Back at the cubicle he enjoyed a long sip of his drink. For some reason, it tasted all the better and he suspected it was because he had managed to obtain it by subterfuge. Neither spoke. Hooley was thinking of it as a companionable moment, Roper was probably just thinking about something else.
He watched Roper scrunch up a piece of paper and toss it into the rubbish bin. Roper’s sensitivity about not being pushed was one thing; this felt like feet dragging. He was determined to keep things moving.
He said. “Well let’s plan the rest of the day. I think we’ve agreed the US side is dead in the water. So, is it too soon to look at the Somali material? We can do this properly; setting up a work schedule. A two-hour burst will take us up to lunch.”
He knew Roper loved anything with a suggestion of a timetable so quickly hurried on. “Once lunch is over we can set a deadline of 3pm. We’ll have done a full day by then so let’s not overdo it. We’re both bad at knowing when to stop so setting a target makes sense.”
To his surprise Roper readily agreed.
“That sounds great. We can go back to the flat and then I can practise my yoga before we go to the Indian restaurant again.”
Hooley did a double-take. “Since when did you start doing yoga, and did you say we’re off for another curry tonight?”
“Yes, but that can be the third and last attempt to check if I was on the right track, or, as it seems now, getting it all wrong. I know I keep saying this, but a final visit and I can let it go.”
Hooley puffed his cheeks out. He knew he’d been backed into a corner and there was nothing he could do about it. Oh well, if sacrificing himself to another curry was the price for saving the world; he supposed he’d better pay up.
He spoke. “Well, if we’re going for a third curry then save the Yoga stuff for tonight. In the meantime, do you want to give me what’s available on the Somali case?”
To his surprise it turned out to be a relatively thin account, some of it quite skimpy considering what was supposed to be high level intelligence. It was the sort of stuff you might read in serious newspaper coverage of unrest in the region.
As it was he had finished by 2pm and with Roper slowing up, they called it a day, delaying long enough to make a reservation at the restaurant.
18
Mr. Roberts decided to make the most of a warm, sunny evening as he crossed the River Thames and headed for South London. His mind was in turmoil but he hoped the walk would allow his racing thoughts to settle as he made his way to Elephant and Castle. The flat was in a less upmarket part of London, but boasted a significant advantage; it was a busy residential area, so local people were on the move throughout the day and evening. Add in the students from the London College of Printing, and it was a great place to remain anonymous.
Mingling with the crowds around the tube station he enjoyed being among so many people, London really was a great city for disappearing. A trio of young woman walked past; their heads close together as they laughed at some shared joke. They didn’t spare him a glance as they swerved round him. But he had noticed them and if they’d spotted his response they would have started running.
His face had taken on a predatory look as he turned to his right, pretending to read a notice in a shop window, but really keeping the three under observation. Without being conscious of it he had switched to hunting mode. His senses heightened and his body preparing for a sudden release of energy. His tongue flicked out as if sensing the air. Would it be greedy to grab all of them? Could he manage that many in one go? Of course, he could.
He turned and started to follow them; his mind filling with ideas. He hoped they lived nearby; even better if it was in shared accommodation. The fun he could have then. Perhaps he could introduce them to his version of Freddie Kruger; something he hadn’t done for a couple of months.
His blood was pounding in his ears and he speeded up, closing the gap to just twenty feet. Even though the women were absorbed in each other, he was getting far too close. He slowed down to open up the gap.
They carried on for half-a-mile; the lurking Mr. Roberts now convinced they were indeed heading home. He felt a sharp tug of disappointment as they suddenly turned into a bar; even from one hundred paces he could hear the music and realised it was a student hang-out.
He scouted for somewhere he could stand and wait for them to come back out; maybe he would be lucky and they would stick together; confident that numbers would keep them safe. On the opposite side of the street was a cafe with a sign claiming it was open until 10pm. Perfect, he could get something to eat and drink while keeping the bar under surveillance.
As he walked in a man sitting in the window seat got-up, leaving a copy of the Evening Standard on the table. “Excellent,” thought Mr. Roberts. Reading the paper would render him invisible.
His order of tea and a ham on white bread turned up. He was starving and took a huge bite out of the sandwich, swallowing so hard he hurt his throat and made his eyes water. The pain shocked him out of his animal state. He looked around wildly, suddenly aware of what he was doing. There really was something wrong with him. Here he was, off on one of his spontaneous little ‘outings’, as he liked to think of them, when he had so much to do. He ruthlessly stamped down on a thought that he really was losing his mind. There was no time to deal with that now.
He sat for a moment, regaining control. He felt the urge to get up and run, but that would be a mistake. Never do anything that makes you standout, he reminded himself. Think, don’t panic. Did he need to pay before leaving? Yes. He made his way to the counter and handed over his money. The remains of the sandwich stuffed in his jacket pocket; leaving food behind might get him remembered.
