Page 90 of Crocodile Tears

Juniper hesitated. “It has to be a possibility, surely?” he said at last. “I went to many of Elliot’s parties, and we often lunched together; I’ve talked to Alexander a few times, but despite that I have no idea who he really is. So, I have to say yes, it’s possible.”

“Can you think of anyone else who might have wanted to kill Elliot? Did he have any enemies? What about the debts he owed?”

Juniper shook his head. “Elliot was a sweet man – I can’t imagine him having any enemies. As for his debts, they were all owed to banks, and they don’t usually deal with bad debts by having their customers murdered.” He gave a wry smile. “Elliot always managed to sweet-talk them into extending his credit, and it’s entirely possible he’d have paid off his debts in time. He owned a lot of beautiful things – his house is full of them. I’m certain that Alexander was the last thing he’d sell.”

“What about his drug habit? Elliot was a habitual croc user.”

“True, but he was only ever a recreational user. It’s illegal to manufacture croc but not illegal to take it, as I’m sure you know, Investigator.” Juniper inclined his head. “As long as you don’t drive under the influence.”

“What about other drugs?”

Juniper grimaced. “Well, Elliot didn’t use anything stronger than croc himself, but I did see him hand out harder drugs to certain VIP guests at his parties – he did like to take care of his celebrity friends. I don’t think Elliot owed a vast sum to his dealer, though – or he never confided in me about it if he was in over his head. He didn’t seem worried about it, and like I said, there were expensive items in the house that he could have sold if his situation had become urgent.”

Josiah nodded thoughtfully. “Well, thank you, Mr Juniper.” He stood up and held out his hand. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“I’m not sure I have. Look, I wouldn’t like to think that anything I said condemned that young man to…” Juniper trailed off, looking upset. “I don’t know anything bad about him. I just don’t think any of usever actually knew him, including Elliot. Especially Elliot.” He took off his glasses and wiped them, blinking rapidly. “Poor, dear Elliot.”

Josiah drove back towards Ghost Eye, mulling over what he’d learned. Elliot Dacre seemed to have had no enemies. By all accounts he’d been a genial party animal with a flair for the dramatic, and he had clearly doted on his beautiful young servant. There was no motive for killing him, and Josiah still had no concrete leads. Their one and only suspect was Alexander. He glanced at his watch – he had one hour before he had to release Alexander or charge him.

Pulling over near a lost zone, he climbed out of his duck and leaned against the wall to think. He didn’t owe this IS anything – why not charge him with Dacre’s murder and wash his hands of the case? There were no other suspects, no other leads, and nothing to imply that Alexander hadn’t killed his houder except his own gut feeling – and since when did he allow his feelings to dictate a case?

Charging Alexander was the simplest option and wouldn’t do his reputation as the infamous indiehunter any harm, either. The media would love it. Wasn’t this precisely what they all wanted? Alexander was already notorious – nobody would have any sympathy for him. His ambiguous personality and refusal to help himself were frustrating – so why the hell should he throw the IS any kind of lifeline?

He gazed out over the murky grey water for a long time, in an agony of indecision. Finally, he asked himself the one question he could no longer avoid: What would Peter do?

“You’ve got twenty-four hours’ leave,” Hunt told him. “Go to LKG with everyone else. Enjoy it.” He grinned, knowingly.

“Leave, sir?” Josiah stared at him blankly.

“Yup. We’ve just won our first Olympic gold medal since the Rising. Everyone back home is celebrating Lytton’s win – why shouldn’t we?”

The entire company had gathered around Hunt’s nanopad earlier to watch Charles Lytton storming to a thrilling finish.

“To be honest, I’m not that interested in sport, sir.”

“It’s not about the bloody sport, Joe. Nobody cares about rowing. It’s the fact that we finally won gold again, after all these years.”

“What about the convoy, sir?”

“I’ll stay behind with a couple of guards, but I’m not anticipating any trouble. We aren’t in a scavenger area, and nobody would dare attack us so close to the Barkhausen supply camp.”

Josiah hesitated. “I’m not sure, sir – seems risky to me.”

Hunt pointed at the tent flap. “Go! You work hard, and you deserve to have some fun. On that subject…” He gave Josiah a conspiratorial grin. “The others will all head for the big red barge with the loud music, but you won’t find what you’re looking for there. Look for the blue barge with the rooster painted on the side; that’s the one for you. Now, bugger off!”

Josiah would have preferred to stay in the camp, with Captain Hunt, but he did as he was told. Besides, it would be fun to do something different after months on the road. He pulled on a red shirt and denim jeans and then walked down to LKG with the rest of the unit.

They smelled the city before they saw it; a rank mix of sewage, food, and people rose up from the water ahead. Lastkahn Ghetto, commonly known as LKG, had been one of the first boat cities to emerge after the Rising and was still the largest anywhere in the world.

They all slowed down and then stopped, awestruck, as they reached the water’s edge. Ahead, as far as the eye could see, were thousands of floating vessels, crammed tightly together: boats, barges, and rafts of all shapes and sizes.

LKG was a city of flotsam and jetsam: noisy, colourful, and full of life. Some of the soldiers had been here before, and they ran ahead, eager to enjoy their time off.

There were several ramps reaching onto the boats from the shore; Big Jen led the way, jumping effortlessly onto the nearest one. Josiah followed her, leaping from boat to boat until they reached the heart of a bustling marketplace. He jumped onto a boat selling fresh vegetables, while the one next to it contained racks of jewellery. Another bargehad a variety of cheeses hanging from the roof, and yet another smelled enticingly of freshly baked bread.

Josiah bought some hachée from a fat woman with a gap-toothed smile and ate it as he explored the busy market. All human life seemed to have washed up here. Young and old, male and female, and every race under the sun, all intermingled in this city without walls.

There were some sad sights, too – orphaned children begging in gangs, people with terrible injuries from fights with the scavs, and old war veterans from Rosengarten and Poznan, missing limbs and covered in scars. Josiah threw a coin into the hat of a man with no eyes who said he’d fought at Rosengarten and then followed the rest of the unit.

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