And he stared out the car window, fretting away with feverish concentration behind a perfectly tranquil, sweetly disarming countenance.
PART TWO
ELEVEN
Cadel sat in Fiona's car, heading for Clearview House.
He was still worried about visiting the place. Though he and Sonja had spent hours discussing Trader's proposition, he couldn't help feeling that they had made the wrong choice—simply because it was the obvious one to make. Why not choose Clearview House? It was full of like-minded people and cutting-edge technology. It was frequented by Com's sister, who might have some idea of her brother's whereabouts. Best of all, it came with a salary. Fifty thousand dollars for three months' work! And five thousand a month after that! How could anyone with even half a brain turn down such an offer?
Cadel viewed the money as a kind of insurance. Even if Clearview House closed its doors, he and Sonja would have enough put by for Sonja's care, at least. That was the important thing. Cadel's own future was so hazy that there wasn't much point fretting about it; for all he knew, he might be in another country by the end of the year, and out of Sonja's reach. So he was determined that, if she did end up in a nasty little house full of people who didn't understand her, she would have the funds to pay for a full-time attendant with a cheerful personality and an interest in mathematics.
He had said as much to Sonja, though he hadn't mentioned going away. She found the subject too upsetting. They had agreed that the money was a big plus. They had also agreed that living in the same house would be a definite advantage. (Sonja had called it "a dream come true.") They had discussed all the possible drawbacks of the scheme—unknown housemates, questionable practices, lying to the authorities.
"I-don't-like-breaking-laws," Sonja had said. "But-tapping-phones-and-intercepting-mail-isn't-too-bad. Especially-if-it-stops-more-people-getting-killed."
"And we can make sure things don't get too illegal," Cadel had remarked, trying to salve his own unsettled conscience. "We can go to the police if we re concerned."
"Because-the-police-will-always-be-around." Fighting a wearisome battle against her own capricious and wilful body, Sonja had finally tapped out an exhausted "We-won' t-be-in-danger-if-the-police-are-tailing-you."
Sonja's heart had been working against her head; Cadel understood this only too well. She was so desperate to share a house with him, and to spend time with mathematically inclined people, that she was willing to overlook all her niggling little doubts. Cadel was the same. Apart from anything else, he couldn't bear to see her disappointed again—because disappointment had so far been her lot in life. Having been born with cerebral palsy, abandoned by her parents, and stuck in a series of state-run institutions like an unwanted package, she was overdue for a bit of good luck.
So Cadel had decided in favor of Clearview House. Nevertheless, something about it disturbed him. He felt that the people running it might have a secret agenda. He couldn't quite believe everything that he'd been told; all his instincts were prompting him to be cautious. But were those instincts reliable? Or had they been warped by his childhood training?
If only I could calculate the probabilities, Cadel thought, as he sat in Fiona's car. Alas, however, his algorithms were useless, simply because he didn't have enough data about Clearview House and its occupants. There were too many variables.
"Here we are," Fiona announced. With a grinding of gears, she pulled up in front of a big iron gate in a high brick wall. Treetops were visible above the wall; through the gate, Cadel could see a gravel drive leading to something that looked like an Edwardian mansion. "This must be Clearview House," Fiona said. "I wonder how we're supposed to get in?"
"There's an intercom," Cadel pointed out. He was on the verge of suggesting that he should look for a button when the gates began to open automatically, swinging slowly apart on well-oiled hinges.
"Goodness," said Fiona, with a frown. "This is all very elaborate."
Cadel wondered where the security camera had been installed.
As they drove into the grounds, Cadel realized that the gates had been slightly misleading. Though Clearview House was big, it had definitely seen better days. Its gutters were rusty and its paint was peeling. Something fuzzy and green was growing on one of its chimneys. Apart from a few straggly, overgrown flower beds, its garden was all unkempt grass and disintegrating asphalt.
Shabby but not too shabby. Cadel remembered Judith's comment. Peering at what looked like a bedsheet hanging in one of the bay windows, he couldn't help thinking that Trader and his friends had overdone the shabbiness.
But Fiona seemed to find this rundown aspect reassuring. More reassuring, at least, than the silently welcoming gates.
