Foxtrot Hotel

By Simon Haynes

First a dead body shows up on Harriet's favourite beach.

Then she discovers the whole place is going to be bulldozed for an apartment complex.

She's convinced the two are connected, but she'll have to untangle a web of lies and corruption to reach the truth.

Meanwhile, someone has decided that the best way to avoid discovery is to silence Harriet... for good!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Simon Haynes
• Release date: Apr 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005080143

Simon Haynes

Simon Haynes lives in Western Australia, where he divides his time between herding deadly spiders, dodging drop bears, and making up wildly inaccurate sentences like this one.By day he's an author. By night he's also an author.He loves wry, dry humour, and his hobbies include daringly inserting the letter U into words where -- in some parts of the world at least -- this simply isn't the done thing.As for his genre-spanning novels, they include epic fantasy (with robots), scifi comedy (also with robots), middle grade humour (featuring robots AND the wanton use of the letter U), as well as a series of historical mystery novels set in 1870's London. (No, of course there aren't robots in those. He's not completely out of his mind.)When he's not writing Simon is usually renovating his house, sim-racing online, using twitter (@spacejock), gardening, tweaking his book covers, pondering the meaning of the universe and reading, and if you think it's easy doing all that at the same time you should see what he can do with a mug of coffee, a banana and a large bag of salt.When he's not making outlandish claims he likes to count how many novels he's written, and how many genres he's written them in. (Lots and too many.)Finally, if you want to hear Simon reading one of his award-winning stories, you'll find an enticement to join his newsletter here: spacejock.com.au/ML.html

Book preview

Trainee Harriet Walsh tackles her fourth major case.

First a dead body shows up on Harriet's favourite beach.

Then she discovers the whole place is going to be bulldozed for an apartment complex.

Now, Harriet must untangle a web of lies and corruption to reach the truth.

Meanwhile, someone has decided that the best way to avoid discovery is to silence Harriet for good…

Chapter 1

Harriet Walsh shivered as she passed through the main entrance of the Peace Force headquarters, Dismolle branch. Despite the chilly weather she was dressed in dark shorts and a light blue blouse, the latter with the single pip of a trainee on her left shoulder. One day, she thought, One day I'll make constable, and when I do I'm going to demand some proper winter clothing.

The double glass doors closed behind her, but there was little respite from the chill as the interior of the heavily-fortified building was not heated. The robot in charge, a hulking ex-military droid, claimed that lower temperatures improved brain activity. The truth was that the Dismolle Peace Force operated on a shoestring, and there was no money for luxuries like heating… or winter uniforms.

Morning, Bernie, called Harriet.

"So you are aware of the time. Bernie, a massive, blue-painted robot, was standing behind a fragile-looking rostrum in the reception area, facing two dozen empty chairs. Slowly she turned her head towards Harriet, and red lines swept back and forth across the robot's curved glass eye panel as Bernie studied her. You know, for the past few seconds I have been pondering that very question."

Oh, come on! It's only two minutes past.

Three, and the only reason you are not holding up my morning briefing is because Trainee Alice appears to be running even later than you are.

No wonder. She's probably frozen to the pavement or something. Harriet gestured at her light, short-sleeved shirt. Bernie, I don't care how broke we are, there must be rules about this kind of thing.

There are. While carrying out your duties, the official Peace Force uniform must be worn at all times.

I meant health and safety rules, protested Harriet. I wouldn't mind so much if you'd just let me throw a nice warm coat over the top.

I can only make an exception to the dress rule for undercover operations.

So give me an undercover case. Or, you know, a proper Peace Force jacket.

The doors opened and Alice staggered in, teeth chattering. Fifteen years old, with a ragged mop of hair and a thin build, she was almost blue from the cold. B—Bernie, please! Heating!

She can't, we're saving up for a uniform jacket, said Harriet. When it finally shows up, you and I can take it in turns to wear it.

I can't wait that long! Alice clapped her arms around herself in a vain attempt to warm up. If you need me I'll be in the staff room, sitting in front of the open fridge. It'll be like a blast of heat compared to this dungeon.

Save me a spot and I'll join you, muttered Harriet.

Neither of you are going anywhere, said Bernie severely. The robot's eye plate was not particularly expressive, but even so there was more than a hint of exasperation. It has now gone ten past seven, and in case you were not aware, the morning briefing was due to start almost eleven minutes ago.

Why can't we start at a civilised time? asked Harriet. Say nine or something. You know, when the air's not quite cold enough to freeze my eyeballs.

Eleven would suit me better, suggested Alice. She jerked her thumb at Harriet. She's always hogging the shower first thing.

