the grounds at Ratnapida. Even then, it had made her feel naked: unable to reach or be reached. Also untraceable. Probably what Spanner liked. “But when you do,” she persisted.
“Then I use this.” She slid open a drawer and pulled out an ordinary-looking slate. “It’s almost empty. I clean it every time I get back here. Take a look.” She extended her hand. Lore had to drag herself up from her mat.
She looked it over, spotted the metal and ceramic protuberance immediately. “What’s this?”
“A lock.”
“But you said any code could—”
“It’s not a code. It’s an old-fashioned insert-key-and-turn lock. No one knows how they work anymore. Safe as the most modern encryption. For most people.”
“Most?”
“Hyn and Zimmer are so old that they remember some things. And they’ve taught them to me. But that’s all beside the point. This lock is like my tracking device. If someone is sharp enough, but dumb enough, to steal a slate that belongs to me, I’ll want to know who they are. After they’ve tried to puzzle out this monster, they’ll assume—wrongly, of course—that there must be some fabulous secrets on here, so sooner or later they’ll start asking around for anyone who knows anything about locks. And I’ll track them down. And then we’ll have a little chat.”
Lore looked at the bump of metal and ceramic on the plastic slate. A little chat. She thought of the medic who patched up ragged wounds without comment.
When it got too cold by the river I walked to the city mortuary and leaned against the wall, just outside the circle of heavy, yellowish-orange street light, and waited for Ruth. Dawn was well enough along to turn the lights into unpleasant turmeric stains on the pavement by the time Ruth stepped through the gates. I was shocked at how tired she looked.
“You look as though you could do with some coffee.”
“No. I just want to get home.” Her voice was listless. She handed me a thin box. “Her name and details are in there, too. She’s a bit old but otherwise she’s a very good match. From Immingham. Anyway, it’s the best I could do.”
It was a small box. I rattled it dubiously. “Everything’s there?”
Ruth nodded. “Though it’s not a full set of fingers. The corpse was missing thumb and index from her right hand, but then I remembered you were left-handed, so it shouldn’t matter too much.” She hesitated. “Lore, this has to be the last time.”
I understood, of course. Between us, Spanner and I had done some pretty low things. Some of them to Ruth. I tucked the box into an inside pocket. “How have you been?”
“We’re managing. I go back on days soon. I’ll be glad when I’ve finished with nights. I feel as though I haven’t seen Ellen for weeks. She’s just leaving as I get home.”
I envied them even that. “When you’re back on the day shift it would be nice if you both came over for an evening.”
“If you like.” Ruth was too tired to hide her indifference. She turned to go.
“Ruth. . .” Maybe it was something in my voice, but Ruth stopped. “I mean it. I’d really like you to come. Just to talk. No favors. That other thing, the film. It’s not . . . it won’t. . .” I took a deep breath. “Things are different now. I’m not with Spanner anymore.”
For the first time since she had walked out of the morgue gates, Ruth looked at me, really looked at me. I don’t know what she saw, but she nodded. “We’ll come. I’ll call you.”
At the river-taxi wharf, it was too early for the usual tourist hubbub so I took my coffee to a private corner table. The sun was coming up behind me, slicking the black-paned privacy windows and newly pointed brickwork of renovated dockside buildings bloody orange, like overripe fruit. Copters buzzed and alighted like wasps.
I slid open the box and took out the neatly printed flimsy.
Bird, Sal. Female. Caucasian. Blood type A positive. DOB . . . Twenty-five. Four years older than me. It could have been worse. And all the other details could be fixed. In time.
The tiny black PIDA was in a sealed bag with a note attached in Ruth’s handwriting. Already sterile. Next to it was a plaskin pouch the size of a pink cockroach. Frozen blood for DNA tests. It did not feel cold. I slid the box open further, wondering if Ruth had forgotten the print molds, and then smiled.