He didn’t bother to look in on the girl. He walked straight past her door and into his own bedroom. The city and the Bay lay at his feet, dark now but sparkling with the lights of bars and restaurants, and other apartments. He stripped off and enjoyed the reflected image of himself, a naked god astride the city below, then stepped into the shower and purged himself of the stink of the young drug dealer’s death.
There was a TV screen built into the marble of the shower wall and a waterproof remote hung alongside the soaps and lotions Lucca kept beside the shower controls. He used it as the shower water beat down on him like a warm tropical storm, and the screen lit up with footage from the SkyPoint lobby.
A time code at the bottom of the screen told him he was watching something from mid-afternoon when nothing was really happening down there, apart from the blonde girl from the estate agency admiring her reflection in one of the smoked windows. He smiled as she adjusted her neckline for a fraction more exposure. The girl had no idea about Lucca’s hidden surveillance network. No one but Lucca and the people who had installed it did. If anyone ever came to get him – some other company intent on his turf, or someone from the old country that was still looking for his head; maybe even the cops – then Lucca would see them coming, and he’d be ready. And he was prepared, even if they were clever and struck from within. It wasn’t just the public areas that he’d had rigged; the apartments were all wired, too. Which offered the kind of specialised programming you didn’t get with conventional cable, even premium rate.
Lucca toggled through the cameras. A lot of the apartments were still empty, but he knew they would fill up and generally the people who took them were young and attractive.
He remembered the couple that had been in the lobby when as he’d left that evening. They were the kind of people he liked to see moving in.
Well, she had been.
On the television screen he was looking at a bedroom on the thirteenth floor. Beside the time code at the bottom of the screen another graphic identified the apartment: this was number forty-four. The Lloyd family. Lucca didn’t know the names of everyone that had moved into the lower levels of his fortress, but Ewan Lloyd worked for him. He was an accountant, and a good one. He wasn’t crooked, but he didn’t ask questions.
When Lucca had first met him a year earlier, Ewan Lloyd was a man with a drink problem who could barely afford his next bottle of malt, never mind ask questions. There had been some sort of family trouble that had got him hitting the bottle; Lucca guessed it was something to do with the guy’s wife.
Wendy Lloyd was hot. Way too hot for someone like her husband, who was not only a pen-pushing number jockey, but was going bald before he hit forty and carried a belly like a beer keg. Whatever had possessed a woman like her to marry a man like that, it was never going to be long before she strayed. Lucca promised himself a piece of her one day, too, but not until her husband had in some way outlived his usefulness. There were some people that you didn’t give a reason to betray you – a good accountant was one of them.
Lloyd had pretty much dried out over the last six months; Lucca guessed that he and Wendy had patched up their marital rift for the sake of their little girl.
Lucca was about to move on from the image of the empty bedroom (as Wendy wasn’t slipping out of her clothes in there – and he knew that was a sight not to be missed) when the little girl walked in.
He wasn’t much of an expert on kids, but Lucca guessed she was five or six. They called her Alison. She had golden hair like her mum. Lots of it. She’d been lucky, Lucca thought as he watched her climb onto her parents’ bed with some kind of big rag doll bundled in her arms. As the cells that had made her had collided inside Wendy Lloyd they had sucked the best part out of her mum’s genes and given the finger to the fat, ugly drunk half of the conception. Maybe that kind of genetic deal meant Alison didn’t get her dad’s brains, either, but Lucca didn’t see how that mattered: his interest in women didn’t extend to their intellectual abilities. Lucca just hoped Alison’s parents stuck around at SkyPoint for another ten years or so.
Alison was sitting on the Lloyds’ bed now, cross-legged. She had placed the rag doll opposite her. It looked like it was supposed to be some sort of elf, or goblin or something. It wore a green cap with a bell on the end of it, and there were cloth shoes at the end of its long candy-striped legs that turned up at the toes. It was battered and faded, as if it had been the little girl’s companion and confidante her whole life, their only separation being periodic rides in the washing machine.
It sat on the bed with its legs splayed out, its torso bent forward a little to give it some stability. It looked like it was leaning forward, intent on her kiddie conversation. Lucca could see that Alison was filling the doll in on something of vital importance.
Lucca felt something inside him tremble: there was something heartbreaking about the innocence of a child. Deep down, in a part of him that he rarely visited, Lucca ached. Innocence wouldn’t last. The world would see to that.
Lucca switched channels.
He almost missed the guy in the long overcoat.
FIVE
The blonde with the legs who had earlier that afternoon adjusted her neckline for impact had been replaced in the SkyPoint lobby by a grey-suited concierge who probably weighed the equivalent of a fully loaded catering freezer and had the same kind of build.
Jack had checked the guy out as he and Toshiko sat in the SUV parked outside SkyPoint. They could have got past him, but Jack didn’t see the sense in drawing attention to their presence when there was always going to be a back door.
As back doors went, when they found it, it was probably one of the most secure Jack had ever seen, with the kind of digital lock you normally found on the airlock of a biohazard lab.
‘If I was a burglar, I’d look somewhere else,’ Toshiko muttered as she ran her eye over the lock, then placed a gadget from her messenger bag against it.
The back door sprang open.
‘If the Rift ever closes down, I can see a whole new career for you,’ smiled Jack.
Toshiko glanced at Jack. ‘Yes. Well, I have form, don’t I?’
Jack felt his smile shrivel. He had recruited Toshiko into Torchwood from a UNIT cell that hadn’t been big enough to lie down in after she had stolen classified plans for an experimental weapon. She had been coerced into the theft by terrorists who kidnapped her mother, but the price of springing her from the military jail had included severing contact with her family. He had given Toshiko her freedom, but freedom was a relative concept when you worked for Torchwood.
He led the way into the apartment building and Toshiko followed, closing the door gently behind them. They found an elevator and rode it to the tenth floor.
As the doors opened on the passageway, Toshiko took out another hand-held piece of tech. It flickered with liquid-crystal graphics.
‘No sign of Rift activity,’ she said, as they moved along the passageway and Jack scanned the doors for the apartment Gwen and Rhys had visited earlier that day.
‘What about residual energy?’
‘Nothing showing.’
Jack frowned. ‘Well, I don’t have a whole lot of experience in real estate, but the way I hear it those guys don’t generally walk out on a potential sale.’