A few seconds later he was outside and retracing his steps. He’d thought his memory loss was alarming enough; now the self-control he took for granted was letting him down. As he trotted back towards the Elephant and Castle he kept a mantra running in his head. “Take your time; check the flat.”
Arriving at the building he decided to take the stairs. But around the fifth-floor things came back into focus. It was no gradual thing. Where at the bottom of the steps had been a big hole in his memory; now everything came back to him.
Four nights ago, he’d accosted a young woman who was looking at job adverts in shop windows around the area. He’d guessed she was East European and it turned out she was from Albania. An instinct had made him realise she was desperate enough to consider anything so he offered her £50 to come with him. She’d been suspicious but doubling the offer was too much for her to turn down.
After that it had been child’s play. Once back at the flat, he’d left it until late so it was dark, he’d overpowered her with ease and then gagged and handcuffed her to a bed. He had every intention of practising his knife skills on her; removing human skin was very difficult and he liked to do a neat job, but needed plastic sheeting and towels to soak up the blood. He’d left her there overnight, intending to return in the morning with all his gear. That was the last time he’d thought of her until now.
He opened the front door and was greeted by a strong musty smell. Walking into the bedroom he saw the young woman was lying quite still. He checked and could feel a faint heart beat but she appeared to be in a coma. She hadn’t been in good shape when he’d got her here so he supposed she had little physical resilience. Knowing he couldn’t afford any more distractions he carefully lifted her up by her head and savagely twisted her neck. He heard a sharp crack and lay her back down.
Opening the windows to let in some air, he left to go back outside. On the walk here, he’d seen one of the traders in the Elephant and Castle underpass selling a collection of cheap bags. She was only a tiny woman so a large hold-all should do the trick.
Tonight, he’d take the body for a walk along the embankment. It was always quiet later in the evening and he would get a chance to toss the bag into the river when there were no other pedestrians around. He moved quickly to complete his task. He still had t
he other two to deal with. Their fate was a foregone conclusion, but for some reason he felt the need to try something different.
19
Brian Hooley was a remarkably patient man. Partly by nature and partly by training he had learned to hold his temper and try to see both sides of the argument. It was one of the things that made him a great foil to Roper. But this time he was getting irritated.
He was sitting at his desk, lightly tapping his forehead with a rolled-up print-out of information about the Somalian situation. Noticing Roper look up he decided to express his feelings.
“Forgive me Jonathan, but I don’t know how you got anything from this. Not only is this stuff clearly unimportant, you’ve even given me something that says the information may be inaccurate.”
He snatched up a document and brandished it at the younger man. “It says here the reports have not been independently verified and it is all based on the word of a third party who had since disappeared, so we can’t check back with them. And we can’t check with anyone else.”
He screwed the document up in an exaggerated fashion before throwing it at the bin, where to his increased annoyance it bounced on the lip and fell on the floor. It triggered another outburst.
“What exactly is this so-called intelligence about? We seem to have a report that says a bunch of pirates have bought a boat. Is it just me or isn’t that what pirates do? Otherwise they wouldn’t be able to do any pirating, would they?”
Roper surprised him by holding up his hand, palm-outwards. He was instantly mortified. This was supposed to be the other way around. If nothing else, his job was to bring calm and balance to proceedings. The hand was the way he warned Roper his enthusiasm was getting the better of him.
Roper said. “You’re right, but I needed to hear you say there was nothing there. It confirms a suspicion I have that I allowed myself to be influenced by reading other material. When I first looked at this intel I made the mistake of thinking the boat was being used to help move money and people linked to Jihadi groups. It all made sense at the time.”
“Sorry, Jonathan, but this isn’t making a lot of sense to me,” said Hooley. “I don’t recall seeing anything about links to terrorists.”
Roper nodded. “OK. I need to go back a bit. You know I’ve said we get loads of material. Well very soon after I arrived here I was sent some material that was highly classified that discussed Jihadi groups meeting out to sea. This method of linking up was being seen as safer than a land meeting since it would be harder for the West to track them.
“The Americans have been particularly good at targeting traditional meeting places and using missiles to blow up some of the key players. What clinched it for me was reading verified reports describing the movement of militant leaders out of Syria and Iraq towards Somalia, Sri Lanka and on into the Philippines.
“I was very convinced by this so when, months later, I was given the documentation that Somalian groups with links to Isis had got their hands on a powerful new boat with the range to travel hundreds of miles; I made the connection.
He stopped and looked at the DCI who had been listening avidly and knew what was coming next. “You added up two and two and made it five.”
Hooley suddenly made sense of what Roper was doing. It wasn’t that he was deliberately dragging his feet, it was more that he was forcing himself to confront, in excruciating detail, where he had gone wrong. He realised that with the amazing memory he possessed that must be a very painful process.
Roper was at a critical point. He could now see that he was struggling with the thought his trusted methods were letting him down. A memory came back. Even before Roper left for GCHQ he said he was worried he might struggle. At Scotland Yard he had the support and space he needed; it was how he had been able to develop his Rainbow Spectrum.
