“Makes out he wouldn’t swat a fly.”
“My arse! Christ, he’s one evil bastard. When’s he going back?”
“When we clean this mess up. If we don’t it’ll mean a full close down and I mean full. You can well imagine what that would mean. No witnesses.” He moved his hand from his crotch and ran a finger across his throat. “I’ve heard dreadful things! He came in supporting a new shipment; with all the migrants in Europe, times are difficult. He comes, checks all’s well, cleans up if needs be and then buggers off. His place in the south of France is supposed to be magnificent, all pink and white, if the rumours are correct. Some even say that he has pink, stone lions on each of the gate posts!”
Chapter Twelve
Friday morning broke with a clear blue sky only marred by what might be interpreted as a shepherd’s warning; streaks of orange edged with vermillion crazed the lower horizon, allowing shafts of sunlight to break like ethereal search lights into the blue. A light mist clung to the trees of The Stray bringing an edge to the autumnal day.
Dan Rowney was at work early. He had, with a degree of reluctance, retrieved Valerie’s laptop and iPad from the IT secure store. He lifted the lid and pressed the start button. Within seconds it demanded a password. Dan had set up a Dashlane Password Manager over twelve months ago at Valerie’s request, naming himself as her emergency contact. He was relieved to see that it had not been changed; he now had emergency access to her data.
He opened his own Mac before quickly requesting the access to Valerie’s data. It would take four days, the time he had set for her to be able to stop any emergency request should she ever need to. Knowing the circumstances, he knew that would not be the case. He then picked up his phone.
***
Liz Graydon had noticed the red sky and hoped that it was not a harbinger of disaster. The plume of smoke silently rising from the machine had made her curse. She pushed the metal knife deep into the bowels of the toaster more like a mechanic than a surgeon, twisting it and prodding in an attempt to extract the over-enthusiastically charred piece of sliced bread. The acrid smell filled her nostrils and the kitchen as her expletives were accompanied by the scream of a smoke alarm.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
She then realised that she had not unplugged the toaster!
She had clothes hanging from various door casings ready to be chosen and then packed for her weekend away. Now, she would likely turn up smelling of a burnt offering. It was the phone dancing along the work surface that caught her eye before she made out the ring tone drowned by the alarm.
“Fuck!”
“Graydon!”
Dan was rather taken aback by the almost hostile response and the sound of the alarm in the background.
“Hold a minute.” Liz stood on a chair and silenced the alarm, took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “Sorry, a bit of a domestic issue with some toast but the situation’s now under control.”
“Is that DS Graydon?” Dan’s voice came over as uncertain.
“Yes. To whom am I speaking?”
“Sergeant, it’s Dan Rowney, Karen Johnson’s partner. We spoke last night.”
Liz tensed. “Have they been back?”
“No, no but I need to speak with you. I have Valerie’s computers, well laptop and pad. They are password secure but I’m the emergency account holder.”
“Where are they?”
Dan explained the whole story and assured her that they were held in a secure IT area, but the sooner he could hand them over the more comfortable he would feel. Liz also wanted to get her hands on them too and she arranged to meet him at his place of work. After she had hung up she called Cyril who was seemingly having his normal, organised morning routine. She was instructed to meet with Dan as soon as possible.
She quickly packed her overnight case and returned the other items of clothing to her wardrobe. Breakfast was now forgotten, but the smell of burning still lingered, killing her appetite. Once her bag was in the hall she smiled. “Let’s just get this day over with and…” She didn’t finish the sentence, her ring tone interrupted.
“It’s Cyril. Are you there yet? I’ve cleared it with West Yorkshire.”
“I’m going to Huddersfield, not this side of Leeds! I’ll ring when I’m there.”
“Liz, get all the details, major password and log in details. Take care.”
She set the Sat Nav. to take her via the A61, M62. It showed a travel time of eighty minutes. At least now she could relax.
***
When Liz entered, Dan Rowney was waiting in the entrance of Priorspur Electronics, a converted woollen mill that was both modern and light. Although they had never met, Dan instinctively knew that she was police.
