21.
On her way to the Studio, Lia turned on her smartphone. She had five messages and three calls, all from Rico. Lia’s phone had been on silent as Rico tried to contact her all night. The text messages just said, Ring.
Has he found something new about the video killer? Lia wondered as she dialled.
‘No, nothing new,’ Rico answered immediately. ‘But we forgot something very important. Berg’s call history. The phone company has a record of all his calls.’
They had taken Berg’s mobile phone, but the police would be able to investigate his phone traffic by digging into the telephone company’s records. At the Studio they knew the calls wouldn’t be any help capturing the killer, but they would tie Berg to the Studio.
‘I told Mari we should be using crypto-phones with untraceable metadata,’ Rico complained.
‘How fast can the police get the call data?’
‘Paddy thinks they can’t do it during the night. They’ll need a search warrant, and they’ll have to go to the phone company’s premises since they don’t let anyone into their system remotely. But in a criminal investigation this size – they’ll be there first thing in the morning when the phone company opens its doors.’
Lia looked at her phone: almost ten. They had perhaps only eleven hours before the police would be able to connect the Bertil Tore Berg found dead on Rich Lane to the Studio.
‘Paddy and Maggie are here,’ Rico said.
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ Lia promised.
Determining whether Rico could mess around with the call information by hacking into the telephone company’s system took them nearly an hour. It turned out to be nearly impossible in such a short timeframe.
Rico knew of cases where it had succeeded, things he’d heard from his hacker friends. But Berg’s operator was Vodafone, one of the world’s largest telecom companies, whose systems had notoriously difficult security.
‘Hacking their mobile accounts is pretty easy,’ Rico said.
People were doing that all the time all over the world hoping for free calls, but penetrating the information the company kept about its customers was a different proposition altogether.
‘And we don’t just have to get in to look at it. We have to be able to alter it,’ Rico said.
Mari wouldn’t have taken this long to realise that the phone operator had the call information too. If she was healthy, Lia thought. We need Mari.
The entire existence of the Studio was now under threat.
Rico began breaking the matter down into its essential parts: what things in Berg’s calls and messages were dangerous for them? Just that he had kept in such close contact with all of them, for one. Berg had communicated with Mari, Paddy and Rico about Studio business, but most of his messages to Lia and Maggie were more personal.
According to the law, the telecom company was obliged to maintain information about the times of any calls or messages, as well as the numbers of the senders and receivers and the customer’s location when they made the call where the customer was in the network. Retaining the content of messages was a more delicate matter.
‘There are a lot of crazy rumours about that,’ Rico said. ‘Some people claim every message anyone ever sends is secretly stored in some kind of permanent archive somewhere.’
In reality practices for saving the content of messages differed widely around the world, and the laws varied too.
But the police might be able to turn up some of the content of Berg’s messages and would at least contact them at the Studio, and possibly even look into their backgrounds. Paddy’s activities as a private investigator and former cop would be of particular interest. Especially since he had spent some time in prison for his participation in an attempted armoured-car jacking. That was his one and only criminal escapade, but it would arouse suspicion. Rico’s background as a hacker would come out too, and since the killer had uploaded his videos using hacked user accounts, they would definitely haul Rico in for questioning.
Because Lia had been in contact with the police a year earlier, their databases might also contain entries about her. Mari certainly wouldn’t want to have any sort of contact with the authorities. Maggie was the only one of them that wouldn’t be caught in the net.
‘We have to remove your information,’ Maggie said. ‘If they question me, they won’t get much. I can just say Berg was my friend and we met through the theatre.’
Could they replace the call information they hoped to delete with new data? Lia suggested. The police would have a harder time picking out Berg’s calls to people at the Studio if they were buried in a mass of other data. Rico was an old hand at setting up dummy corporations and creating plausible electronic histories for them. Could he fake phone calls too?
‘I’ve never tried that,’ Rico said.
Despite the rush and the pressure, the idea got him excited.
They worked late into the night. As Rico researched how to meddle with phone connection information, Maggie and Paddy collected names and numbers they could place in Berg’s phone records as a smokescreen. They concentrated on his carpentry work so it would look like Berg had contacts with customers and firms in the industry. The easiest was to use contact information for the big wholesalers and timber suppliers because no one there would remember whether a certain carpenter had rung at a certain time.
Lia helped the others and took Gro out for occasional walks. The poor dog’s schedule was all out of whack, but at least she was used to sleeping in the Den.
When Rico thought he had the process of altering call data under control and they had collected dozens of phone numbers, the biggest question lay ahead: how to get their hands on the Vodafone data.
The company’s main offices were in Berkshire, Newbury, more than fifty miles from London. There was an administrative office building in Paddington, but the technical staff were in Berkshire.
‘I don’t think the police will go all the way to Newbury. And we don’t have to either,’ Rico said.
All they needed was to break into the company’s data system and telecommunications archives. Many employees at the offices in Paddington would also have access to those servers.