"Well," she said, with a cheerfulness that was only a little bit forced, "it's certainly not cramped." And she stopped near the front steps.
Cadel unbuckled his seat belt. They both climbed out of the car and approached the house, which was three stories high, with all kinds of gables and verandas and bits of fretwork trimming. Two other vehicles were parked near the entrance: a battered blue van and a rather sleek four-wheel drive.
Cadel made a mental note of their license plate numbers. He also scanned the facade of the house for signs of electronic surveillance—and was pleased to discover an almost invisible wire running along one pediment. If there were any cameras, however, they were well disguised. Extremely well disguised.
A bicycle and a canvas hammock were cluttering up the front porch.
Fiona's knock was answered immediately. The door swung open to reveal Trader, looking lean and tanned and remarkably well groomed. Fiona's jaw dropped. Though she quickly tried to conceal her amazement, his chiseled features and Hollywood smile had a very obvious effect on her. She lost every trace of self-confidence, groping for her handbag and stammering out a feeble explanation.
"It's Cadel. And me. I'm Fiona. Currey."
"Yes, of course. We've been expecting you. I'm Trader Lynch. How do you do, Ms. Currey?"
"We're here to see if we like the look of this place."
"I know. Come in."
As he ushered her inside, Trader directed a surreptitious wink at Cadel. Then he swept them both into a large and lofty room, which occupied most of the front part of the house. Although this room had ornate ceilings and enormous windows, it was very shabby, with scuffed floors and scarred woodwork. It contained three battered couches, a beanbag chair, a television set, a DVD player, a bookshelf, and a coffee table heaped with old magazines, dirty cups, compact disks, and tangles of earphones.
It also contained two people. One, a teenaged boy, was slumped in the beanbag chair, reading a computer magazine. His feet were dirty, and a black woolen beanie was pulled down low on his head, concealing his hair color. He wore olive green cargo pants and a drab zippered sweatshirt, both so baggy that it was hard to judge his build. But whether thin or fat, he was certainly very pale. And he had terrible acne.
Opposite him, on the couch, sat a heavy teenaged girl with a pierced lip and eyebrow. She was dressed all in black. Even her hair was black. Though she had the same small dark eyes and plump cheeks as her companion, her skin was much better than his.
The impression that she conveyed was a restless one, because she was simultaneously chewing gum, painting her toenails, and humming through her nose.
The humming stopped when she saw the new arrivals.
"This is Lexi," Trader announced, gesturing at her. "And this is her twin brother, Devin. Lexi, this is Cadel Piggott. I told you about him."
There was a moment's silence. Devin didn't even look up. Lexi stared, her face a mask of astonishment. Then she burst into delighted giggles.
"Oh, man!" she exclaimed. "He's so cute!"
"And this is Cadel's caseworker, Ms. Currey."
"Hello," said Fiona.
But Lexi was interested only in Cadel.
"He's such a little doll!" she yelped, ignoring Fiona. "Can I keep him? Please? I won't break him,
I promise!"
"Behave yourself, Lexi." Addressing her brother, Trader added, "Aren't you going to say hello?"
Devin grunted, still not looking up. Lexi, however, jumped to her feet—with such energy and enthusiasm that the floor shook.
"Are you showing them around?" she asked. "Can I come, too?"
Trader glanced at Cadel, wearing an apologetic half smile. Cadel hesitated. Though he found Lexi intimidating, he didn't want to admit it.
"Sure," he mumbled. "She can come if she wants."
"So this is the lounge room?" Fiona interrupted—rather stupidly, Cadel thought. But perhaps she was trying to distract Lexi, who was still devouring him with her eyes.
"Yes, this is the lounge room," Trader confirmed, retracing his steps into the hallway. "And down here, behind it, we've got Sonja's bedroom—with attached bathroom—and beyond that is the kitchen..."
Heading toward the back of the house, he pointed out various newly installed ramps and handrails, while Fiona stumbled along beside him and Cadel brought up the rear. They passed a sweeping staircase, then turned right. Lexi kept nudging against Cadel as they walked.
"I can't believe you're fifteen," she said. "You look about ten. Have you really finished school already?"