Liz walked towards the Reception desk.
“DS Graydon?”
She nodded and approached Dan. She noticed that he carried a laptop case. He held out his hand.
“Thanks for coming so soon. It’s here and to be honest it frightens me. Since her death, I’ve been reluctant to let anyone know about the arrangement. Before her death I just thought that she was after some free IT support; that was Valerie all over! My only worry is that I’m the key, I hold the password and whoever killed Val for what’s in here.” He lifted the case. “Then I or Karen could be next.”
“The sooner we find what’s locked in her data, the safer you’ll be. Once it’s in our hands we can act. For them it’s over. Why can’t we access it immediately?”
“It’s the way it works, I set a time lock to protect Val. You’ll only be able to access the data after four days, that’s Monday morning at about seven. I’ve written down the procedure but your guys will have no trouble. The master password is here.”
Dan handed her an envelope. “Without this, nobody would be able to retrieve the data. If you lose that and anything happens to me it’s lost forever.”
Liz thought that he sounded very melodramatic and took the envelope, sliding it into her inside pocket. She wanted to say, Don’t die until Monday, before adding a big smile but she could sense the stress Dan was under. She held out her hand for the case.
“I’ll certainly be pleased to see the back of that, believe me!”
Liz could see the pressure lift as he released the case into her care.
“Nothing personal but let’s hope that this is the last time we’ll meet. You’ve got my number if I can be of assistance but I’ve made the procedure all so very clear in the note I’ve put in the envelope.”
Within minutes Liz was pulling out of the car park, the bag safely locked in the boot. She rang Cyril.
“Bennett.”
“All done. Do you want this taking directly to Newby Wiske? It can’t be accessed until Monday at the earliest?”
“Yes, please. I’ll let them know you’re on your way. See you back here.”
***
Liz turned off the road towards the gates of Newby Wiske, a large seventeenth century hall set in thirty-five acres of grounds. It had been the headquarters of the North Yorkshire Police for forty years. Although a beautiful building, it was expensive to maintain and the facilities were getting past their sell by date. The facility was no longer able to support efficiently the demands of a modern police service. She would be sad to see it go; already an alternative in Northallerton had been allocated. The concave hedge seemed almost to suck you past the lodge as you drove in from the road. Liz glanced at the ‘For Sale’ sign. No doubt it will be converted into a hotel in a couple of years’ time, she thought. Within minutes she had deposited the laptop with a Digital Forensic Technician before heading back to Harrogate.
***
A coffee in one hand, Liz threw on her ID and made her way to the Incident Room. Owen was sitting staring at the boards and making the occasional note. He turned as she entered before checking his watch.
“Good of you to join us. Late start, early finish is it? Believe you’re away for a weekend of carnal exploitation?” He raised his eyebrows a
nd smiled. “I’m jealous.”
“Late, Christ it’s been a catalogue of bloody errors and you’re not improving my day. Can’t get my head straight. Who told you, anyway?”
“Lips are sealed.”
“Valerie’s computers are with the techy boys and girls but…” She interrupted herself as her hand felt the edge of the envelope tucked inside her jacket pocket. “Shit! Bloody burnt toast, alarm, smoky clothes, Huddersfield, Newby Wiske and now this!” She threw it onto the table.
Owen leaned over and picked it up. “Love letter? French letter for the weekend?”
She snatched it back with one hand and slapped his head with the other before explaining the true course of her morning. Owen listened.
***
Cyril Bennett had just finished briefing his Chief Constable who seemed happy with the progress made on the double murders, especially the acquisition of the missing computer. He smiled to himself as he thought of the Chief standing behind a desk piled high with papers and pebbles; his desk always reminded Cyril of the north face of the Eiger. He returned the phone and then picked up a note left by DC Smirthwaite.
HOLMES link: Dark Range Rover reported collecting person or persons in what appeared to be a rendezvous at Flixton. One other vehicle involved. No numbers identified. Rover last seen heading away from the coast towards Malton on the A64. Possible migrant transfer. This would be the fifth recorded incident of migrant activity over a fourteen-month period in that area but the only one referencing a dark coloured Range Rover.
