The Unseen

by James McKenna

  “Could be,” Sean said.

  “We’ll get him, mind. Terrible, a nun and all. No older than my sister. No one’s safe.”

  Twenty minutes later they pulled into a tree-lined car-park. Victoria extracted herself and Sean watched her tight expression as she looked towards the white overalled Forensics team who dotted the weed infested vegetable garden.

  Cory indicated a neat, bespectacled man in cords and wellies who came under the tape.

  “Liam Haggarty.” The Irishman extended his hand to Sean, looking at Victoria. “It’s okay. They’ve moved the remains,” he said, over her hesitation at the tape.

  “I put away his last two victims,” Victoria said in a bland lifeless voice. “And I never move into another person’s crime scene unless invited.”

  “I appreciate that.” Haggarty nodded and lifted the tape. Sean waved her forward. She had won the guy’s professional respect, now she needed to stay emotionally detached. “We’re of the same school, Inspector,” she told him. “If we have the same killer, we’re basically involved in the same operation.”

  All three stopped at the greenhouse entrance. Sean looked inside. Streaks of blood discoloured the glass. It was flecked out in spidery tendrils and had dried to a mottled brown. Flies had settled. Victoria faltered and visibly paled.

  “The spray of blood patterns shows she was alive when he started,” Haggerty said. “Staked out, her mouth heavily taped. She died from loss of blood and trauma.”

  Sean watched Victoria repress a shiver and waited until she found her voice. “The killer our side tied and gagged his victims before cutting them. He started with sexual assault, then graduated.”

  “This one’s the same. Cut off her clothes, leaving only her wimple. Does that suggest anything?”

  “That suggests he wanted to keep her as a nun,” Victoria said. “The man understands purity, perfection. His past victims were what you might call elite, beyond the reach of many. He thinks of himself in the same way.”

  “Any DNA?” Sean asked.

  “It will take time. The corpse was a mess. Fingerprinting useless. He wore surgical gloves the whole time. Blood splashes show she struggled, bruises indicate he knelt on her chest. He must have been covered. He emptied the whole inner cavity of her body, including the uterus and connecting genitalia which he took away. Psychologically these continue his possession of her.”

  Victoria was looking down at the earth. Congealed furrows were littered with bloodstained prayer cards. This time she stayed silent.

  Sean said, “What about the car, clothes? Someone who must have seen him?”

  “I have teams out searching. Initial evidence suggests he visited twice, first time to prepare, possibly leaving a change of clothes and stuff to clean up with. The second time he brought the girl. I have one witness who saw a man in a blazer helping her from a Mercedes car. They gave a poor description I’m afraid”

  “Then she trusted him, same as our victims. Did she use a computer? We have strong evidence all the victims played a computer game called Princess Kay-ling.”

  “Katherine was a skilled calligrapher and studied the art of illuminated manuscripts at one of our best colleges. Most pupils there go on to take Holy Orders. I can see computers, but not games.” He raised his hands. “But then my sister’s a nun. They can play the devil if they take a mind to.”

  “It’s Zoby.” Victoria finally spoke. “I know it. Zoby removed genitalia from Lizzie Sinclair. Our man is your man, Inspector.” Haggarty looked up, his relief visible behind the glasses. He was no longer alone.

  “I’ll share evidence,” Sean said. “But I need insight into Katherine’s mind and background. I need to talk with her friends.”

  Haggarty checked his watch. “I have a woman detective sergeant at Katherine’s college now. Kilkenny is a good two hours drive, maybe more, unless young Cory takes you.”

  “It’s okay.” Victoria raised her hand. “Your men are needed here. We’ll hire a car.”

  “If I share evidence,” Haggarty said. “And if you catch him in Britain, I want him afterwards. One day they’ll let him out of your jail, but he’ll die in ours.”

  They reached Kilkenny City and the 16th century teaching convent in late afternoon. The DS from Dublin CID stepped from an unmarked car and introduced herself as Finola Kelly. Victoria edged Sean aside, this was women’s ground and he let her lead.

  “The sisters are in a state of shock, I can hardly get a word out of them,” Finola said.

  “Did you talk to her friends?”

  “Her close pal is Teresa. I’ve tried to interview her, but she keeps crying and the Mother Superior won’t leave us alone. Getting information here will take patience.”

  “We have a return flight tomorrow morning,” Sean said. “If Katherine used a computer, if she was in contact with anyone over the Internet, we need to know.”

  Finola gave a grimace of apology. “To be honest, I don’t think men are welcome at the moment.” She glanced towards Victoria. “If we two try by saying you’re from England, Mother Superior may give us ten minutes.”

  Sean waited in the car for thirty minutes, lost in speculation of why Zoby had killed in Ireland. Was he trying to prove his capabilities or dilute the search over two countries? If so, perhaps he didn’t realise he had opened a corridor. Passing between borders meant passing through security. It gave a reference point for the operation to search. The other avenue was Crystal, if only they knew what part Crystal played.