"We've widened the door here, and all the switches and controls are on one remote circuit," Trader continued, advancing into Sonja's room. It was very big and furnished with a brand-new desk, bed, chair, and built-in wardrobe. "We turned this parlor next door into a bathroom, so it's nice and big," Trader went on, proudly indicating an enviable array of fixtures, fittings, taps, and tiles. (Cadel couldn't wait to tell Sonja about them.) "And she'll be right next to the kitchen," Trader finished, "so everything will be within easy reach..."
"Is she a friend of yours? This spastic girl?" Lexi asked Cadel, in a low voice. "Judith says she's supersmart."
"She is," Cadel said shortly. They were now back in the hallway and moving toward the kitchen, which lay at the rear of the house. Cadel could smell food cooking. He wasn't surprised when, upon entering a spacious room full of pine cupboards, they found a man stooped over a six-burner stove. This man was wrapped in an apron and stirring the contents of a massive steel pot.
"Meet Zac Stillman, one of our trained youth counselors. He's on lunch duty." Trader surveyed the unoccupied chairs and deserted sink. "Where's Hamish?" he asked the cook. "Isn't he rostered on today?"
Zac turned, wiping his hands on his apron. Tall and thin and bearded, he wore his blond hair tied back in a ponytail. Everything on him appeared to be tie-dyed, except his sandals. Cadel judged him to be somewhere in his thirties.
"Hamish is upstairs." Zac's voice was as gentle as his placid face and washed-out blue eyes. "I've asked him twice, and he keeps saying he just has to finish one more thing."
"Don't ask him again," Lexi pleaded, loudly and plaintively. "We'll all die of food poisoning." Leaning toward Cadel, she screwed up her little pug nose. "Do you know what he did last time? He tried to cook chicken schnitzels in the toaster."
"I seem to recall you once tried to feed us hot-dog soup, Lexi," Zac remarked, and extended a damp, red hand. "You must be Cadel," he said. "Welcome to Clearview."
Suddenly the doorbell rang. Everyone seemed surprised—even Trader. When Fiona assured him that she hadn't invited anyone else along, he pursed his lips and told her to stay put for a moment. "I'll just go and see who it is," he said, training his radiant smile on her. But Cadel saw him shoot a quick glance at Zac, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Clearly, life at Clearview House wasn't as casual as it might appear.
"I want to find out what you think of your room," Lexi informed Cadel, as they listened to the sound of Trader's receding footsteps. "Because I helped Judith fix it up."
"Oh. Thanks," said Cadel.
"You're right on the top floor. Next to Hamish," Lexi added, in tones of commiseration. "He snores, but he doesn't smell. Much."
Cadel didn't know what to say to this, so he said nothing. During the silence that followed, he could hear a faint rumble of voices. One belonged to Trader; the other was flat and deep, with a distinctive Canadian accent.
Cadel recognized it instantly.
"That's Saul!" Fiona exclaimed, before he could open his mouth. "What's he doing here?"
She hurried from the room, her heels rapping out an urgent rhythm. Cadel was about to pursue her when Lexi grabbed his arm, detaining him.
"Who's Saul?" Lexi demanded.
"He's a detective," said Cadel, trying to pull away. Zac winced.
"Oh, no! The fuzz!" Lexi cried. She struck a theatrical pose of exaggerated alarm, throwing up her hands and allowing Cadel to break free. He hurried into the hallway, aware that Lexi was right behind him. Saul, he could see, was at the foot of the staircase, conversing with Trader. The detective looked terribly neat and formal in his dark suit. He stood stiffly, his face very serious, while Trader lounged against the balusters, smiling and joking and waving his hands about.
When Cadel appeared, Saul inclined his head.
"Hello, Cadel," he murmured, interrupting Trader's description of the Clearview schedule. "I hope you don't mind, but I came to check this place out myself."
Cadel shrugged, pretending to be unconcerned. "I don't mind," he said. "Why should I?"
"Ms. Currey mentioned you were coming," Saul continued. "I thought I'd better make sure that you were going to be safe on this little tour."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about his safety, Detective," Trader joked. "We keep all our velociraptors under lock and key in this establishment. House rules." Struck by a sudden thought, he laid a friendly hand on Saul's shoulder. "Speaking of house rules, would you like a copy of our mission statement? I gave one to Ms. Currey, but I'd be happy for you to see it."