Gee, how terrible. Have you thought about getting your own place? demanded Harriet.

On my wages? You're kidding, aren't you? I can't even afford a new pair of socks. Alice pointed to her ankle. Just look at the state of these!

Hey, those are mine!

Silence! shouted Bernie. She tapped the rostrum with a massive forefinger, the top creaking under the immense pressure. Do you know why we start at seven a.m.?

Yeah, to torture us, said Alice.

No! It's because an effective Peace Force officer is always alert, said Bernie. Starting the day early ensures you will always be one step ahead of any lazy criminals you might encounter.

One step ahead? If I ran after a criminal my toes would shatter!

Harriet snorted. Bernie, there aren't any criminals within two billion klicks of this planet, and I'm not alert at this hour, I'm half asleep. She frowned at her fellow trainee. Alice finished off the last of the damned coffee after work yesterday, so I can't even wake myself up with a jolt of caffeine.

That would not have been possible in any case, said Bernie. Last week I substituted the old brand for a cheaper one. As an added bonus, this new blend is entirely devoid of artificial stimulants.

"I've been drinking decaf? said Alice, shocked. Bernie, how could you?"

I hoped that lowering your caffeine intake would improve your mood, lessen your aggression and reduce the incidences of insubordination. The huge robot frowned at her. Clearly, it has made no difference.

No kidding! And without that kick, how are we supposed to stay awake through these briefings?

Enough! growled the huge robot. I will soon move on to your assigned tasks, but first I must take the morning roll call. In alphabetical order, this comprises Trainee Alice Walsh and Trainee Harriet Walsh, and I would ask you to speak up if you are present.

Harriet and Alice exchanged an exasperated look. Yeah, we're both here, said Alice. You know we are.

Trainee Harriet? Your voice print if you please.

Present and correct, said Harriet.

Excellent. Now, our first order of business is the Peace Force budget. Bernie eyed them over the rostrum. As you're aware, our finances have been constrained recently, and I can now confirm that the Dismolle Residents' Association has ceased to fund our operations on this planet.

Harriet groaned. The head of the Association had quit recently, and the new president had quickly wound back their hard-won funding.

Therefore, our budget shortfall continues to be an issue, and there will be no overtime under any circumstances.

"We've never had overtime," protested Alice.

In that case, these changes will have little effect. Now to the second order of business. Today, trainee Harriet will patrol Horseshoe Cove, with particular emphasis on the matter of illegal waste disposal.

Dumping, you mean? Harriet brightened. It wasn't exactly thrilling, but at least she might get a pursuit or a booking out of it.

Yes, an anonymous female caller reported several objects floating in the sea, including a disposable cup and the wrapper from a chocolate bar. These items, and others just like them, must be collected for analysis.

So it's another litter patrol.

Bernie hesitated. Yes.

Alice laughed. Well done, Bernie. That sounds like a worthy task for our senior trainee.

Litter! muttered Harriet. Why me, when this planet has ten thousand robots poised to clean up after everyone?

Hey, cheer up sis, remarked Alice. At least Steve will enjoy the run. He loves the beach.

Yeah, and the other day I found out why. I asked him how come he's always excited to go, and apparently he erases the memories of every previous visit. To him it's like he's never been.

I wish I could do that, grumbled Alice. Only I'd do it for entire days.

Harriet knew exactly how she felt, because the past couple of weeks had been dull and uneventful. Oh, Bernie had tried to keep their morale up with patrols and little training missions, but the novelty had faded quickly and life had settled into a boring, repetitive routine.

Trainee Alice, said Bernie, turning her attention to the younger sister. I have a very special mission for you.

Oh?

Reaching under the enclosed rostrum, Bernie took up a battered metal pail with the long plastic handle of a squeegee poking out. You will clean the station's windows until every speck of dirt and dust has been removed, and then you will polish the glass until it shines.

No way. You're joking!

An officer of my standing does not engage in light-hearted jests. Bernie held the bucket out. You may start immediately.

This sucks, growled Alice, grabbing the bucket. All this patrolling and cleaning… I just don't see the point!

You might, if you clean the windows properly, said Harriet, with a smirk.

I mean it! complained Alice. "There's no proper Peace Force work, Bernie. I might as well sit at home all day."

You will never progress beyond trainee with that attitude, said the robot gravely.

I don't know if I want to any more, said Alice, in a low voice. I was better off living as a stowaway. At least I could go where I wanted.

Come on, Alice, you don't mean that, said Harriet kindly. Before the semi-official adoption Alice had done it tough, really tough, and Harriet couldn't really believe her sister was pining for that hard, unpleasant life.