  When Victoria finally returned through the heavy doors of the convent, she was followed by DS Kelly and three young students, all were carrying computer equipment. The three gathered round the boot of the Garda’s car and placed their burden inside. Victoria shook hands with DS Kelly then crossed to Sean’s car.

  “Wow,” she said, once inside. “Never knew nuns could be so scary. Given the chance, I think Sister Deirdre, the Mother Superior, would have scourged both of us on the spot. She’s not a woman to mess with, so I hit hard. Told her if we didn’t have her and Teresa’s help this guy would kill again. We would all have blood on our hands. That broke the barrier.”

  “Well done.” Sean glanced to her and wondered if that was her motivation, the thought of blood on her hands through failure.

  “She let Teresa walk with me in the garden. The poor girl let it all pour out. Katherine was computer whiz kid of the convent. Her parents kept buying her the latest equipment. Katherine secretly downloaded and played Princess Kay-ling every night. She was Southern Ireland champion.”

  “The convent never knew?” Sean asked.

  “Young girls are young girls, convent trained or not. Teresa admitted most students had hotmail addresses. It was innocent fun to them, sending messages to friends and parents. The girl said in her opinion, if God did not want them to access modern technology, he would not have provided it. From what I saw of the older nuns, I doubt they even know how to switch a computer on. They have four PCs in the library, all supposedly used to research illuminated manuscripts on a worldwide basis. It also brought the temptations of the world to the heart of their community. Last Thursday Katherine downloaded the Garden of Serenity, the final level of Princess Kay-ling.”

  “Did it have SPI?”

  “Finola will find out, she’s taken all Katherine’s equipment for analysis. Last Saturday, the poor girl went innocently to collect a two thousand euro prize. She went to meet Zoby. She told Teresa she could trust Zoby.”

  On the return drive to Dublin, Sean stayed with his own thoughts, glad that the dark scenarios which whirled through his head were frequently interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. If Crystal and Zoby could reach to Ireland, they could reach to Australia, America, Russia.

  Heidi had booked them separate but neighbouring rooms in Jury’s Hotel. Sean felt better after a shower and use of the hotel toiletries for a shave. Spruced, he went down with Victoria to meet DI Haggarty and Finola in the bar.

  “They’ll have inform
ation from the hard drives tomorrow,” Haggarty said. “We played the one flash drive found in the girl’s room. Crystal and Zoby are integral characters in the PKL game. On the surface they seem OK.”

  “Slow them down and you’ll find subliminal suggestions, obey Crystal, trust Zoby,” Sean said. “Messages are sent as viruses and downloaded onto the game. They encouraged Katherine to obey instructions. What we’re looking for is the origin of any e-mails, anything connected with her last journey.”

  Haggarty leaned away, apologising as he answered his mobile. It created silence. When he finished he leant back and scratched his stubbled chin. “Local Garda have been checking over a burnt out Mercedes. Seems it holds partial remains of a bag containing knives. The vehicle was stolen two days ago and fits the description by our witness. I have a team on it now.” Haggarty rose to leave. Sean stood also.

  “We’ll come with you.”

  “You look after the Brit side, I’ll look after mine. Stay in touch. Enjoy your dinner and have a safe journey home.”

  “I think we’ve been told our limits,” Sean said, watching them leave.

  She looked good, even in clothes crumpled by the long day, but then Sean knew he wasn’t looking at the clothes. She had untied her hair from the French pleat so it fell dark to her shoulders, shining in the candlelight. He went back to the menu.

  “Share oysters?” she asked.

  “Sure.” The night was good for sharing. He thought better of saying it. Both ordered steak and Sean picked a good-bodied Syrah he hoped she'd like. The alcohol played its part after a hard day. While they ate he received two text messages, one from Sophie, one from Becky.

  “They’re good kids,” Sean said. “Worried about their Dad in foreign parts.”

  “Kids reflect their parents.” Victoria’s red lips sipped at her wine and left a smudge of lipstick imprinted on the glass.

  “Jesus, not their mother.” He closed his eyes, then looked back to her. “No, I shouldn’t have said that. Her heart is good, we’re just not compatible. Living with a policeman is not easy.”

  “Guess that’s why we’re alone. We’re too selfish outside of professional endeavours.”

  He ate slowly, wondering if he should dig. “You never married?”

  “No.” The word had a hollow, final ring creating a line not to be crossed.

  Sean waited and finished his meal while she ate sedately. “I should never have married, but then I love my kids. They give life meaning,” he said.

  “Exactly.” She sat back, her ambiguous half smile suddenly bewitching, her eyes beautiful. He wanted to sleep with her.

  “We have an early start tomorrow.” She checked her watch.

  “Tempus fugit. Day after, we’ll be Mr and Mrs Fagan.”

  “How respectable.” She gathered her bag and stood.

  Sean followed her to the lift and waited in silence as they rode to the fourth floor. He was conscious of her absolute power. Outside her room she stopped to face him. She made to speak, then kissed her finger and touched it to his cheek.

  “Good night, Mr Fagan.”

  “Good night, Mrs Fagan.”