The smuggling of migrants was becoming popular with the criminal fraternity, providing easy money for a task that used to present few risks. Often linked with the shipping of drugs, it made for a lucrative trade. Cyril had heard that those being shipped to Greece from Turkey were dumping life vests partly made up of waterproof containers filled with cocaine. The dealers were clearing them from the beaches before stripping the drugs and moving the contraband inland. If seventy per cent of the drugs were recovered then it was a financial win-win.
Cyril noted the light drain from the room. He turned to see Owen.
“Liz is back. The guy who had Valerie’s lap top is a little anxious.”
“We have the master password and details?”
Owen nodded.
“Then he’s nothing to worry about. I take it he’s activated the emergency request?”
Owen nodded again. “We just have to make sure we’re the only recipients of the data. Shouldn’t we be keeping a watch on him until Monday? It wouldn’t take much to get the info from him, especially if they decide to get rough and hold his partner. Just thinking out loud!”
Cyril drummed his fingers on the table, weighing up the risk against the cost; costing was a growing priority and a major consideration no matter how sensitive the policing. “Contact West Yorks and call in a favour. Get Liz to ring…” Cyril seemed stuck for a name.
“Dan Rowney.” Owen offered.
“Yes, Rowney, thanks. Once you have the go ahead, let them know what’s happening. After Monday they’ll be safe anyway.” Cyril drew on his electronic cigarette. “And Owen…”
Owen returned.
“Thanks!”
***
Liz had not really been able to settle all day. It was the traumatic start; after all, she had played cook, fireman, agony aunt, and courier within the course of a few hours. More to the point, it was likely that her blissful anticipation of the weekend ahead that was the catalyst for her anxiety. She checked her watch for the fourth time within the hour, how slowly the hands seemed to be turning!
Shakti observed, “A watched pot never boils, Boss. That’s the fifth time you’ve looked at your watch in the last hour. What time is your appointment this afternoon? More importantly, what’s his name? Is he tall, handsome with a large…” She paused and batted her eyelashes. “Large, thick, wallet?” She smiled and assumed a look of total innocence.
Liz put her finger to her lips and ran it across them. “From now, Shakti Misra, my lips are well and truly sealed.”
She removed the envelope from her pocket and made one more call to the technician’s at Newby Wiske. It was full of apologies, thanks and promises.
“Yes, email… Yes, Michael, right now. No, no errors, I know I should have left it. I’ll even photograph it and mail it just to make sure, promise!”
She turned to the keyboard and started typing the information that Dan had placed in the envelope.
“Shakti, please check this. I’m all bloody fingers and thumbs!”
“Your date won’t be too pleased to hear that! Yep, exactly right. Now you can relax.”
She took the photograph and mailed it directly to Michael.
Liz checked her watch again and shook it. “Bloody hell, getting as bad as Flash Bennett, bless him. If I drive slowly I’ll not be early and then…” She smiled.
“Don’t forget briefing at 07:00 Monday sharp. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”
Liz just pretended to yawn, stretched, then left.
***
Liz parked the car outside the Stray Agency it was 14:48. Although the sky was the colour of elephant hide, there was no rain. She was eager to get this interview over with and head home. Her overnight case was already packed. She was due to catch a train to Leeds at 19:05. Even now, she felt a frisson as her nerves combined with the feeling of utter excitement crashing in the pit of her stomach. She dropped the sun visor and stared at the vanity mirror before straightening her hair. She took a deep breath and left the car. Her phone rang.
“Graydon.”
“How you feeling, Boss? Just wanted to wish you a happy weekend!”
“Thanks Shakti and thanks for the present. Strawberry flavour is just me! This phone will be off in twenty minutes so please tell your six friends.” She could hear Shakti and Owen giggle as she hung up. It made her relax a little.
Liz turned her phone to silent and smiled. She counted her blessings that she had come to Harrogate. Cyril Bennett was a delight to work with, a bit old fashioned and a little too proper at times, but she would not swap him and the team was just that, a team. Strawberry indeed! she thought. I don’t think so!
