhaps about some of the projects you were involved in?’

‘Cadel’s already covered this,’ Fiona interrupted sharply. ‘He’s told you what he did, and it was all with that man’s encouragement. If you’re going to touch on it again, I’ll have to call a lawyer!’

‘As a matter of fact, I’m more interested in Prosper’s other clients,’ said Mr Greeniaus. Cadel met his searching gaze with a look of surprise. Greeniaus continued. ‘Any kids you might have seen coming or going, when you were at the office. He was supposed to specialise in troubled children, wasn’t he?’

‘I – I think so.’ This was a new area of inquiry for Cadel. He had never given it much thought. ‘I did see other kids, once or twice,’ he confessed. ‘But I thought – well, wasn’t it all a front? I mean, he wasn’t
actually
working as a psychologist, was he?’

‘That we don’t know yet.’

‘I guess I assumed that those other kids were just . . . well, some of his people.’ Cadel shifted uncomfortably. ‘He had a lot of people working for him.’

‘Can you describe them to me, Cadel? The kids you saw?’

Cadel tried. He cast his mind back to the dark old terrace house where Prosper had received him; to Wilfreda, the strange receptionist with black teeth; to the morose-looking teenagers who had sometimes passed Cadel in the hallway, or on the stairs. He didn’t like thinking about the old days in Prosper’s office.

Just the memory of Prosper’s sardonic, penetrating stare gave him a chill.

‘There was a girl called Bella,’ he recalled. ‘I saw her twice. She was quite tall and – you know – big. With greasy brown hair. She was wearing a school uniform.’

‘What did it look like?’

‘Maroon blazer. A kind of checked, pleated skirt . . .’

Cadel continued haltingly, racking his brain for relevant details. When he couldn’t think of anything else to say, the detective moved to his next area of inquiry.

‘With regard to the Axis Institute, which you attended for several months last year,’ he said, ‘you’ve told us that Prosper English called himself the Chancellor of this institution, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve given us full details of the teaching staff who conducted courses in forgery, embezzlement, computer hacking, assassination, and so forth. Most of whom are either dead or missing.’

Cadel waited.

‘There were even some support staff – canteen workers, I believe,’ the detective went on. ‘You’ve described them to us already.’

‘Yes.’ Cadel sighed. ‘I never knew their names.’

‘Do you recall any other support staff? Gardeners? Secretaries? Administrators? Anyone at all?’

Now that, Cadel decided, was a
good
question. It was the question of someone who was seriously searching for corroborative evidence.

‘There were gardeners,’ he said slowly. ‘I remember them. The grounds were so well kept. And there
had
to have been people who fixed things, because of all the explosions and break-ins and spontaneous combustion that happened.’ Cadel forced his reluctant mind down paths he would rather have avoided. ‘I think – I think there was a guy who used to collect stray dogs and cats for lab experiments,’ he added. ‘In a white van.’

‘Can you tell me anything more about him? Did you ever see him?’

‘No. I was told about him.’

‘And the gardeners? What about them?’

Cadel was still struggling to recollect something –
anything –
about the gardeners at the Axis Institute when Janan arrived home. His pounding footsteps and loud, high-pitched voice distracted Cadel for only a moment. There were more important things to concentrate on.

‘I’ve been wondering if some of the people I met later might have been working as support staff at the Institute,’ he mused. ‘Like that old guy, Nikolai, who used to follow me around. And Vadi. The man with the gills. Surely he didn’t spend his whole life cleaning Prosper’s house?’

Suddenly a piercing scream made them all jump. It was followed by a huge
crash
, and more wild yelling. The floor shook, as if from repeated blows.

Fiona and Saul sat up straight, clearly alarmed.

‘It’s only Janan,’ said Cadel, in a resigned voice. ‘He probably lost his chocolate-bar wrapper.’ Seeing the two adults exchange a questioning glance, he felt obliged to elaborate. ‘Janan collects these chocolate-bar wrappers,’ he explained. ‘When you’ve got twenty-five, you can send them in and win a mountain-bike, or something. He’s completely obsessed. Hazel gives him a chocolate bar for lunch every day at school, and when he gets home he puts the wrapper away in a special box.’ Cadel cocked his ear, listening to the tattoo of fists bouncing off walls. ‘My guess is that he lost today’s wrapper.’