"I've seen it," Saul replied, shaking off Trader's clasp. At that moment, Devin appeared at the door of the front room. After briefly contemplating the boy's bare feet and sullen slouch, Saul locked gazes with him—until Devin yielded, glancing away.
Lexi said, in strident tones, "It's the fuzz, Dev, you'd better hide your spliffs!" And she manufactured a vicious sneer as Saul studied her.
"You must be Alexis Wieneke," he said, to Lexi's obvious surprise. Fiona frowned, and Trader's smile became slightly starched looking.
"I see you've been doing some research," he commented. "I suppose it's understandable."
"There isn't much on file." Saul's manner was calm but authoritative. "That's why I came. To see for myself."
"And is there anywhere you'd like to start?" Trader inquired, with just the faintest edge to his voice. "What can I do to set your mind at rest, Mr. Greeniaus?"
"Not a lot," Saul admitted. "I'm not paid to be satisfied." He laid a hand on Cadel's shoulder, in a pointed fashion. As if he were marking out his territory. "Maybe we should start with Cadel's room."
"Very well. Cadel's room it is," said Trader. And he began to climb the stairs.
TWELVE
Though Trader's ultimate destination was the top floor, he didn't head straight for Cadel's room. On the contrary, he made a slight detour when he reached the first landing. "Just wait one moment," he requested, "while I have a word with Hamish." And he strode toward the front of the house, where the old master bedroom had been stocked with computers, dartboards, stereo equipment, and a half-sized pool table.
None of this equipment was new, but it seemed to be in working order.
"Hamish!" said Trader, upon reaching the door of the games room. Peering past him, Cadel could see someone seated in front of a glowing monitor, tapping away at a keyboard. Galvanized by Trader's greeting, this bowed figure straightened and spun around on the pivot of an armless office chair.
Cadel felt a twinge of dismay when he saw Hamish While the twins looked convincingly like juvenile delinquents, Hamish did not. He was a juvenile, all right; Cadel judged him to be about fifteen. But despite his studded leather jacket, grubby bandana, and enormous b
iker's boots, Hamish didn't make a credible delinquent. He had the glasses, the braces, the bleached skin, and the springy, unmanageable hair of a stereotypical computer geek.
His knobbly hands seemed far too big for the rest of him.
"Hamish," said Trader, "aren't you supposed to be helping out in the kitchen?"
"Uh ... yeah." Hamish pushed his glasses up his long, straight nose. His nails were bitten down to the quick. His wobbly voice occasionally tripped up on a stammer. "I just have to d-do this first."
"Get down there, Hamish," Trader said sternly. "I won't tell you again."
"And don't boil eggs in the electric jug this time!" Lexi warned, from behind Cadel's shoulder. Glancing in her direction, Hamish narrowed his smoky gray eyes. He had spotted Cadel.
"Are you the new kid?" he asked.
"Yes," said Cadel.
"This is Cadel Piggott," said Trader, "and this is Ms. Currey, his caseworker, and Detective Inspector Greeniaus."
Hamish goggled at Saul, while Cadel scrutinized the computer screen. Even from a distance, Cadel could recognize a fully operational PIN scan when he saw one.
Saul, however, obviously couldn't.
"What are you doing here?" Hamish demanded of Saul, blankly incredulous. "Are you the bodyguard?"
"In a manner of speaking," Saul replied.
"You mean you're going to stay?" Hamish sounded so appalled that Cadel couldn't help cringing. Fortunately, the detective didn't notice Cadel's reaction. He was staring at Hamish, one eyebrow raised.
Then Trader intervened.
"Go on, Hamish. Off you go," he said encouragingly. "Zac's waiting for you."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going." Hamish began to rise, engineering a quick withdrawal from his Nmap program as he did so. Cadel decided not to ask him about intrusion-detection systems—not yet, anyway. Not until Saul Greeniaus had left.
Then Lexi nudged Cadel in the ribs.
"Do you want to see my room?" she queried.