4

Leaving the cane against his desk, Zander headed across the squad room, trying not to limp too obviously. Walking wasn’t as hard as he’d expected it to be.

DCI Britton studied him from where he waited in the office doorway. “How are you doing these days?”

“OK, sir. Leg could heal faster, but I can work just fine. I don’t need to be tied to the desk. It’s bad enough I’m the butt of all the office jokes now, without desk duty to boot.”

DCI Britton gazed at him. “Is that meant to be funny?”

Zander tried not to smirk. “No sir, and I’m now bootless in any case. The cane is an optional extra for a few days. I don’t really need it. And I definitely don’t need to be signed off for any longer.”

“Good, good. Close the door and take a seat.”

Zander could almost hear the patronising “there’s a good lad” on the end of the order. He shut the door and sat opposite his superior officer. “So, what gives, sir?”

“You’ve heard of Jack’s House—the reality TV show where they put a random group of people in a house, film them twenty-four seven, and broadcast the best bits to the nation each night? There’s also a live feed that goes out over the Internet.”

Zander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was it with that awful programme? Surely there were more important things to talk about. The current case load for a start. “Yes, sir. Everyone I know seems to watch it, but if that’s what you want to discuss, rather than let me deal with the mountain of paperwork on my desk, you should know I’ve only ever seen it once. I caught a few minutes of the show, last night as it happens, and that was enough.”

“Anything strike you as odd?”

He snorted and tapped his leg. “Aside from the whole thing? Well, Silas obviously has an issue with Hank. They did nothing but argue. Paul has a huge crush on Kate, who can’t stand him, and did her best to avoid contact with any of the men actually. Especially Silas. None of them want to do the activities any longer. Other than that, Erin wants to go home as everyone hates her—especially Warren who does nothing but pick a fight with her and snipe every few minutes. Anyone would think they were married.”

DCI Britton lifted one eyebrow. “And you picked that up from one episode. Are you sure you don’t watch it?”

“I’m a cop. I’m paid to notice things. And I only saw ten minutes of it, before the channel was changed. That was plenty.”

The door opened and DS Philips strode in. “This better be important, sir. I have to charge or release someone by ten and I’m in the middle of re-interviewing him.”

“This won’t take long, Dane. Take a seat.”

DS Philips dropped into the chair next to Zander. “What’s going on?”

“Everyone’s favourite TV show apparently,” Zander rolled his eyes. “Jack’s House. It’s waaayyy more important than any proper work we have this morning.”

“I know it well. The wife’s addicted to it.”

“Then maybe she’d like to come in and discuss it with the DCI. I have a mountain of paperwork to do.” Zander stood. “So, if you don’t mind…”

“Actually, sergeant, I do.” DCI Britton tapped his fingers on the desk. “Sit down. What did you make of Silas, Zander?”

Zander slumped into the chair and sucked in a deep breath, still miffed he was sitting here discussing a programme he’d seen briefly, once. “Bit of a bully to be honest. Rough, rude, not the sort of person you’d want to meet in a dark alley at night. Why?”

“He’s dead.”

Zander straightened. Now he was interested. “Dead how exactly?”

“He committed suicide last night. However the coroner isn’t convinced.”

“Arend thinks it’s murder?”

DCI Britton leaned back in the chair. “Mr. Van Houten is suspicious enough to insist it warrants a full police investigation.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said something doesn’t seem right, but couldn’t put a finger on it. However, Arend isn’t usually wrong when his gut tells him something.”

Zander’s mind whirled. “I thought there were cameras everywhere, filming constantly. Surely someone would have noticed something.”

“The house itself is local so the case falls under our jurisdiction, and as this is the major crimes unit, you blokes get to investigate.” DCI Britton appeared to sidestep the question.

Zander pushed it. “Was nothing seen on any of the cameras?”

“You’d have thought so. I’m sending in a team of officers to question all the housemates. However, I want to put someone on the inside. I’ve already got the OK from the producer to do so, on the proviso it’s a male officer.” He tapped the folder on the desk. “All I need is said officer to go home and pack.”

“Won’t the contestants find it strange they’re replacing a dead bloke like that?” Zander snapped his fingers to prove his point, resisting the urge to shove his hand in the air and yell “pick me” like school kids did.

“Apparently they were introducing someone new today anyway. Just so happens it’ll be a cop and not a member of the general public. Not that anyone inside the house will know that.”

“What story will you tell the bloke we’re replacing?” DS Philips asked.

“Don’t need to tell him anything. He got picked up for breaking the terms of his license and is on his way back to prison as we speak.”

Zander leaned forwards. “Send me. I think Dane’s wife might kill him herself if he goes undercover again.”

DS Philips snorted. “Although she might like me where she can see me all day long. She’d have a reason to watch the show.”

DCI Britton’s eyebrow quirked. “I thought you were on desk duty, Zander.”

“Sir, if I may be frank here, I am sick to the back teeth of my desk. And paperwork. Look, we all know the Guv is humouring me by putting me on desk duty. I can still work. It’s my Achilles tendon that broke, not my brain. And that’s been repaired and is now healed. Doc said so this morning.”

DCI Britton’s fingers drummed on the desk. “You really think defying DI Holmes is a good idea?”