Oh no? At least spaceships don't have windows, muttered Alice, gesturing with the bucket.

It is now quarter past seven, said Bernie. If either of you are standing around talking thirty seconds from now I shall dock your pay for the entire day.

Harriet knew the robot meant it, for Bernie was famously tight with funds and was always docking their wages at the slightest pretext. All right, I'll head to Horseshoe Bay now, but promise you'll call me if there's a real crime.

Likewise, said Alice.

They split up, with Harriet heading for the parking garage, Alice taking the bucket and squeegee to the front doors and Bernie striding to the lift. Harriet's last sight of the robot was just before the doors closed, and she was surprised to see Bernie looking at the floor, shaking her head sadly. Suddenly, she felt sorry for the robot, and a little ashamed at the grief they gave her every morning. It couldn't be easy running the entire planet's Peace Force operation with no budget, little in the way of resources and absolutely no help from the parent organisation, and she didn't envy the robot that particular task.

On the other hand, life was so dull! The lack of juicy crimes wasn't a huge surprise, first because the average age on the planet was over eighty, and second because there were strong rumours the water supply was drugged to keep everyone docile. Harriet shipped her own water in, despite the cost, and she was convinced it made a difference.

Not that she wanted death and chaos, far from it. But was it too much to ask for a theft or a minor hold-up to break the tedium?

Steve, the official Peace Force cruiser, was parked in the station's garage, where there was barely room for the sleek, speedy vehicle. The walls were lined with old shelving units, some with boxes of spare parts and others with files and ancient records. The car was covered with a dust sheet, and Harriet grabbed a corner and twitched it clear, bundling the material before cramming it onto a nearby shelf.

The car was painted a deep blue, picked out with faded gold pin-striping, and there was a seal of the Dismolle Peace Force on the driver's door. As the car became aware of Harriet, a row of LEDs lit up, circling the car from the front bumper to the rear. The door swung open automatically, and the seat adjusted to Harriet's height before she'd taken a single step towards the car.

I suppose it's another high speed pursuit, said Steve heavily. If so, you should have warned me, and I would have run a few more diagnostics. I need to be in top condition before you stress my motors and put undue strain on my batteries.

No, it's not a chase.

A demonstration day at the local school? You know how I enjoy those sticky fingers on my paintwork, and the shrill voices never cease to amuse.

No, Steve. We're going to the beach.

Really? The LEDs blinked on and off, illuminating the cramped, dingy parking space. Do you mean right now?

Harriet smiled at the car's enthusiasm. Yep, Horseshoe Bay.

But that's wonderful!

The car's motors purred, and it rose into the air, bobbing gently as Harriet clambered in. The cabin was surrounded with a roll cage, which made for an awkward, undignified entry, and then there was the six point harness. But finally she was buckled in, and the roller door behind the car slid up, allowing the powerful vehicle to back out.

Firmly strapped to her seat, Harriet scanned the dash until she saw the control she was looking for: Heater. She felt a stab of guilt as she thought of Alice washing the station's windows in cold water and even colder weather, but then she remembered the borrowed socks, and her conscience was clear as she slid the knob to max.

Chapter 2

Traffic was light all the way to Horseshoe Cove, which was hardly surprising at seven-thirty in the morning. The beach was remote, well off the beaten track, and at that time of year only die-hard fitness fanatics would be heading out for a bracing morning walk or a chilly dip in the ocean.

Harriet was revelling in the heat blasting from the vents, and as Steve hurtled through the countryside she surveyed the damp, foggy scenery without enthusiasm. The beach was going to be absolutely freezing, and she was not looking forward to removing her socks and shoes to wade around in the ocean. Hopefully, she thought, Bernie's precious litter would have washed up on the shore, so she could collect it from dry land and get out of there as quickly as possible.

As the car shot down the narrow, tree-lined road Harriet opened a compartment in the centre console, taking out a couple of evidence bags and a pair of sterile gloves. She was certain the patrol was a wild goose chase, but it would not do for Bernie to find traces of her DNA on the garbage collected from the beach. The last time that happened the robot launched into a twenty minute lecture on evidence-gathering procedures… and had then ordered Harriet to sort and file a bunch of decades-old paperwork.

The road narrowed further, eventually becoming a dirt track that wound its way between rolling sand dunes. There was sparse vegetation, and the few scrubby-looking bushes dotted about were wind-blown and twisted. It was a pleasant place in summer, but in winter it was desolate and uninviting.

