Page 17 of Crocodile Tears

“Looks like the word’s out about Dacre’s murder,” Reed said,swerving across the water and deliberately swinging from side to side, throwing up a sheet of spray.

“Dacre must have been quite a celebrity to make them chase after us like this,” Josiah said.

“Well, he was the centre of the artsy-fartsy set,” Reed pointed out. “Always throwing lavish parties and inviting the most beautiful people – plus, he had Hudson Brink on speed dial. When you know the biggest movie star on the planet, you can trade on the kudos.”

“Perhaps.” Josiah went back to gazing at his silent prisoner. “Or maybe they’re only this interested because they know we’ve arrested Alexander Lytton. He’s rather famous in his own right, after all.”

“Yeah, and there’s no way we’ll get him back to Inquisitus without this bunch of clowns taking pics and asking a bunch of damn fool questions,” Reed fumed, glaring at the pursuing ducks in the mirror.

“I told Esther I’d handle it, and I will,” Josiah said confidently.

He’d got used to dealing with both the mainstream media and social media over the past few years. First, there had been the murder of much-loved celebrity chef Emma James and his subsequent pursuit of the indentured servant who had been the only witness. Then there had been the case of the dead politician, Sir John Marcham. Both cases had caught the public imagination and propelled Josiah unwillingly into the limelight.

“Just get us back to Inquisitus in one piece, and let me deal with the hacks,” he instructed.

Even more ducks were pursuing them now, filled with people leaning out of their windows, trying to get pictures of Alexander. The water churned dangerously as successive ducks splashed through it, only narrowly missing each other in the mêlée.

Reed pushed their duck as fast as it would go, and Ghost Eye Floating City suddenly loomed on the horizon. Ghost Eye was the first, and still the biggest and most prestigious, of the new floating cities that had been built in the past few years. A huge artificial island, it provided office space for Inquisitus and various other big companies, as well as shops, restaurants, and some very expensive apartments. The old Houses of Parliament, which were now just a forlorn collection of spires and rooftops dominated by the regal melancholy of Big Ben,stood not far away, the iconic clock tower semi-submerged in the swollen Thames, its hands stuck forever at half past one.

Alexander suddenly leaned forward. “Are we going to Ghost Eye?” he asked.

“Yup – that’s where Inquisitus is based.” Josiah glanced at his prisoner. “Why? Do you know it?”

“I lived there once,” Alexander said softly.

After doing a series of flashy turns, Reed made a screeching landfall, forcing the throttle so the duck’s wheels were spinning the minute she hit solid ground. It wasn’t great for the AV, but it gave them a head start coming out of the water.

They came to a noisy halt in a parking bay outside Inquisitus just as the pursuing vehicles pulled up on the other side of the crash barrier.

Dozens of people immediately scrambled out and ran towards them, shouting questions, filming them, and firing off photographs as Josiah emerged. Opening the back door of the duck, he pulled his prisoner out, shielding him from the probing lenses with his big body.

“Hey – Investigator Raine, are the rumours true? Has Elliot Dacre been murdered?” someone called. The crowd of journalists, photographers, and social media sleuths swarmed towards him, yelling out more questions.

“Investigator Raine – who’s the prisoner?”

“Is that Dacre’s indie?”

“Is that Alexander Lytton? Oh shit – it is! It’s Alexander Lytton!”

The news surged around like floodwater, and, scenting a massive story, the group erupted.

Grabbing Alexander’s arm, Josiah propelled him towards the imposing glass doors of the Inquisitus building. The crowd swarmed around them, jostling them, and Alexander stumbled. Josiah tightened his grasp on his arm, keeping him upright. Alexander was solidly muscled, but he didn’t have his own broad shoulders or the ballast of his greater height and weight.

“Investigator Raine – did Lytton do it? Is that why you’ve arrested him? Was Elliot Dacre murdered by his own indie?” A man thrust a microphone in front of his face.

“I heard the body was mutilated – that the genitals were cut off and stuffed into Dacre’s mouth – is that true?” another demanded.

Josiah glared at them icily, wondering, not for the first time, if they made this shit up just to see his reaction. He heard Alexander take a sharp intake of breath and noticed he looked pale and shaken.

“Take him inside,” he ordered, shoving Alexander at Reed.

Then he turned and held up his hands. The crowd immediately fell silent, gathering around him.

“Yes, Elliot Dacre is dead,” he said bluntly. “We have no idea at this stage who killed him and will therefore be pursuing several lines of inquiry.”

“Can you confirm that was Alexander Lytton with you just now? Have you arrested the most notorious indie in the land?”

“The most notorious indie in the land? Seriously?” Josiah rolled his eyes.

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