Fiona grimaced. ‘Maybe I should go and help . . .’ she proposed. But Cadel discouraged her.

‘There’s nothing anyone can do,’ he said, ‘except give him another chocolate bar.’ As abruptly as it had begun, the clamour unexpectedly stopped. Cadel listened for a moment. So did his companions. After a brief pause, they heard a faint murmur of voices. ‘There,’ said Cadel, with some satisfaction. ‘I told you. Chocolate-bar wrappers. She must have found a replacement.’

Fiona shook her head glumly. Mr Greeniaus was frowning. He darted another quick look at Fiona – but when he spoke, he addressed Cadel.

‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘Nikolai was one of the men in the car that picked you up when you escaped from police custody. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. He followed me on a train once, too. I recognised him.’

‘And you think he might have worked at the Institute?’

Cadel bit his lip. ‘I don’t know. There
was
an old guy who shuffled around with a toolbox. I remember seeing him from the back. He was fat and grey-haired.’

‘But you didn’t see his face? Just his back?’

‘That’s right. So I don’t know if it was Nikolai or not.’

‘And Vadi? Did you ever see
him
at the Institute?’

‘No. But I mean, why would Prosper use a human fish just to clean his house?’

‘And you don’t remember seeing anyone else? Or hearing any other names?’

‘Sorry,’ said Cadel. Whereupon Mr Greeniaus grunted.

‘There’s no need to be sorry,’ he assured Cadel. ‘You’ve done very well.’ Almost to himself, the detective then remarked, ‘Not that it matters about Vadi or Nikolai. They’ve gone underground.’ He folded his arms. ‘Or underwater, perhaps.’

Cadel managed a faint half-smile. Then he said, ‘Mr Greeniaus?’ and paused for a moment.

The detective watched him. So did Fiona.

‘Do you – I mean, have you ever met Prosper English?’ was the question that Cadel finally put to Saul, who hesitated before replying.

‘Yes, I have.’

Cadel didn’t know how to phrase his next query. But he didn’t have to; Saul apparently read his mind.

‘We don’t talk about you,’ the detective revealed. ‘Prosper is always very careful not to display much interest in you, Cadel. I suppose if he did, it might support your claim that he’s your father.’

Cadel nodded. He cleared his throat, painfully conscious of Fiona’s troubled scrutiny. Then Hazel knocked on his door again.

Her voice sounded higher than usual.

‘Uh – excuse me?’ she trilled. ‘Can I interrupt?’ Without waiting for an answer, she poked her head into the room. Her tight grey curls were uncharacteristically ruffled. Her small green eyes looked anxious. ‘There are police here,’ she blurted out. ‘They’re asking after Cadel.’

Mr Greeniaus instantly rose, clicking off his cassette recorder. Fiona gaped.

‘I
told
them that the police were here already,’ a flustered Hazel continued. ‘I didn’t know
what
to say.’

‘Don’t worry.’ The detective’s manner was all at once very businesslike. ‘I’ll take care of this.’

He brushed past Hazel on his way out of the room. As he stuffed his recording equipment back into the lining of his jacket, he revealed that he was wearing a shoulder-holster – with a pistol protruding from it.

Fiona gasped when she saw the pistol.

‘For God’s sake!’ she hissed fiercely. ‘How can he . . . ? There are
children
in here!’

An image flashed into Cadel’s head: an image of the loaded gun that had once been placed against his temple. It was his most frightening memory, and it still haunted his dreams at night. Of course, Prosper hadn’t pulled the trigger. Something had prevented him from doing so. But that hadn’t made his actions any less frightening, in retrospect.

To block out what he had no wish to recall, Cadel hurried after Saul Greeniaus – and encountered Janan heading the opposite way. Wide-eyed with fear, the six-year-old shot past and dived under Cadel’s bed.

‘What the –?’

Cadel stared after the silly kid in consternation, before looking around for their foster mother. But Hazel was already in the kitchen with the police.

Only Fiona Currey had remained behind.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Fiona.

‘What’s Janan doing?’ Cadel wanted to know.

‘Hiding.’

‘But – ’

‘He’s had a hard life. There was a police raid on his mother’s house, once.’ Fiona returned to Cadel’s bed, and crouched down beside it. ‘Janan?’ she crooned. ‘What’s the matter, sweetie? No one’s going to hurt you.’

