‘Sure. Promise is a promise.’
‘Wouldn’t that compromise any future confrontation?’
‘When you say “confrontation”, you mean constructive dialogue? Unless we come up with something radical, there might not be another chat with the lovely Spence. Nah, it plants a double bluff. He doesn’t really have much of a tell as such. Now he believes that blinking is his giveaway, he’ll go absurdly over the top trying to hide it. Much as we try, it’s a natural instinct to overcompensate. He’ll think he’s hidden it but the remedy will be obvious: like a drunk person trying to act sober. All the advantage would still be with me.’
Lucy smiled. ‘What about his fingerprints in the store? What sayeth he on that score?’
‘Ah, well. He claimed he went there eight days ago – had a mad moment where he wanted to see his rival. Then had an even madder moment where he contemplated talking to him. Some kind of man-to-man bull, or size him up, or whatever. Ended up realising how nuts that was, bought some chocolate and left.’
‘You believe him?’
‘I sort of do, actually. It’s the kind of dumb thing you do when you’re smitten. And I think when he stopped to think it through, and imagined Megan’s face when he told her, it brought him up short. That rings true. Most of my dumb ideas can be stopped by me picturing Barb’s face when I have to explain it. So yeah, in lieu of anything substantive against it – yeah.’
‘Not all your dumb ideas, Mikey. Even Saint Barb’s powers don’t run that strong.’
‘So show me the future, Luce. What can the brave new world of computerised billing tell us?’
Lucy eased her chair to one side, so that Mike could scuttle his across next to her. He checked the doorway before propelling himself across. ‘I nearly hit someone doing this last week.’
‘Mirror, signal, manoeuvre.’
They did their little fake battle for pole position, and bumped chairs.
‘Okay,’ she began, ‘so this is a little freaky. That estate the Cassavettes live on? It’s got a smart meter fitted in every home. Apparently the plan was to fit solar panels on each house, then the market tightened and they cut corners. Unheard of – a property developer not following through.’
Mike placed his hand on his heart. ‘Once again, I physically cannot imagine that.’
Lucy grinned. ‘So, the meters were partly to show the lucky householders how much income their panels were generating. Obviously, no longer needed for that, but these meters do so much more.’ She opened a spreadsheet. ‘You can set them up to read each socket – how much electricity is running through it, for how long, and when. If you programme it to know that socket A is the fridge, socket B is the television, etcetera, then you can see which appliance is on, and when. It’s supposed to help you economise, and save the planet. But it’s a nosy person’s charter, if I’m honest.’
Mike stared at the spreadsheet but all he saw were boxes with tiny numbers in them. ‘And that’s bona fide evidence?’
‘You mean can someone tamper with it? Well, I guess they could reconfigure what each socket meant: they could re-programme it to say socket B is a clock, not a television. But there’d be an audit trail if they do.’ She tapped the keyboard to refresh. ‘And the electric company – the very well-spoken Jason – assures me they haven’t changed from the original settings.’ Lucy turned to face Mike, her face sombre. ‘I believe Jason. As you would.’
Mike nodded. ‘I’ve never been lied to by Jason. He’s good people. In fact, I’ve never been lied to by any Jason. It’s an intrinsically trustworthy name. So what does the data say?’
‘My new bestest friend Jason and I agree that the pattern the previous evening looks kosher. TV goes off just before midnight; so do the lights. Bedroom light the last to go off. Bathroom light is on for fifty-two seconds at 0314.’
Mike grimaced, then chuckled. ‘You get to Lynch’s age, that kind of goes with the territory. Let me see…’ He ducked back a few pages in his notes, finding the timelines from his discussions with Megan and Lynch. ‘Yeah, that fits with both of them claiming he arrived just before midnight and they went to bed.’
‘See here? Or is that too small for you, old-timer?’ Mike squinted. ‘Two sockets running low level and briefly until 0030 – my buddy Jason says that’s usually phone-charging. Here’s where it gets really interesting.’
Lucy highlighted four columns in the spreadsheet, zoomed in and pointed at various cells. ‘Lights on at 0522 – main bedroom, then main bathroom. Hot water in the bathroom 0523 to 0536. En suite lights 0527. Hot water in the en suite 0528 to 0537. Second socket in the en suite 0539 to 0543 – that’ll be a hairdryer. Then, lights off upstairs, lights on downstairs. There’s a kettle… and then a toaster. Only thing still on when Dana arrived was the kitchen light. And the data for after Dana arrives fits with her description of what happened: lights, coffee-making, and so on.’ Lucy tapped a file in her in-tray. ‘I have her notes here.’
Mike puffed his cheeks and sat back. He hadn’t expected it to be so comprehensive, so definitive. Like the technology on phones and fitness devices, the level of data allowed rapid and detailed inferences about private lives. As a detective, it was extremely useful, but part of him was a little queasy about it.
‘Jesus, Luce. That’s uh, fulsome. Not to say Stasi-like.’
‘I know, right? All they need now is a jam jar with your scent in it and they have the trifecta. If you don’t deliberately sign against it, the electric company can see all this data. You know, so they can, uh, ‘make sure you’re on the best possible tariff’ and all.’ Lucy tutted. ‘I mean, it’s spooky: worrying, in the wrong hands.’ She laid a reassuring hand on his. ‘It’s fine with upstanding citizens like me and Jace, of course.’
‘Of course. So we agree they couldn’t have tampered with the actual meter itself – the recording mechanism?’
‘Only by leaving a trail that would be pretty obvious. Jason says the settings haven’t been touched since they were originally created, a week after the Cassavettes moved in. Apparently, that’s fairly common – set and forget.’
‘Yeah,’ replied Mike. ‘I sometimes don’t bother to change the clock in the car when it’s daylight-saving time. Just do the calculation in my head for six months. So I can relate.’
He looked to Lucy, and was embarrassed at her mouthing you old man.
‘But,’ he continued, ‘if they can’t tamper with the recordings, then…’
‘Way ahead of you. Here’s how they could do it.’ She leaned forward and pulled up the reports from other teams that morning. ‘Search team says there’s no burglar alarm in the Cassavette house, and the clocks by the bed, judging from the search photos, are battery-powered. Door-to-door says Lynch parks round the back of the property, next to some waste ground. So it’s possible to leave the house and drive to the store without leaving a trail of smart meter, lights or any CCTV between one place and the other.’
‘No cameras at all?’ Mike had hoped that a second sweep might have found at least one that faced the road. Even something that identified the car type, if not a number plate, might have been effective leverage face to face.
‘There is… there are some in homes along the route, but none that has any view of the road. They all face the houses, or face inwards from the electric gate to show the visitor’s face. So, effectively, no. It’s ten kilometres – seven minutes if you’re busting it through the backroads – from that edge of Earlville to Jensen’s Store. Dana did the exact route on the way back from Megan’s and timed it, clever girl.’