Then Steve rounded the final turn, and as always Harriet caught her breath. The cove was about a kilometre in length, with a pure white beach and gentle, rolling waves. Each extremity tapered off to a rocky headland, protecting the cove from annual storms, although a recent disturbance had thrown up several mounds of seaweed, and birds wheeled and fought as they swarmed the slowly-rotting vegetation for morsels of dead fish and crustaceans.

It was a picturesque spot, tranquil and relaxing, and Harriet smiled to herself despite the prospect of traipsing the beach in the freezing wind. In any case, once she returned to the car she would warm up quickly.

The carpark was empty, and as Steve drew up to a spot facing the beach Harriet realised there wasn't a soul to be seen. The car settled, the engine purring as it faded to silence, and in the sudden quiet Harriet could hear the cries of the gulls and the mournful whistle of the wind as it blew across tiny gaps in the car's panels and windows.

Thank you for bringing me, Trainee Walsh, said Steve suddenly. Confined to roads as I usually am, it does me good to see such a wide open, endless vista.

You're welcome, said Harriet, smiling. She sat there in the warm cosy environment for a moment longer, watching the birds, and then, with a sigh, she stirred herself. The door opened to her touch, and she removed the harness and clambered out, gloves and sample bag clutched in one hand.

The wind was like a slap in the face, cutting through her thin shirt and hitting her skin like a bucket of iced water. At the same time the salt air was bracing, wonderfully so, and Harriet took several deep breaths, enjoying the ionised tang. Then she caught a whiff of seaweed, and coughed.

Reaching into the car she took out a battered pair of binoculars, sliding a switch on the side to activate them. Then, with one elbow on the car's roof to steady herself, she scanned the bay from one end to the other, seeking the patch of litter that Bernie had sent her to collect. Given the strong wind she figured any junk previously on the beach would now be ten klicks inland, but she was in no hurry to return to the station. For starters, Bernie might have dug out another pail and squeegee.

Harriet paused as she saw a dark blue shape near a mound of seaweed. She zoomed in to see a jacket, half buried in the sand with one sleeve flapping in the wind. Even as she watched, the sleeve flapped violently, and a dozen startled gulls took flight, cawing and screeching with annoyance.

She turned towards the sea, zooming out to scan the waves. It wasn't unusual for small pleasure boats to anchor in the cove, and she guessed the jacket had probably blown overboard. In fact, that was the most likely source of Bernie's dumped refuse.

The sea was empty to the horizon, and Harriet sighed. It would have been nice to return to Bernie with a photo of some boat or other, because then they could have tracked it down from satellite footage and brought the owner in for questioning. It was ages since they'd brought anyone in to the station, on any pretext, and a good solid interrogation would have been excellent practice… as long as she managed to convince Bernie that the owner wasn't some hardened criminal.

Still, she thought, there must have been a boat around some time in the past week. There might even be footage of the jacket blowing overboard.

Harriet lowered the binoculars, switching them off before dropping them onto the car seat. Then she closed the door and set off along a sandy path leading down to the beach. It meandered through the scrub, dropping all the while, until eventually her feet sank into the softer, finer beach sand. She forged on, squinting as the wind blew stinging grains into her face, and after a few minutes she made it to the jacket. She was about to grab the sleeve when she remembered the gloves, and she pulled them on quickly and efficiently. Then she pulled the jacket free, shaking it to dislodge several handfuls of damp sand.

It was sodden and heavy, and Harriet eyed it doubtfully as she gauged the size. It might just go in the evidence bag, but it would be a tight squeeze. Turning the jacket, she noticed an inside pocket, and when she felt inside she discovered a swipe card, plain white on both sides with a serial number printed along one edge. The other pockets were empty.

She eyed the card, holding it between thumb and forefinger. It could be a hotel key, or a swipe for the marina, or a loyalty card so exclusive it didn't even have the brand on it… in fact, it could be anything at all, really.

Harriet tucked the card back into the pocket and folded the jacket tightly, squeezing it down as much as possible before sliding it into the evidence bag. Then she looked around, surveying the immediate area. About five metres away another mound of seaweed rose from the sand, the whole thing about fifteen square meters, with the top as flat as a table. As she watched, a seabird snatched a tiny crab from the matted tangle, crowing with delight as it flew off with its prize. A dozen others shot after it, keen to share.

Carrying the bag under one arm, Harriet strolled along the shoreline, keeping to the damp, firmer sand. She glanced up the beach as she passed each mound of seaweed, eying the narrow patches of sand behind each one, patches which had been hidden from sight from the carpark. She paused a couple of times as she spotted flashes of white, but rather than litter they were broken shells or lengths of ancient branches sticking out of the sand.

She'd almost reached the