9.

Sammi Ng was in her usual lair above an internet cafe. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, dismantling a motherboard, screws and wiring laid out on a Dora the Explorer bedsheet in front of her. Sixteen years old, with a perky smile and ponytail that could con someone into thinking she was sweet – someone who hadn’t handed over a fair chunk of his earnings for her admittedly top-quality computing skills. Her airy workshop was filled with computers, some dismantled, others looking like they could run a space station. Or were supposed to be running one.

She looked up as he came in, Tilda trailing behind him. ‘Caleb from Trust Works back to give me more money.’ Her eyes went to Tilda. ‘You his new partner?’

‘No,’ Tilda said and wandered away to examine a gutted computer.

‘Almost as chatty as you,’ Sammi said. ‘Your mini-me?’

He smiled. ‘Frankie’s niece.’

‘Huh. Funny to think of her having a family. So what can I do for you today? Need help logging onto Facebook?’

He lifted Maggie’s laptop. ‘Almost – I need to get into this without a password.’

A flash of very white, even teeth. ‘That doesn’t sound like something an upstanding seventeen-year-old would want to be part of.’

‘Thought you were sixteen.’

‘Time passes, people get older. Your mind’s gunna be blown when I explain the days of the week.’ She rose from the ground in one fluid movement and took the laptop. ‘A hundred bucks.’

‘I could nick down to Victoria Street and buy another one for that.’

‘Yeah, but that’d be stolen, unlike this one, which you clearly own.’ She hunted through a pile of USB cords then connected the laptop to a computer.

‘Seventy,’ he said. ‘And I keep bringing you work.’

‘A hundred and I don’t dob you in to the cops.’

Seemed reasonable.

She dropped onto a chair, her fingers darting across the keyboard. A smug grin as she sat back. ‘Done.’

‘You’re kidding me? A hundred bucks for ten second’s work?

‘Ninety-nine bucks for the brain, one for the work. Any other way I can relieve you of your money?’

‘Yes, unfortunately. Run a file search, concentrating on anything hidden or encrypted.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Cool. What are you looking for? Classified documents? Cyber currency?’

‘Just a name, Rhys Delaney.’ He thought it through. Might as well do it properly. ‘Search for Imogen Blain, Martin Amon and Transis, too.’ He wrote the names on a scrap of paper.

‘Sweet. You want it now? For a premium, of course.’

A twinge in his eye at the thought of the bill. ‘Yeah. I’m going to send you some info about a security overhaul for a client tonight as well. But go easy on padding that account, he’s a civilian.’

She saluted.

Tilda was spinning on an office chair, watching him and Sammi at each revolution. She seemed pretty switched-on; there was a chance she’d know why Maggie had wanted her out of the house today.

As he walked over, she came to a stop. ‘How do I sign my name?’ she asked.

‘That’s a bit tricky because you haven’t got a sign name. You have to spell “Tilda” with your fingers.’

She imitated his movements as he demonstrated, her fine eyebrows drawing together.

‘That’s it. Well done.’ He shifted a monitor from a chair and sat. ‘So, you got to go to the library today. Why was that?’

‘Mum had to have a boring work meeting.’

‘Boring meetings are the worst. Do you know who it was with?’

‘No.’ She slowly spelled her name again, then looked up. ‘What’s your sign name?’

‘My initials.’ He showed her the C and Z, and watched while she copied them. ‘Perfect. Your mum’s been working on some tricky stuff lately. Has she been worried about it?’

The girl’s face shuttered. A definite yes for Maggie being worried and Tilda being troubled by it. Good work, upsetting a kid whose only parent might be dying. One of his prouder moments.

Sammi was coming towards them, a bounce in her step. She pointed to the door and headed to the stairs. Jesus, what had she found?

‘Back in a sec,’ he told Tilda and followed Sammi onto the landing. ‘Got something?’

‘Nothing on those people, but some pretty cool shit when I searched for Transis. A Trojan virus started up, and Mike and Cam went live.’

Context was half the trick of lip-reading. It probably wasn’t Mike and Cam, but mic and cam. Worth checking the translation, though. ‘Searching for Transis set off an alert, and now someone’s controlling the webcam and microphone?’

‘Yep. I’ve got the camera covered, but they’re still getting audio so don’t say anything you don’t want them to hear.’