‘But going there ourselves doesn’t necessarily make sense,’ Rico said.
Rico showed them a small memory stick. All he needed was to have someone plug this USB drive into a Vodafone computer connected to the internal network.
‘After that I’m as good as there. Once the connection to the Vodafone archives is open, I don’t think it will take me long to change Berg’s metadata. But we have to do it without anyone noticing the memory stick.’
Maggie nodded.
‘That sounds like a job for me,’ she said.
22.
Maggie arrived in Paddington at 9.04 a.m. The Vodafone administrative HQ was located in a large glass office building at One Kingdom Street. Maggie walked into the towering lobby whose walls listed the names of the businesses operating in the building only in small letters. She showed the laminated badge hanging around her neck to the uniformed guard in reception.
‘Good morning.’
The guard glanced at the card, which claimed Maggie was Judith Bates, a telecommunications official with Ofcom, a British communications regulatory body.
‘Good morning, Ms Bates,’ the man said warmly. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, we don’t announce when we’re coming at Ofcom,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m on my way to the Vodafone legal department.’
The man immediately turned serious. Ofcom had received a great deal of attention in the media recently after attacking the tabloids for phone hacking, and the agency had gained a reputation as an aggressive watchdog for the powers that be.
The guard ushered Maggie through the electronic security checkpoint to the lifts.
In the Vodafone legal department, she was received by a young man who did a good job of controlling his expression after seeing her Ofcom inspector’s badge. When Maggie
asked to see the department head, Jon Fordham, the man frowned.
‘Mr Fordham is indisposed,’ the man said. ‘If you had made an appointment…’
‘Dear boy,’ Maggie interrupted, ‘we have our reasons for not doing that.’
Maggie quickly sized up the man. One of the younger employees, possibly only an intern, who didn’t necessarily have access to the company’s protected data systems.
Instantly Maggie decided on her next move.
‘I have a tip for you,’ she said in a more gracious tone. ‘It would be a good idea for you to find me someone in management right now. And your security chief, Mr Grove, will want to know I’m here.’
‘Why?’
Maggie smiled.
‘Security chiefs want to know everything.’
‘Grove is in Newbury,’ the man said. ‘Almost all of the security department have their offices there.’
‘I know,’ Maggie said. ‘I’ve been there too before. Give him a ring anyway. He’ll be pleased with you for informing him so quickly that an Ofcom competition regulator is here. He’ll probably be here before long anyway.’
From the man’s face, Maggie could see how nervous he was. Looking on his laptop computer, he began searching through the department staff calendars.
‘Mr Fordham and Mr Lewis are otherwise engaged,’ he said. ‘Both department heads.’
‘So early on a Monday? How diligent of them,’ Maggie said.
‘A visitor has just arrived,’ he replied.
Maggie shrugged. While she waited, she took two papers out of her briefcase and read them. Then she realised what could be happening in the department.
‘Is another government official already here?’ she asked.
The man lowered his eyes, and Maggie read volumes in his expression.
‘I’ll find someone else,’ the man said, snapping his computer shut and leaving.
Maggie glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot and rang Rico.
‘The police are already here,’ she said. ‘They arrived in the legal department just before me. We could already be too late.’
At the Studio a heated debate broke out in Rico’s office.
If the police had already presented their search warrant to Vodafone and gained access to the phone records, should Maggie continue her mission? Or should she get out of there as quick as she could?
‘Stay there,’ Rico told her. ‘Stay on course unless you hear different from us.’
He rang off and looked at Paddy.
‘Do we have any way to delay the police at the Vodafone office?’
Lia shook her head as she watched Paddy and Rico confer. They were exhausted after a sleepless night, but none of them could go to sleep even after Maggie had left on her assignment.
Maggie’s back story had come from Paddy, who had heard about Ofcom making surprise inspections. It didn’t take long to design an identity for Maggie in keeping with the agency’s style, but creating the necessary identity documents took time.
Those kinds of jobs had been Berg’s territory, since he was the expert. But as a graphic designer, Lia had been up to the task of creating an ID card, and Paddy printed test specimens on the specialised printers in the Den. They knew Berg always did that. They went through several drafts, honing every detail so the final card would stand up to scrutiny at Vodafone. Paddy and Lia had also made up a thin stack of papers with the Ofcom logo and official-looking text. If necessary, this would add to the impression that Maggie was indeed an inspector on a surprise visit.
She had handled her outfit herself: a stylish but unremarkable two-piece suit, wig and glasses changed her appearance sufficiently.
‘And what if Vodafone contacts Ofcom asking about what the inspection is about?’ Lia had asked Paddy during the night.
‘That’s possible but highly unlikely,’ Paddy said. ‘Under no circumstances does a telecom company want to irritate Ofcom. And they’ll know that getting personal data on inspectors like this isn’t that simple since the agency wants to protect their work.’
No detail had been left to chance. Maggie had thoroughly thought through her role, and they had done a string of test runs. Now they had to change their plans on the go.