She climbed the three steps that led to the large, Victorian door. She too noticed the unpolished brass plaque. A lamp was lit prematurely above the arched doorway. She pressed the intercom. A garbled message dragged its way from the speaker.
“DS Liz Graydon to see Mr Grant. I have an appointment at three.”
There was a buzz and then a click as the door sprung free from the lock. Liz pushed and entered the hall. Christina Cameron was standing at the far end by the stairs. She was petite and slim. She smiled at Liz.
“This way, please. Mr Grant should be here any moment.”
Liz was shown into a large, elegant room. Two red leather settees were positioned centrally and on either side of the fireplace. The walls were covered with photographs, one of which she noticed was Valerie. One wall featured a large painting hanging centrally but at a slight angle. Liz stood before it and studied the quaint industrial image before straightening it. She stood back to check it was straight; she had a hatred of crooked pictures as well as crooked people. The depicted figures, almost cartoon-like, were heading to the factory gates. Children were climbing walls. The red terraced houses contrasted with the pink and white of the smoke-laden sky as if contradicting the smoking chimneys. It had an almost comic quality that brought a smile to her face. She looked in the bottom left hand corner of the painting and read the signature, G W Birks 69. For a moment her butterflies had gone. She checked her watch whilst growing increasingly annoyed. Grant was late. She decided to give him five more minutes.
At 15:12 she stood and went to the door only to be intercepted by his secretary.
“I’m sorry he’s running late, it’s not like him,” protested Christina, whilst emphasising the fact with a facial expression that clearly showed her annoyance. She shook her head. “Sorry! It’s not like Mr Grant to leave a
nyone waiting and certainly not the police.”
“I have another more pressing appointment so I’ll have to go. Please tell Mr Grant that I’ll call on Monday.” Liz pressed the door release and descended the steps. As she approached her car she heard a phone ring in a distant office.
Liz opened her car door, climbed in and smiled to herself before removing her phone. She dialled Shakti’s mobile.
“It’s Liz, there is a God after all. Grant’s been delayed coming back from London so an early finish for me. Strawberry indeed! Just thought I’d let you know that in half an hour I’ll be soaking in a hot bath of sweet smelling bubbles in preparation for...” She hung up.
It was then that she noticed Christina Cameron waving from the doorway before making her way quickly to the car. Liz opened the window.
“Mr Grant’s phoned, there was a slight delay with his train. He’ll be five minutes at the most he’s assured me and he’s asked if you could kindly wait.”
Liz sighed, checked her watch and opened the car door.
“Come on, I’ll get you a coffee. Sorry to mess you about.”
Liz sat and looked at the painting again as Christina brought in the coffee.
“For some reason I just love the naivety of that painting.” Liz pointed.
“The Birks? He’s a Leeds’ artist, used to be a window dresser can you believe. I bought it at a local auction. Too big for my apartment but I love it. Mr Grant was kind enough to let me hang it here. I often have my lunch where you’re sitting and I just stare at it; you see something different every time.” She smiled and turned to the painting.
Liz put her coat and bag onto a chair and picked up the coffee. She sipped cautiously but it was cool and so she drank more quickly. She didn’t finish it. A fuzzy haze seemed to fill her head as if she were drifting. She wondered if she had overdone her anticipation of the weekend ahead but then she began to feel as though she were floating. Suddenly she felt scared and nauseous; she quickly realised what was happening to her. She tried to lift the coffee cup to her nose to smell it but Ketamine is odourless and without taste. The cup fell from her fingers before breaking into fragments that scattered across the polished wooden floor. A trace of saliva dribbled uncontrollably from the side of her mouth as she tried to focus on the figure standing before her. All she saw was her own right arm being extended and her sleeve being rolled back. She neither felt the needle nor heard Christina telling her that all would be well. Liz felt as though she were elsewhere, she was totally oblivious to her surroundings. She now neither felt nor cared about the arms that held her and the eagerly anticipated weekend ahead never entered her drug-addled brain.
Game Point Page 10