‘Can you trace them?’

‘Nah, they’re too smart for that.’

‘Police?’

‘Again – too smart. It’s a hacker.’

A hacker interested in Transis might have unearthed all kinds of information about someone like Imogen Blain. Not a bad safety net for him to have.

‘Can I talk to them safely?’ he asked.

‘Sure, I’ve got firewalls like asbestos.’

It only took Sammi a few seconds to set up a messageboard, even less to choose a dollar sign as his avatar. He sat at the keyboard while she went to stand behind the monitor. A shiver of nerves, as though he was about to walk onto stage and didn’t know his lines. Or what play he was in.

—I’m after info on Transis too. Want to share?

The cursor blinked for a long time, then a stylised Guy Fawkes mask appeared. Interesting choice of avatars: the guy was either a member of the hacktivist collective Anonymous or he had an inflated sense of self-importance – or both. A sentence appeared.

—uncover cam and talk

Checking if Caleb was a cop while gathering video evidence. Very smart.

—I can uncover the camera, but you’ll have to type. I’m deaf, can’t hear you

The cursor blinked for a few seconds.

—K go

Caleb checked there was a blank wall behind him and uncovered the camera.

—What do you know about Transis?

—u first

—It’s a taskforce

—something i don’t know

—A cop called Imogen Blain is involved. You know anything about her?

—what else?

Caleb paused, his fingers over the keyboard. He had nothing.

The Guy Fawkes mask disappeared. Fuck.

Sammi’s face fell. ‘Oh, you scared him away.’ She closed the lid and tapped it. ‘Safe if it’s shut, live if it’s open.’

‘The Anonymous icon, that genuine?’

‘It’s not like they have membership fees – anyone can be a hacktivist.’

‘OK. Thanks.’ He stood. Time to go before either of them could come up with more ways for him to spend money.

Sammi caught him as he reached Tilda and handed him Maggie’s laptop. ‘Don’t forget your rubbish.’

‘Any chance there’s something you didn’t find?’

An outraged expression, possibly genuine. ‘What do you think I am? A fu– friggen amateur? There’s nothing secret on that.’

Tilda looked up from the chair. ‘You shouldn’t put secrets on computers. They’re not secure.’ Delivered with the solemnity of a public service announcement.

Sammi nodded. ‘You’re smart. Don’t hang around with this guy too long.’

***

It was well after seven by the time they got back to his office, the usually quick drive taking a little longer because of a politely requested toilet stop for Tilda. She hadn’t spoken apart from that, but a lot was obviously going on inside her head.

Caleb parked in a well-lit street and got out, gave the area a good scan before unlocking Tilda’s door. A chill to the air as they headed for the arcade, Tilda dressed only in her school uniform. Damn, something else he hadn’t thought of. Nothing warm to give her except his too-large jacket. She must be getting hungry by now, too, and thirsty. Insight into why parents dragged around such enormous bags – a whole new world of things to learn.

‘You cold?’ he asked. ‘Or hungry?’

Her face lifted to him. ‘No. Do your parents give them to you?’

‘Give what?’

‘Sign names.’

His parents probably hadn’t known what a sign name was. Only his brother, Anton, knew sign. Theirs had been a strictly voice-only household, his father’s concession to him attending a school for the Deaf coming only after Caleb’s abject failure to cope in the local one.

‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘My friends gave me mine. Deaf friends.’

Her eyes were still on him, as if she wanted to ask something, but wasn’t sure she should. A first in their short but interrogative relationship.

‘Would you like a sign name?’ he asked.

Her mouth opened. ‘Yespleasehow?’

‘I’ll give you one. Might take a while, though. They’re pretty special, so I have to make sure it’s –’ He stopped as they reached the arcade. A dim shape. Someone hiding behind the firehose at the end of the walkway.

Imogen.

The killer.

He was turning to grab Tilda when the person moved into the open. Tall and angular, with short grey hair. Frankie. A very odd-looking Frankie; her usual jeans and leather jacket replaced by a floral top and long purple skirt, her spiky hair brushed flat. A rainbow headscarf topped off the Earth Mother look.

He managed to close his mouth but Tilda’s hung open. She made two fists and tapped her thumbs together.