by Sam Blake
That was good. This was always the bit that made him nervous. The monitors were lined up along the wall facing into the library so anyone could look over his shoulder and see what he was doing. Not that they’d understand the strings of code, or have any idea that to get to the back end of the sites, he was slipping through all their security on to the Dark Web. He half-smiled to himself. Their idea of security was like a stable door, the top swinging wide open, the bottom left on the latch.
A moment later he’d opened up the Discovery Quay site, the admin area flashing with messages. He could relax now. He didn’t have too much to do this afternoon, just check through the main issues, hook up some new video feeds and set up a new vendor on Discovery’s parent site, Merchant’s Quay. He’d be in and out in an hour assuming there weren’t any problems. There rarely were. He’d built both sites from scratch and they were solid, the payment gateways totally secure.
Right from the start he’d encouraged users to rate their purchasing experience, the products they bought. He knew how this worked. Building a reputation was vital to success online. They were the best on the Dark Web and he intended that they stay that way.
Security was his greatest concern. It was the key to everything. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he thought. He couldn’t take any more risks. It was as simple as that. Secrecy was vital. Nobody was going to stop him; it didn’t matter who they were. In this world he was king. But there only needed to be one slip and it could all come tumbling down – he’d been stupid before and look what had happened. There really was no room for mistakes.
He’d been hacking since he was ten, was one of the go-to guys for the world’s biggest cybersecurity companies to test their clients’ vulnerabilities. He and Karim were the A-Team. If companies knew that he and Karim got their kicks finding the vulnerabilities and infiltrating their clients’ sites in the first place, only to be paid to lock each other out, they might not be impressed, but cyberspace was their playground, a playground where they made the rules.
The money was here in the sites but commercial work kept him sharp, and it was vital that he was always at least one step ahead of anyone who could be a threat. The traffic was increasing every day. Customers who were looking for the latest incarnation of Silk Road came to Merchant’s Quay and found the Discovery Quay portal in the sidebar. But he and Karim had been careful. Every mistake Ross Ulbricht had made setting up Silk Road he had locked down. It was small money to have Karim’s group, Unanimous, constantly looking for weaknesses. One of the leading hacker squads in the world, they constantly vied with their competitors to be the best. If they couldn’t find a way in, the authorities wouldn’t be able to either.
He grinned to himself as his fingers flew over the keyboard again. It had taken a few years, but he now had everything sorted and could enjoy all the added benefits of being the one with complete tech control. Not that he’d be doing anything silly in a public library. Adjusting his eyes to look at the screen, he glanced at the reflection again, checking to see where everyone was. He could imagine the shock on their faces if they could see what was on Discovery Quay. His mouth twitched into a smile as he fought the laughter.
Boy, that would blow away the cobwebs.
Soon Merchant’s Quay would be the biggest trading site on the Dark Web and Discovery Quay would be the biggest live camera portal – the traffic was increasing daily, the amount of time each visitor spent browsing on the site increasing with it, as was the number of returning visitors. That was currency.
As he inputted another line of code his mind wandered back to the blonde bitch. She’d been nothing but hassle, had been the reason for a row he hadn’t expected and would definitely rather have avoided. Fortunately the bit of the live feed he’d shared had been recorded, so it had looked like he’d found it randomly on Discovery Quay. He’d thought it would be a laugh, but he’d got that wrong. Instead he’d hit a nerve.
He couldn’t bear people telling him what to do. Or underestimating him. No matter who they were. His father was the worst, calling him stupid because he couldn’t remember capital cities or the length of a river, the boring useless stuff you were never going to need to know in the real world. But he knew he was clever; the magic flowed from his fingertips. Without him there would be no sites – when he was online he had power. And as a result, he was making more money than his father could dream about. One day he’d show him.
