by Sam Blake
And from the time stamp on the CCTV and the time Orla had received the last text from her son, it seemed extremely likely that Delaney had been passing at the right time. Was that what his wife thought?
Before Karen could answer, a mobile phone started ringing in the kitchen. She didn’t move.
Cathy said, ‘Do you want to get that?’
‘Err, yes, it’s in my bag.’
She looked around blankly but Fanning jumped up and retrieved a black leather handbag from a chair at the head of the pine table. He’d obviously been paying attention as he made the tea. The bag was big, looked expensive, all tassels and studs, no doubt a designer brand. Like the red handbag she’d had at her salon.
Fanning handed it to her and Karen reached into it and found her phone, checked the screen.
‘That was Ronan.’
‘Ring him back, if you need to.’
She flicked the keys, held the phone to her ear, her voice hesitant, her anxiety clearly written on her face.
‘Sorry I missed your call. I’m sorry, I know. Yes. The Guards are here. To ask about Tom. Are you on your way?’ At least he hadn’t put her on speaker this time. Cathy hid her thoughts as Karen continued, ‘OK. OK. I’ll tell them.’
Clicking off the phone, she turned to Cathy. ‘He’s still in town, he’s going to do the late night show.’ It seemed very final. ‘He said he can talk to you tomorrow. He’s on air until nine and needs to prep for the morning show. He won’t be finished until after ten so he’s going to be back late.’
Really? Cathy would be talking to Ronan Delaney when it suited her, not when it suited him. Masking her thoughts, she said, ‘That would be great. He could be an important witness. Is the car in the drive his?’
Cathy knew it wasn’t, but watched for her reaction.
‘No, that’s mine. He’s getting something fixed on his. He got the DART in to work. He said he was going to get a cab home.’ And then, as if she needed to justify why she needed her car and hadn’t let him use it for work, ‘I had to go the wholesaler today to get stuff for the shop. I couldn’t leave it any longer and the girls were fully booked.’
‘That’s grand. I think we might need to talk to Ronan fairly urgently.’
Karen turned to her, and then, her voice hoarse, said, ‘Do you think it could have been him? Ronan? Could he have hit Tom?’
Cathy wasn’t about to share what she was thinking; instead she asked her own question.
‘Do you?’
Tears began to fall. ‘I . . . We . . .’
Cathy put her hand on Karen’s arm. ‘Take your time.’
Karen sobbed. ‘Tom and I, were, we were having an affair. He was – oh my God . . .’ her words were lost in her tears.
Over her head, Cathy exchanged a look with Fanning. They were going to be here some time.
Chapter 27
Sunday, 5.30 p.m.
Sitting down, he put his coffee on the floor beside the arm of the low sofa, pulling his laptop out of his backpack and flipping it open. The communal areas in the Arts building with its bizarre drainpipe sculpture was fairly well lit from a weird tile pattern of fluorescent lights recessed in the ceiling. Predominantly raw concrete, it was probably supposed to look industrial but everything about it was grim – and the shiny brown floor did little to lift it.
He didn’t know how students could come in here every day. Between the miserableness of the place and the malicious gossip he’d already heard since he’d been sitting here, everyone prying into other people’s business, he could see how some students couldn’t handle university life. He felt his anger rising.
He didn’t like situations he couldn’t control either. But he was good at bringing things into line.
He typed his password into his laptop. The sofa was pushed back behind a pillar where he could easily watch all three exit doors. He couldn’t see the door to the stairs, but that meant that anyone coming downstairs wouldn’t see him either, so it was a good payoff. The hallway was huge, but he had a good clear view.
Or would do soon, he hoped.
There was some event on in one of the lecture theatres downstairs, some American author speaking. Which meant there were plenty of people milling about. Which was good. Very good. He lifted his coffee onto the arm of the sofa and, clicking on the camera on his phone, he leaned it against his cup, angling it so he could film the steel and glass doors leading into the Tunnel. She probably wouldn’t go towards Grafton Street, unless she had shopping to do on the way home, but he knew she’d definitely use one of the exits he could see. When he’d followed her before she’d always left the college through the science block, heading for Pearse Street. He still didn’t know how she managed to give him the slip every time. The first time it had been on the DART. They’d even been in the same carriage, but she’d literally vanished when they pulled into a station, melting into the crowd of incoming commuters. He’d realised late and jumped off at the last moment but she hadn’t been on the platform. It was weird. The next time, he’d followed her off the DART but lost her in a supermarket. It was like she was trained to give people the slip. But how did she even know he was there? He knew he blended in well, was good at being invisible.
He smiled to himself. So many elements of his life were about being invisible. Karim had been on the phone last night. He’d helped the project along a lot remotely, but Karim wanted him to come over when they actioned it, wanted him to be a part of the awesome chaos they were going to cause. And the plan had grown since he’d last been in London. Grown big time. Karim had assured him he’d be safe, that their part was completely untraceable; they would be able to do it all remotely, and then vanish like mist. He wasn’t sure how much fun there would be in not seeing the action at first hand but he was thinking about it.