Cadel decided that Fiona was better off without him, and went to find out what was going on in the kitchen. He fully expected to see Saul and Hazel conversing with a pair of familiar men in wrinkled suits and sunglasses. To his surprise, however, his surveillance team were nowhere in sight. Instead, two uniformed police officers – one male and one female – were standing by the fridge.

‘. . . complaint from a neighbour,’ the policewoman was saying. ‘About a car following a child down the street.’ She nodded at Cadel. ‘
That
child, I would say. From the description.’

‘Yes. I see.’ Saul retrieved his identification from her. ‘You should have been informed. This child is a witness. For his own protection, he’s being monitored at all times.’

‘Well,
we
haven’t heard about it,’ said the policewoman.

‘No. I’m sorry. That was a serious oversight.’

‘We’re going to have to make a report.’

‘Yeah. Look – what would you say if I talked to your duty sergeant . . .’

All of a sudden, Cadel was distracted by the distant sound of approaching footsteps. He recognised the
slap-slap-slap
of large, rubber-soled feet galloping down the side path. Mace, he knew, was heading for the kitchen, kicking over flowerpots on his way.

‘. . . has to come through official channels . . .’ the uniformed policeman was saying. Cadel tensed as he heard Mace thudding up the outside stairs. Even Saul Greeniaus had noticed the racket by this time. Hazel shuffled towards the back door, but Mace reached it first. He flung it open, exploded into the room, then stopped abruptly when he saw the uniformed police.

His face reddened. Cadel was by now familiar with that dull rush of colour, which was always a bad sign. When Mace was really, really angry, he always turned red. Then he would sit somewhere out of the way, swearing under his breath for perhaps ten minutes, before his rage erupted in a series of destructive acts.

Cadel found himself edging closer to Saul Greeniaus.

‘Oh. Hello.’ The policewoman addressed Mace in a friendly voice. ‘It’s Thomas Logge, isn’t it? How are you, Thomas?’

There was no reply – just a glower.

‘I’ve heard good reports about you,’ the policewoman continued. She was small and stocky, with a hard-edged drawl and stiff blond hair cut short. ‘I’ve heard that you seem to have settled in here pretty well. Been going to school. Good on ya.’

In response, Mace slammed out of the kitchen, heading for his bedroom. He must have hurled his bag at the wall as he went, because there was a huge
thud
, followed by a rather nasty crunching noise. Then a door banged at the other end of the house.

The policewoman sniffed.

‘You’ve got your work cut out for you there,’ she said to Hazel. ‘I’ve had dealings with his family.’

‘Oh, Thomas is responding very well,’ Hazel rejoined, sounding almost defensive. ‘You don’t have to worry about
him
.’

‘Good,’ said the police officer. But she didn’t seem wholly convinced.

There followed a brief burst of activity, which was kicked off by Fiona – who suddenly appeared and dragged Hazel out of the room for a talk with Janan. Saul Greeniaus then accompanied the uniformed officers to their car, while Cadel, left alone in the kitchen, wondered what he should do about Mace.

Mace was already in a foul mood; he would probably explode when he saw that his football boots were sitting under the pile of dirty sheets that Cadel had dumped on them. To prevent Mace from trashing all his belongings, Cadel would have to keep an eye on the boy. But that in turn would require staying within easy reach of Mace’s fists.

Cadel considered his next move. The smartest tactic, he decided, would be to shut himself in his own bedroom for the rest of the day (with something shoved against the door, perhaps). Even if Mace set fire to the house, Cadel could always crawl out the window. Not that he really expected Mace to commit arson. But there was bound to be trouble of some kind, and Cadel was determined to stay well away from it.

As he made for the kitchen door, however, he found Fiona blocking his escape route.

‘Oh, Cadel,’ she said. ‘Where’s Mr Greeniaus?’

‘He went with those coppers, back to their car,’ Cadel replied.

‘You mean he left?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He could have said something,’ Fiona remarked crossly. ‘A simple “thank you” would suffice!’

‘Is Janan okay?’ Cadel asked, suddenly remembering that the six-year-old, when last seen, had been disappearing under a bed. ‘Did you get him out of my room?’