“Yes. For one thing, it’s easier than defying gravity, and I’m just the man to do it.” There wasn’t a question about that either. Zander tried again. “Isabel said something about us both going out on an inquiry this morning, anyway. Look, I don’t know anyone on the show. I’m about the only person in the world who hasn’t seen it, at least not properly, thus I’ll go in with no preconceived ideas about any of them. I’ve done undercover work before. The Guv will tell you I’m good at it. Besides I need to get away from that desk for—”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sir, I can do this. The people in the house won’t open up to the cops as they know it has to be one of them, right? But they’ll all want to talk about it and I bet half of them will forget the cameras are there, or know a way to sneak around without being seen. However, there is one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing more goes out on the air. Not on TV. Not on the Internet. By all means keep filming everything as normal, but nothing gets broadcast. It might jeopardise any court case.”

DS Philips agreed. “We can get a D notice easily enough to prevent transmission. But the housemates don’t need to be told nothing is being broadcast. They might start acting differently.”

DCI Britton nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll arrange the court order soon as we’re done here.” He pushed the folder across to Zander. “You have three minutes to read this. Your name and occupation are in there.” DCI Britton stood and opened the door. “Isabel, Will, Steve, Austin, Jason come in please.”

Once they were in the office, DCI Britton filled them in. “And Zander is going in undercover. Obviously as a new inmate he won’t need to be interviewed, but you might want to ask him if he ever watched the show, that kind of thing. Leave him until last and you can brief him on what you’ve learned so far.” He looked at Zander. “And your name is?”

Zander glanced up from the folder. The details such as they were, were incredibly sketchy. Whoever put them together needed to learn how to write a cover story. No wonder he’d only been given three minutes to memorize the contents. “Tim Smith, and I’m an author. But the name isn’t very inventive.”

“What would you choose instead?”

Zander scoffed. “Not Smith for a start. It’s too obvious.”

DCI Britton grabbed a pen and turned the folder to face him. “Then pick one. Nothing too outrageous either.”

Zander pursed his lips as he thought. Maybe a combination of his middle name and grandmother’s maiden name. “How about Josiah King?”

“You’re joking.”

Isabel roared with laughter. “Joking…Joe King. Love it. You should do it. If we didn’t tease you now, we will after that.”

He grumped. The last thing he needed was giving the squad more ammunition. “Fine. In that case we’ll go simple. Zed King. That’s Z-e-d, not just the letter Z,” he added for effect as DCI Britton scrawled in the file.

“Published or wannabe author?” Isabel asked.

Zander laughed. “Almost published. Debut novel comes out in six weeks. My agent thought this would be good publicity. I’ll need the tech blokes to work up a webpage for me with a book cover and coming soon on it. The title for my masterpiece was in the file I’ve been given. I’ll work out the plot later, as no one wants to give the entire story line away, do they?”

DCI Britton nodded. “Pick a code word and we can have someone with you in moments.”

“OK.” He rolled his eyes at Isabel. “Maybe, Christmas.”

“Too early even for me.” She grinned. “I know. Armageddon. As in A’hm a getting outta here.”

He groaned. “That’s awful, but I like it. Armageddon it is.”

Isabel smiled. “See you on the flip side, partner. I’ll have your back the whole time from the safety of the production gallery.” She paused. “Oh, tell you what; how about you wear those awful socks of yours that you keep for work charity days? See how many pairs you can get through. We’ll sponsor you to do it. Money goes to the police charity.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my socks.” Zander had an impressive collection of weird and funny socks. “But sure. If you actually want to pay me to wear them, who am I to stop you?”

DCI Britton cleared his throat. “You will need to give us the back cover information for the book for this fake webpage you want. We’ll also need a brief bio for it as well. It’d be best if you wrote that. Then at least you’ll know something of what you’re talking about. And you’ll have a character history to work off of when the other housemates ask you about yourself.”

Zander frowned. How was he meant to come up with something just like that? “Give me five.”

“I’m feeling generous. You have ten. Leave it on your desk and then head out, go home and pack. One bag, no phone, computer, tablet, or any tech. That includes a smart watch if you wear one. The show will provide a watch that monitors your vital signs. As from today, all the housemates are getting one. And with the mic you’ll be wearing all the time, we can keep tabs on you.”

Zander sighed and walked back to his desk. Why did he have to be an author? Why not a farmer, which is what he’d have chosen for himself? He’d grown up on a farm; he could talk about that in his sleep. And according to the few notes he’d read, the housemate he’d be replacing was a farmer.

He dropped into his chair. He tapped his fingers on the wood surface for half a minute, before grinning. The metaphorical light-bulb moment was so bright he almost needed his sunglasses.

Of course. The book was about a farmer. He’d use his own background—no need to lie and thus the subject matter of the book was easy. No doubt they’d intended romance with that title, but he had a far better idea. He’d mix crime and a farm, problem solved. Ten minutes later he had a teaser for something he’d actually want to read.

He laid it on Isabel’s desk, sent her a text to tell her it was there, and rang a taxi. He hated being reliant on other people to ferry him around. He had no idea how Isabel had done it for as long as she had. He took one final gaze around the squad room, and then headed home to pack.