It was all about control. Like the blonde. He’d been watching her face as she’d clicked to open the email. He’d seen her fear and it had made him hard. She’d thought he wanted money, but he wanted more than that. He knew she couldn’t pay – not in cash, that was the whole point. She was one of the special ones, he’d already decided by then. And nothing stopped him once he’d made a decision. Nothing.
When he got back tonight he needed to find some new feeds, and check what his links had already yielded. ‘Sexy, Stunning & So Simple: The Perfect Makeover’ was the best yet, and was now installed on at least twenty beauty sites and blogs. It never ceased to amaze him that webmasters didn’t spot the appearance of new links. The minute the user clicked through, his malware was already working its way into their system. He could have set up a plausible beauty site but that was too much work, the 404 worked just fine. Women only excited him when he could watch them – that link was so good it was like picking flowers in a field. And he wasn’t alone in wanting to watch, if the views on Discovery Quay were anything to go by.
It would always be better for him, though, because he knew who they were, where they were. He could literally walk into the picture with them.
It was all about being in control.
Chapter 6
Friday, 3 p.m.
‘So what do you think?’
They were sitting in O’Rourke’s car, the engine running, the heating on full. The helicopter crew had, with some difficulty, got the girl onto a body board and winched her up. She’d been taken directly to Beaumont Hospital but the crew had known from the moment that they’d pulled her on to the board that life was extinct. She’d be on the way to the morgue by now.
As she warmed up, Cathy unwound her scarf, appreciating the heat, appreciating that he knew she needed it. She thought for a minute before she answered.
‘It’s a strange place to choose to jump, isn’t it?’
O’Rourke shifted in the seat, screwing up his face, his fingers gripping the steering wheel. ‘Pretty awful way to go.’
Cathy looked out of the window, frowning, thinking of the girl’s body on the rocks, of her own essay on suicide as part of her Master’s in forensic psychology. Years ago her biology teacher had explained that the human body had a self-preservation system that kicked in when the body was threatened. To commit suicide someone had to override every single element of that inbuilt trigger system. It was a massive simplification, but that alone – apart from all the other, devastating ramifications – had always struck her as a massive thing in itself.
She turned back to him. ‘Most suicides aren’t really thinking rationally, it has to be said. But if she really wanted to do the job there are definitely better places that are higher and less messy to jump from. Across in the quarry or from the cliffs at Howth or Bray Head would be better. It’s not really high enough here to guarantee a quick exit, is it?’
‘Maybe that’s it, maybe she didn’t really want to die this way.’ O’Rourke grimaced. They had both attended suicides where it had been pretty clear that a cry for help had gone badly wrong.
‘But that doesn’t make much sense. Jumping onto really jagged rocks, you’re going to at least do yourself a serious injury, aren’t you? And the chances of being found at this time of year . . . Never mind about jumping closer to the main body of the park – I know it’s not as high, but between the dog walkers and the overlooking houses there would be a chance of someone seeing you. Down there she could only be seen from the sea, and if there was a really high tide, she could easily have been washed
away.’
O’Rourke pursed his lips. ‘I’ve asked Saunders to put a rush on the Quinn PM. He’s doing it now so we should have his official report by this evening.’
‘He’ll be pleased we’re keeping him busy.’
‘Won’t he?’ O’Rourke rolled his eyes. The Irish State Pathologist, Professor Saunders, had a special place in both their hearts – they’d both felt his personal brand of scathing sarcasm. ‘We’ll keep the scene here secured until we know more.’
‘Did anyone find anything left on the path? A note, or her phone or clothing? Something to mark that she was there.’
‘Nothing. But in this weather, it could have been blown away.’
‘Maybe.’ Cathy swung the car door open. ‘See you back at the station?’
O’Rourke nodded. ‘Don’t be long, we’ll go in to see Saunders together. I’m hoping he’ll be able to slot her in as soon as he’s finished Tom Quinn. Two teenagers dying within a few hours of each other is reason enough for him to reorganise his list. And you know what he’s like for punctuality.’