In the Vodafone legal department, Maggie was directed to a smiling man in his fifties.
‘Good morning, Ms Bates,’ Kenneth Laing said, shaking her hand. ‘How can we be of assistance to Ofcom?’
Maggie handed him the memory stick.
‘Thank you, Mr Laing. You can start by opening this on your computer.’
Bewildered, Laing stared at the blue stick adorned with the Ofcom logo.
‘You must know that isn’t possible.’
‘How so?’
‘We have very strict rules about what outside devices we can attach to our work computers. No memory sticks. Unless they have been carefully inspected first.’
‘Smart rule,’ Maggie said. ‘That’s standard procedure anywhere. But unfortunately I had to send my own laptop in for service on Friday and I haven’t got it back yet. Of course I can stop by our office at Riverside House and bring back another computer.’
The man saw on her face what intense irritation the idea aroused in her.
‘How long would that take?’ Laing asked.
‘At least an hour. Perhaps an hour and a half, depending on traffic,’ Maggie said.
Laing hesitated.
‘This is highly irregular,’ he said.
Maggie looked at Laing, evaluating whether she should apply any more pressure. She decided not to say anything and waited.
‘What’s on the memory stick?’ Laing asked.
Maggie knew that everything depended on her answer right now. They had rehearsed it ahead of time.
‘That’s precisely what I want to hear from you. An explanation for what is on this memory stick.’
Laing was taken aback. Maggie noticed how the man continued shifting his weight from one leg to the other in agitation. Laing probably didn’t realise he was doing it.
And even before the man said it out loud, Maggie knew she was through.
‘Please follow me,’ Laing said. ‘Would you like coffee or tea?’
As Maggie was walking into a small office decorated in Vodafone red and white, Paddy was calling the company’s central telephone exchange.
‘This is Detective Chief Inspector Martin Beresford,’ Paddy said, introducing himself to the operator and asking to be connected to Jon Fordham in the legal department.
A moment later the woman replied that Fordham wasn’t answering. He was on the premises but wasn’t picking up his phone.
‘I’m calling on police business. This is very important,’ Paddy explained. ‘I need to get in touch with the inspector meeting with Mr Fordham immediately.’
The woman tried ringing again, to no effect.
‘I’m sorry, but Mr Fordham still isn’t answering. You’ll have to ring your colleague at his own number.’
‘But my colleague isn’t answering his phone either. Otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you,’ Paddy pointed out.
‘I can try someone near Mr Fordham if that would help,’ the operator suggested.
‘Yes, if you would be so kind!’
A small red light flashed on the memory stick as Kenneth Laing’s computer loaded it.
‘Can you please now tell me what this is all about?’ Laing asked.
‘Of course,’ Maggie said pleasantly. ‘Or let me open this file. It’s easier to show it.’
She leaned over the keyboard and double-clicked a file on the memory stick named ‘Vodafone3.xlsx’. On screen a table of numbers and alphabetical codes opened up. At the same time programs on the memory stick were also opening a connection from Laing’s computer to somewhere else entirely: to Rico, at the studio.
Laing looked at the Vodafone3 spreadsheet and then turned to Maggie.
‘I’m sorry, but I don’t recognise this, Ms Bates.’
‘You really
don’t?’ Maggie asked.
She let the innocent question hang in the air between them. Kenneth Laing had experience and talent, which was why the young man had directed the inspector to him. But Laing’s ability to tolerate silence was just as weak as most people’s. Long, pregnant pauses made him uneasy. Calmly Maggie looked at Laing, whose face was illuminated by the light filtering through the large windows. The blue-tinted glass panels of One Kingdom Street created an unreal feeling as if everything were happening in a dream world.
Laing searched the table for details he could recognise.
‘This isn’t about taxation or finance, which are what I specialise in,’ he said.
‘No,’ Maggie said.
She watched the red light flashing on Rico’s memory stick. At first it had been quick, but now it was just a steady blinking.
‘I could do with a coffee with milk,’ Maggie said. ‘No sugar. And skimmed milk, if you have any.’
‘No one in that department is answering right now,’ the woman at the Vodafone switchboard said to Paddy with regret. ‘They’re all off somewhere. Some of them aren’t even at work yet at this hour. A lot of them don’t come in until ten.’
‘Isn’t there any way to contact them?’ Paddy asked insistently. ‘What do they do if an emergency happens where people’s lives are in danger?’
‘I’m sorry,’ the operator said. ‘You’ll need to ring back a little later. Or I can take a ring-back request.’
‘No, I’m the one who is sorry,’ Paddy said. ‘I’m sure you’ve already tried everything possible. What was your name, by the way?’
‘Martha,’ the woman said uncertainly.
‘Martha,’ Paddy repeated. ‘Nice to meet you, Martha.’
The woman laughed.
‘So first thing Monday morning you have a rude policeman calling you,’ Paddy said. ‘Not the best way to start off a week.’
Black Noise Page 12