Karim wanted to hole up in Dublin afterwards, where no one would think to look for him, which made a lot of sense. It paid to be careful, never to assume they were safe. They weren’t going to make any rookie mistakes. If that prick Dread Pirate Roberts hadn’t used his own fucking email address to register a fake ID right at the start of Silk Road, he’d still be trading. But that was what happened when you didn’t plan ahead, when you didn’t think about the details. Human error was always the problem. But Dread Pirate Roberts was in jail now and his loss had been their gain, so it wasn’t all bad. Silk Road had been started to sell magic mushrooms but had grown exponentially. And that’s what was happening with Merchant’s Quay. He chuckled to himself. When they’d started the site they had had no idea there actually was a Merchant’s Quay in downtown Dublin. He liked it when things connected.
Although Karim kept asking him, he still wasn’t totally sure about going to London; the timing was wrong. He had other things on his mind at the moment; there was stuff keeping him here. He had plans.
He was in that place mentally now, was thinking about that moment when it would all come together, couldn’t get the feeling out of his head. Paris, Long Island, London and now Dublin. The thought of it was intoxicating. And the dreams . . . He needed to make it happen soon but he didn’t want to rush things and make a mistake. He’d already taken a stupid risk that had complicated things, but that was dealt with now.
Karim’s gig in London was just so tempting. It would be so fucking big. He’d known Karim for so long. They were interested in a lot of the same things, had grown together, pooling their skills. And now Karim and his friends had created a masterpiece that would go down in cyber history; it would make them all famous, and they’d be the most highly demanded hackers in cyberspace. They’d be the best. They were the best, he knew that. He and Karim had developed hundreds of projects together; he knew exactly how good Karim was.
And it would show everyone who was really in control. He might not have the business brains but nothing could happen without his coding skills, the sites wouldn’t exist without him. But now with Karim’s plan the balance was changing. In many ways. He glanced up at the door to the st
airs. No sign yet. What was she doing? It was time she left. She’d been in her office all afternoon. He needed to find out where she lived. Knowing where she lived was important. Holding his phone in place, he picked up his coffee and looked around at the mass of students heading down the stairs to the lecture theatre. She wouldn’t be long now; he was sure of it.
He replaced the coffee cup carefully, adjusting the camera on the phone, and opened his browser. He’d have a quick look at the screen on her office desktop to see what she was doing . . . It only took a second to load. It had no camera, wasn’t nearly as interesting as her personal laptop, but the Trinity College virus protection was easy to bypass, especially from inside. Right now she was shopping, apparently. He could see her cursor flying over the screen, clicking on a black cocktail dress. Size ten. He watched as she went through to the delivery window selecting ‘collection’. Damn, and her credit card was registered to her office address. Nice dress though, it would suit her.
He still didn’t understand why he couldn’t find her address online – he’d looked everywhere. He hadn’t been able to find out nearly as much as he’d like, and everything he had found had been on the Trinity College site – all very professional. Nothing on Facebook or LinkedIn. He’d thought it was a given for someone like her to have a profile page at least – but she wasn’t there, or on any of the other social media sites. It was like she had no history, no interactions at all. Maybe she wasn’t into social media but it was strange no one else had posted anything tagging her, a photo of a school basketball team or someone’s twenty-first.
It was like she didn’t exist.
Then it struck him. Perhaps she didn’t; perhaps she wasn’t who she said she was at all.
Chapter 28
Sunday, 6.15 p.m.
Anna Lockharte’s mobile phone started to ring as she pushed open her apartment door. Dropping her handbag in the darkened hall, she pulled it out of her coat pocket and looked at the screen.
It was Rob calling from New York, and she had never felt happier to see his number flashing on her screen. Her encounter with Xavier Ayari earlier today had creeped her out a bit. And then she’d seen him in the cafe as she’d come out of the lift to go home, and part of her had wondered if actually she wasn’t being paranoid at all, but that she should be concerned. She knew there was some sort of event on in the Edmund Burke Theatre, so perhaps he’d been heading in to that, but still . . .
‘Hello, handsome.’ She heard Rob’s wonderful deep laugh at the other end as she answered the phone, slipping her coat off and throwing it over the back of one of the high stools at the kitchen counter. ‘How’s your day been?’
‘Good, always great to spend the weekend at the office. I’ve got the guys here ready to go on your laptop.’
Anna glanced at the kitchen clock. It was after six, would be lunchtime in New York. And probably a crisp, clear blue sky day. She’d spent so many years in Europe at school and university, but New York would always be home and there were times when she really missed it.
‘Give me five, I’ve just come in. What do I need to do?’
‘Just open up your laptop and click the link I sent you. The boys can then access it from here.’
Anna went through into the living room, flicking on the sidelights as she went. Her laptop was on the sofa where she’d left it, Minou curled up at the end. The cat looked up as Anna sat down beside her.
‘Almost there. Cathy, the Garda detective, said that I should cover the camera,’ she said into the phone as she flipped open the lid and typed in her password. The home screen came alive and she opened her email. Rob’s email was right at the top. ‘OK, all done.’
‘Cathy’s dead right, but we’re going to take over now. Don’t touch anything.’