Hooley had done his best to reassure him. Stick to his methods and all would be well. In private he had been less confident and did what he could to keep tabs on him, with what he heard seeming to suggest all was well.
Maybe Roper had been right to be anxious in advance. But the fact that he was having problems posed a question. Were his amazing skills at analysis breaking up under the pressure of his new, high-powered, environment, or was it something else?
The DCI leaned back in his chair. Despite his grizzled appearance he put a lot of thought in to his work and the state of mind of colleagues, not just Roper. He wasn’t one for constant hands-on staff management, believing that was a waste of everyone’s time, but he knew that sometimes you needed to step in to keep people on track.
He was also aware that sometimes all the skilled management in the world could count for little; especially when people were performing at the very edge of their abilities and under stiff pressure to perform. Even the toughest could waver in those conditions.
That was why he had come up with an alternative theory of the workplace. One he liked to think that only an ‘old fart’ like himself could have created. He called it, ANCOT, or ‘A Nice Cup of Tea.’ It might lack the brain power of the Rainbow Spectrum, but it was tried, tested and worked because it focused on the basics - food and drink. That was something he would take every time. And right now, ANCOT was exactly what Roper needed.
He’d come to think of Roper in terms of a piece of crystal that has sprouted in different directions. In one way, it was all hard edges and straight lines, but in another it was brittle and easily broken. Once before he had experienced Roper having problems at first hand. He didn’t want to see that again; it had taken far too much out of the younger man.
In the meantime, he needed to play his trump card and he had to find the best way of doing it, one that would benefit them both. It involved his standing order for a lunch-time smoked salmon sandwich. Much as he liked it, and was pleased Roper had picked it for him, there was a bit of him that felt like he was locked in a culinary version of Groundhog Day.
A sly smile appeared on his face. He had just thought of the perfect way to hook Roper and help him take his mind off the pressure he was applying to himself.
“I want to make some changes,” he announced in Roper’s direction, knowing this would get his attention even if he had to wait a moment. Sure enough, after a slight delay, Roper looked up. “Changes? What sort of changes?”
Hooley was cheating. He knew that mentioning ‘change’ in Roper’s earshot was sure to get his attention. He was always suspicious of change, preferring to keep things as they were.
“Yes. I’d like to make a change to my sandwich order and I’d like to make it now.”
Roper came up with three suggestions. “You can pre-order the old-fashioned way by going to the cafe; deciding what you want and leaving the order with Nigel. You can even do an order every day if you want to vary it.
“The most efficient way is to send him an email. I have memorised their menu so you can check with me, or I can make suggestions if you like. Sometimes I like to try different things; I might have chicken and avocado with sliced avocado one day and mashed up the next.”
Hooley resisted the urge to make fun of the avocado idea. He really didn’t see much difference between sliced and smashed, but what did he know? Roper was being serious and that’s where he wanted him. Engaged with anything but work. “You mentioned a third approach.”
“Really old school. Just go there whenever you want and place your order. You’ll have to queue up. With the pre-ordering system Nigel has it ready at a precise time and you get priority for ordering in advance, so the time savings can really add up over the course of a week, month or year.”
20
His plan worked faster than he could have imagined. Shortly after they’d eaten their new lunch orders, using a different ordering system, Roper announced. “I can sense my Rainbow Spectrum starting to work properly again. It’s been like everything I was trying to do was getting lost. Normally I can see how anything links to whatever else is in there.
“When I got here I was told it might make a hu
ge difference, especially with so much terrorist activity out there. One slip with looking at the intelligence material could see lives being lost. But when everything started getting confusing, it worried me even more because people could die if I made a mistake.”
Despite Roper’s obvious anxiety, Hooley felt a lift in spirits. It sounded like he was clearing his mind and could start to sort out what the issues were.
They could talk later about him assuming too much responsibility, for now he wanted to let Roper move along at his own place. “So, what are you thinking now?”
“Now that I know there is no doubt I have got it wrong, I can go back to find the answers. As you are aware, I have perfect recall and I am sure they will be in what I have read.”
He got up from his chair and came around to sit on the edge of his desk, his face masked in concentration. “I can now see The Rainbow Spectrum wasn’t giving me complete answers. It had never done that before and I couldn’t understand it.”
Hooley realised there was one question he did need an answer to. “Are you still thinking these three things, or any of them on their own, are connected to an attempt on the lives of world leaders?”
Roper didn’t hesitate. “No.”
After his unequivocal answer Roper had lapsed back into silence, his mind fully engaged on the puzzle. As the evening shift started to arrive the DCI was able to persuade him to head home and so one of them could get some rest.
Hooley had grabbed another early night and was asleep by 10pm. He woke up the next morning just as dawn was breaking. He’d been out for seven hours straight, not something he usually managed. With a definite spring in his step, he headed for the kitchen to set up the first of what would be at least 10 cups of tea or coffee over the course of the day.
I Can See You: Autistic British Detective: Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 2 Page 8