  She hesitated on closing the door. Her touch lingered until sleep came.

  They split at the airport to collect fresh clothes. Within two hours Sean arrived at the undercover house. There were six properties in a square-shaped cul-de-sac, each property a twee little box trying to seem more pretentious than its neighbour. Sale notices were still up with only two sold. Few could afford the price.

  Jan waited with the Jaguar keys.

  “Houses either side are still empty,” Jan said. “Wouldn’t mind one myself. Nice patio and kitchen.” She handed him the morning post. “Gas, electricity and telephone bills, just in case you want something to dump for snoopers. I put an answering machine on the phone. Before your lottery win you were a welder. Victoria ran a pub. In case they check with the hotel, the girls were from your previous marriage.”

  “The place was full of kids. Can’t see anyone’s interested in mine. If the bank gave this address, that’s all we need. These people are after money, not my family tree.”

  Jan nodded and moved away when his mobile rang.

  Steve Rawlings was buoyant. “The hard drives on their computers all show e-mail activity from the PKL Shoreditch web address. All originated from PKL3 which suggests it’s terminal three on the main office server. The sender signs as Crystal and makes frequent references to Zoby.”

  “What about SPI?”

  “It’s in virus form and the message is always simple. Obey Crystal, trust Zoby. Be there at 11.00. Get into the car. Let Zoby enter. One appears every three to ten seconds.”

  “They have an effect?”

  “Providing they are simple, and these are, yes, they can have an effect. Yesterday we experimented. We sent SPI messages to the screen of a volunteer WPC. She only drinks tea. We told her, buy coffee. This morning in the canteen, she asks for coffee. She immediately realised, didn’t know why she bought coffee and changed it. She was subjected to three hours. If we had hit her for thousands of hours, what of the effect then?”

  Sean listened to the quiet draw of his own breath. Trust Zoby in the forest, in the graveyard, your house, your convent.

  “Steve, what do I need to look for at Milton Keynes?”

  “Computer-wise that’s difficult without raising suspicion. Any person with access could originate these things. Cobbart found us a court order to hack their lines. We’re set up to intercept all e-mail traffic. What we need to discover is who’s using T3, then link them with timed e-mail transmissions. That won’t be easy.”

  Victoria packed, choosing clothes to fit her role while trying to convince herself that deceiving Sean would eventually bring good. Minutes before she left for the cover house she phoned Alice Sibree.

  “Sean Fagan is closing in rapidly. I suggest we lift the WorkWell programme now, or it may be too late.”

  “I require more time. Those above can’t possibly act through official channels. One whiff of this to the media and they’ll descend like savages. Our source inside PKL informs us the rogue components accepting SPI codes remain incomplete. They require three more days. Caswell will then pass the flash drives containing these components to Wileman. In turn his trusted technos then need to incorporate them into the WorkWell application before any SPI message from either him or us will be accepted. Delay Fagan.”

  “Alice, when the time comes, Fagan will go in like a sledgehammer and nothing I do or say will stop him.”

  “Then work on Caswell. You must get close to him, close as you can in the time available. If possible, steal a copy of the WorkWell files without anyone realising.”

  “And just how do I manage that, Alice?”

  “Use your cunning and your charms, my dear. You’re very good at it. It’s why I picked you.” She hung up.

  Thank you Alice, Victoria thought. This was probably what the Witch wanted all along, to steal, off-record illicit research that could never be placed on record. But for whom, a government agency? Certainly not one that was making its self known.

  Sean watched from the living room as Victoria’s BMW pulled into the drive. He went to greet her and help with the case. She was dressed in a fitted blouse and tight trousers, her hair tidied by an Alice band. She looked the exact part of Mrs Publican, turned Mrs Wealthy Suburbia.

  “It was the show house,” he said, carrying the case upstairs. “Fully furnished, Cobbart has leased it for three months though I doubt we’ll need it a week.” He pushed open a door and placed the case inside. “Master bedroom. What do you think?” He indicated the made up bed.

  Victoria placed a briefcase on the dressing table and folded her arms. He watched a half smile appear. “I hope it’s comfortable for you, but I won’t be sleeping here tonight. Mrs Fagan resides, but only sleeps with Mr Fagan when the enemy watches. And that won’t be ’til after we visit PKL headquarters.”

  “How one must suffer
for duty.” He shrugged as she brushed aside his hopes.

  “Any news from Ireland?” she asked, opening the case to place bottles on the side and hang clothes in the cupboard.

  “Haggarty phoned. Items found in the burnt out Mercedes held evidence of Katherine’s blood. Looks like Zoby is getting over confident and careless. The car was stolen from a golf club previous day. The thief made a pretence of booking lessons, fortunately on that first visit security cameras got the licence plate of a hire car from Dublin airport. Forensics commandeered and took the car apart. They found traces of Katherine’s blood on a seat. Hire details give a British driving licence, one Jez Darley. They checked hotels. One Brit did a runner without booking out, but they have a credit card swipe in the name of a Martin Bradshaw. Haggarty faxed details to the office. Heidi’s is checking for addresses.”