‘I sure do. I just want to drop into Dalkey on the way, have a quick chat to Karen Delaney about Tom. He worked part-time for her husband at a studio in their house – her salon is on my route back.’ She climbed out of the car, ducking back inside for a moment to say, ‘I was half-wondering if he might have been intimidated by someone, maybe was involved in the student drug scene? He certainly had the money. I’m wondering if there’s a bigger picture here that we aren’t seeing yet. If his mood had changed, he might have hidden it from his mum. I’ll be super quick, promise.’
*
Dalkey village was buzzing as Cathy pulled in on her way back from Dillon’s Park. Professor Anna Lockharte was actually next on her list for interview in relation to Tom Quinn’s death, but now, with a whole new investigation unfolding, Cathy knew the team was going to be stretched and she wanted to make the best use of every minute.
Cathy was hoping that Ronan Delaney’s wife, Karen, might be able to give her a bit more background on Tom and his working life. It was a fact that women were usually much more intuitive than men, and if there had been something bothering Tom, Karen may have picked up on it.
The minute Orla Quinn had mentioned the Delaneys, Cathy had known exactly who she was talking about. Karen Delaney had been big in Irish TV until a few years before. The anchor for Style, Irish broadcaster RTE’s lead fashion programme, she’d been a key face at every celebrity gathering and on every game show, but then she seemed to have decided to take a back seat from TV. She’d opened her own beauty salon, Allure, and Cathy’s best friend, Sarah Jane, was a regular visitor there. Despite being a student, Sarah Jane was never far from her all-American roots and getting her nails done was almost as important to her as her detox diet. When they’d first met, Cathy had been constantly impressed with Sarah Jane’s apparently effortless style, but as they’d got to know each other Cathy had realised looking good without trying actually took a whole lot of time and effort. Time that Sarah Jane spent a good bit of, being waxed and buffed in Karen Delaney’s exclusive salon.
Allure’s opaque glass door tinkled as Cathy pushed it open, greeted by a wave of lavender-scented warm air and gentle music. She breathed in as she let the door fall closed behind her. She could immediately see why Sarah Jane loved coming here. The decor was silver-grey, inspired by the logo, a pile of soft grey pebbles, an image that had been blown up and filled the wall behind the glass reception desk. It was soothing somehow, the colours relaxing, and the attention to detail gave everything an air of luxury. A young girl with ramrod-straight glossy red hair appeared from a back room, smiling warmly.
‘Good morning, how can we help you?’ She didn’t say ‘Happy Friday’ but Cathy almost expected her to.
‘I was wondering if Karen Delaney was available for a quick chat.’ She flashed her badge. ‘Gardaí’.
If the girl was curious she hid it well. Her smile didn’t leave her face. ‘I think she’s in the office. Would you like to sit down? I won’t be a minute, I’ll call and check.’
As good as her word, less than sixty seconds later the girl reappeared from the room behind the reception desk. ‘Karen’s upstairs, would you like to go up?’
The office was several flights up, in what must have once been the servants’ quarters of the Victorian building. Cathy passed numerous floors, each of them opening to grey carpeted corridors leading to the treatment rooms. Cathy wondered if the workout on the stairs was all part of the treatment process too, but perhaps this was Karen’s way of keeping her office private. Being a regular face on daytime TV made you public property.
At the top of the final flight, Cathy pushed a panelled door open to find an airy open-plan office. The light from huge Velux windows, limited on this grey day, was supplemented by designer pendant lights that ran in two rows across the room. Unlike downstairs, this level was all business, steel grey filing cabinets surrounding a huge white desk that rested on spindly legs. As Cathy entered, her Nikes silent on the polished wood floor, Karen Delaney stood up, her hand outstretched. Her dark brown eyes were almost the same colour as her hair, tied up in a glossy ponytail.
Cathy had googled her quickly from the car and one thing was for sure: Karen Delaney was looking very good for forty-three.
‘Hello, I’m Karen, how can I help?’