‘Good God, is that you?’
Anna’s cursor had started to fly around the screen on its own, opening up windows. Dialogue boxes appeared and disappeared, screens with rows of code.
‘Yes, they are going to be a few minutes. You can put the kettle on, isn’t that what the Irish do?’
He was teasing her, she knew. ‘They do and the tea’s very good—’
Before she could finish a gust of wind hit the apartment windows, carrying a squall of rain. The water hitting the windows sounded like an explosion.
‘Christ, what was that?’
‘Rain. It’s very Irish too.’
‘Sounds like a tornado . . . So how have you been?’ It sounded like he’d gone somewhere quieter, probably into his own office. A moment later she heard a door close, confirming it.
‘I’m good, the junior freshmen are keeping me on my toes.’ She sighed. ‘And some big stuff with the senior freshmen too. Which could be linked to this email thing.’
She hadn’t wanted to email to tell him about Tom and Lauren, it was all too raw and there were some things she didn’t want to put into print. Particularly if there had been some sort of Internet security breach. Who knew who was watching?
Rob’s voice cut into her thoughts, immediately calming. ‘Tell me.’
She took a deep breath, heading back to the kitchen. She did need a cup of tea.
‘So one of my students was knocked down in a hit-and-run on Thursday night . . .’ Anna recounted what she knew of the circumstances of Tom’s death. She could tell that he could hear the sadness in her tone as he responded. ‘Jeez, that’s awful.’
‘Oh, Rob, he was such a lovely guy, it’s absolutely tragic. His parents are devastated.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘That’s not all, though. The next day one of his friends was found at the bottom of some cliffs near when Tom lives. She was on my course too. It looks like she jumped.’
‘Holy moly. Not good. Was she seeing Tom?’
‘No, that’s the weird bit. They knew each other, but I don’t think they were dating or anything. The Gardaí are investigating. The thing is, I had to go with them to search Lauren’s room this morning. And . . .’ Anna hesitated; where did she start with this one?
‘Go on, I’m sitting down, explain.’
‘OK, so first the detective finds a load of prescription drugs – uppers – which is just really strange. She couldn’t be a more unlikely pusher.’
‘Hmmm. Go on, what else?’
She knew what he was thinking: that you could never tell what was going on behind closed doors. People’s lives on the outside were often very different from what went on in private. Look at her. ‘So the next bit is the bit that worries me and I’m hoping you can help with . . .’
‘I’m here, you know that, whatever you need, honey.’
‘I know, Rob.’ Her voice was soft. She knew he was there for her, and if things were different he could be there for her in so many more ways. She cleared her throat; this wasn’t the time to get emotional. ‘It’s just that when the other detective, Cathy Connolly, opened Lauren’s email, someone had sent her photos of her getting dressed.’
‘Her webcam was hacked?’
‘It looks a lot like that. But then while we were looking at her computer this email came in from a website called Discovery Quay . . .’
‘Really? Interesting.’
She continued, ‘It was one of those instant auto-response things – it said something about registering with them . . . But she couldn’t have, unless she managed it from beyond the grave.’
‘I’d imagine that would be tricky. Sounds like someone was putting pressure on her. Was there anything in the emails that the images were attached to?’
‘I don’t know – I didn’t get to read them. The Guards have taken her laptop to examine it. But the Discovery Quay registration email came with a screenshot of what was supposedly her account page. It looked like a really compromising video and these photos were about to go live online.’
‘OK.’ Anna heard his tone of voice change. It sounded like he was sitting forward at the desk. ‘Can you hook me up to the detective working the case? My c
olleagues at the FBI have been very interested in Discovery Quay, and its parent site Merchant’s Quay, for some time. Both sites are being run by someone who really understands the Dark Web, who has every possible way in firmly sealed. They have their eyes on a couple of hackers that they think would have the ability to keep them out. They move about a lot but I think they are based in London at the moment, which isn’t a million miles away from you.’
‘But how would they find Lauren – why her?’
‘It can be quite random, there are loads of normal sites that are infected with malware. The hackers get access to your webcam and start recording or simply pushing a live feed out to the web. Sites like Discovery Quay have tens of thousands of visitors a day.’
‘Nice.’
‘And if she was very shy, or even if she wasn’t, something like this would be a real shock. Do they think it could have been a factor in her suicide?’
‘I’m not sure they think it is suicide at the moment, reading between the lines. There’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t add up. But she must have been distraught. It’s just so evil. You wonder why people do it.’
Rob’s voice was hard. ‘Discovery Quay makes a lot of money and all it does is live feed video cam footage. Zero effort, zero sales force needed, no overheads. There’s a membership model as well as advertising. It’s very lucrative. Not nearly as rich as Merchant’s Quay though – that’s making millions.’
‘Merchant’s Quay was advertised on the Discovery Quay screenshot that was sent to Lauren. The detective was wondering if she had ordered the drugs from there.’
‘Certainly possible.’
What had Lauren got mixed up in? ‘The detective here – she’s so nice, one of those people you feel is really capable – anyway, she was wondering if other students at Trinity have been targeted, might have had their webcams hacked, I mean.’