Smiling, Cathy accepted her handshake. ‘Thanks for seeing me unannounced. Cathy Connolly – I’m with the Detective unit in Dun Laoghaire. We’re investigating a serious traffic accident that took place last night on Ulverton Road in Dalkey.’
As she said it, Karen Delaney’s face fell, her eyes filling. ‘Orla called. I can’t believe it. It’s too awful.’ Taking a ragged breath, she added, ‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a grey marl sofa to Cathy’s left, an expensive red leather handbag abandoned at one end.
‘Thank you.’ Cathy sat as Karen pushed a designer armchair over and sat down herself, her hands clutched together.
‘How can I help you? Orla said it was a hit-and-run.’ Karen’s voice cracked. ‘Please tell me it was fast, that he didn’t suffer.’ Her face contorted with grief and she turned to reach for a box of tissues on the corner of her desk.
Cathy had been in this situation many times during her career. When you met someone new and mentioned you were in the job, all they could talk about was parking tickets, speeding fines, the latest episode of CSI. But her job wasn’t often about any of those things; it was about people and moments like this. Cathy could deal with the action, could deal with running across fields in the mountains in the dark, being shot at, but dealing with a relative’s grief, that was the most challenging part of her job, the side nobody ever saw. Catching criminals, tracking down suspects, was the easy bit compared to this. No matter what the outcome of an investigation, Cathy couldn’t take away the pain, and that could be overwhelming. But not knowing what had happened to a loved one made it a whole lot worse and she knew the only way to get through this situation was to focus on what could be done, on finding answers. She smiled, sympathetically she hoped.
‘I’m afraid we don’t have very much information yet, but I was speaking to Tom’s mother earlier and she mentioned that Tom worked for your husband?’
Karen’s eyes filled again. ‘He was brilliant, he picked up everything so fast. But then he was very bright.’ She drew in a breath. ‘His dad, Conor, wanted him to have a part-time job while he was in college. He’d interned at Life Talk but the studio is in town and their hours are irregular. So between them, Conor and Ronan came up with the idea of Tom helping out with Sound Stream, Ronan’s audio company. Ronan does voice-overs and audio books, that sort of thing, we’ve a studio at the bottom of the garden. It was ideal – Conor really wants to grow Life Talk and Ronan’s his key DJ, so he was being pulled in more and more. Tom was able to pick up the slack so Ronan didn’t lose any business, and he could learn how things worked at the same time.’
‘They are friends?
Conor and Ronan?’
‘Yes, well, we all are, we go on holiday together. But Conor and Ronan were at school at Blackrock College, they’ve known each other for years. They’re like brothers, two peas in a pod. Ronan was the first person Conor called when he was made CEO at Life Talk. He’s got huge plans for the station. That’s why he was in the US.’
‘And Tom enjoyed working for your husband?’
Karen smiled sadly. ‘He was always popping over – he had his own key to the studio. Ronan showed him what to do, how to mix the audio tracks, and it was like he was born for it.’
‘Did he ever call in the evenings or at night?’
Karen shrugged, dabbing her eyes with the tissue. ‘Sometimes. He didn’t need to tell us when he was coming, the garden gate isn’t locked. The studio is totally self-contained.’
Perhaps this was where Tom had been going on his late night walks? It was part of an explanation, but Cathy wasn’t sure it was the full answer. Where else had Tom called into during his nocturnal ramblings?
Cathy smiled warmly. ‘He was obviously very dedicated.’ She paused. ‘How did Ronan keep track of his wages if he didn’t know when he was there?’
‘Most jobs are fixed fee, you just get the time in and it’s all done. We work with an audio book company who are based in Australia, so it helps sometimes to be working their hours. Tom really enjoyed it, but to be perfectly honest I think he saw the audio stuff as a hobby, just some pocket money. He wanted to go into politics. He really could do anything he wanted, but being good at running a sound desk didn’t mean he saw it as a career choice.’
