Snibbard expression became cautious. “PKL have a minor sub-contract for insertion of WorkWell updates, it’s insignificant really. Our lucrative areas are PKL and Killing Field. Forget Starways, it’s nothing.”
“Killing Field is not exactly a name for family entertainment,” Victoria said. “Who thought that up?”
“It came when we bought the licence. PKL is for families, Killing Field is for the TWs. Short for testicle wavers, that’s what we call them.”
You’re one of them, Victoria thought, but said, “I’d like to view WorkWell and try some of the programmes. If I put in money, I want to know all your little activities, no matter how insignificant, Mr Snibbard.”
“No problem,” he said, suddenly distracted from her body. His face had coloured as if he realised his boasting had gone too far.
“If you could set it up for me, I’d like to discover what it’s all about,” she said.
“It’s of no real interest.” He waved dismissively.
“Let me be the judge of that.” She heaved her chest at him and regained his full attention.
“I have done this already,” Mrs Zellar said, and checked her watch. “I go back to my hotel. I wait for Richard there.”
Ten minutes later Victoria was left in the conference room with a plate of sandwiches and coffee. She felt certain Snibbard wasn’t Zoby, but he could be Crystal. Equally interesting was Snibbard’s caution over her reference to Starways. It indicated he knew of WorkWell and SPI. A minor sub-contractor, who had the ability to insert programmes containing SPI, that was some influence. No wonder Snibbard had tried diverting from the subject. She switched on her buttonhole camcorder, connected it to the open line on her mobile then selected a flash drive from a wallet on the desk. The basic programme was child’s play. Within minutes she knew how to download pre-designed packages. She chose one for stock control, another for traffic control. She sensed no SPI effects. By late afternoon she was satisfied with the programme’s condition. With no-one to overhear, she switched on her mobile and used voice mode.
“It’s clean, Alice. They’ve erased everything, even the games kept for visitors. You can bet the same has been done at Milton Keynes.”
“The images you transmitted were not good but our first analysis suggests you are right.”
“I spent hours this morning on PKL and Killing Field – nothing. The police would have no case.”
“Is WorkWell complete?” Alice asked.
“According to Snibbard, yes. Either here or Milton Keynes. I have a whole wallet of flash drives in front of me, but they’re not the ones we want.”
“Then we go deeper. After following Caswell we’ve discovered a safety deposit box. My guess is, it contains a copy of the master files for his own use. The original are probably still kept in Shoreditch. Due to legalities and outside interest, we cannot touch the bank. Therefore it is imperative for us to monitor and wait on Caswell to move them. Then we intervene.”
“SOCA already have an op in full swing and Sean Fagan is closing rapidly. He’s crafty enough to have surveillance on this place without telling me. In the next few days, Operation Poor Girl will have this building busted. That’s the time to pilfer. MI5 will be the only agency who know what to look for.”
“I get your message.”
Victoria paused. “OK, Alice, I’ve done my treachery, I want out now. I want to catch Zoby.”
“Stay my dear, he’s much closer than you think.”
After homework and tea, with cheeks flushed, Sophie raised the DVD in her hand as she entered the common room of Primrose House. She received questioning attention. “Trial game for the new PKL. We’ve downloaded it,” she announced. “Everyone can have a copy.” She stood aside as twenty adolescent girls headed for the computers. Perhaps she shouldn’t have told. What if Julie got into trouble?
Miss Nathan put down her book, placed an arm on Sophie’s shoulder and followed the others into the corridor. Sophie grinned affectionately, “I won it last weekend, sweatshirts too. They should be here tomorrow. Becky and me are in the grand prize draw. We might have our photos taken with Princess K.” Sophie felt pride in her news, pleased she could share it and get approval.
“Did you tell your mother?” Miss Nathan led into the computer room.
“Not yet, she’s in New York. But she’s picking us up tomorrow after school, Bradley too. It’s Mum’s birthday on Saturday.”
Each of the four PC terminals had a cluster of girls all ready to make copies.
“How did you download this file?” Miss Nathan asked Julie.
“Onto the main server so everyone can get a copy.”
Sophie winced under Julie’s sharp gaze.
“What if it had a virus? The school network would be infected,” Miss Nathan said.
“It can’t have, Miss. PKL can’t have a virus, it’s worldwide.”
“For your sake I hope so.” Sophie took Miss Nathan’s hand and led her to a PC. Both hovered at Becky’s shoulder, watching her click the mouse through the necessary procedures. “Any sign of a virus?” Miss Nathan asked. Sophie thought she didn’t sound happy.
“No.” Becky shook her head. “Everything’s cool. PKL downloads have a guardian, Zoby. You can trust Zoby.”
After an hour the other girls deserted en mass for Eastenders. Miss Nathan went with them. It left just Julie and Becky. Sophie grew bored and pushed gently between them for attention.
“Read our e-mail, see if we’ve won the grand draw,” she said, her hand over Becky’s, encouraging her mouse to click on hotmail.
Congratulations Sophie and Rebecca Fagan. You both win the PKL star prize – two thousand pounds and a photo session with Princess Kay-ling. Due to pressure of engagements this session is scheduled tomorrow. A chauffeur driven limousine will whisk you to the rendezvous where our press and entertainment officer will be waiting with Princess K and two thousand pounds. Please indicate below ASAP a convenient place and time for pick up. The message was signed, Dr Faulkner, PKL Prize Draw Executive.
“Two thousand pounds!” Sophie stared at the screen. “We’re rich.”
Becky put arms around her. Sophie felt she would burst. Amazing!
“Let’s tell everyone.”
“Wait.” Becky raised a hand of caution. “The school won’t let us go. We need to think about this.”
“But we’re getting a limo. It’s Mum’s birthday on Saturday, she’s here tomorrow. We can buy huge prezzies. We can surprise her.”
“How do you get out before your mother arrives?” Julie asked.
“Simple,” Becky said. “We tell the truth, well sort of. We tell Mum we need to buy her a present, that gets her to OK we leave early. We’ve only games tomorrow. Mum won’t arrive until five, six, maybe. We can meet Zoby, get our prize, buy our present and everyone’s happy. Cool.”
“Cool,” Sophie repeated.
“Where you going to meet him and how?” Julie asked.
Becky sniffed and folded arms across her blouse. “If he comes here the school won’t let us go. So, we go to Dunstable as if we were going shopping and meet him in the foyer of the Red Lion Hotel on the High Street. Easy.”
“Mum also collects us from there at six,” Sophie said.
“And we meet Zoby at four. Loads of time.” Becky sat back at the keyboard and started to type a reply. When the e-mail had gone she closed the computer down.
“Text Mum now, so we know for certain,” Sophie said.
“Mobile’s upstairs, plenty time later.”
Sophie leant towards her sister. “Do you think it will work? Will Zoby really be there?”
“Of course. He won’t let us down. You can trust Zoby.”
CHAPTER 16
By 8 p.m. the ops room grew crowded while ghost shift received briefings from day shift. In the close atmosphere, Sean sat sifting through locations of possible suspects with addresses covering Birmingham, London and the Home Counties. Elimination was his current objective, it requi
red speed in establishing who was where last Saturday. There was no further need for covert surveillance now the suspects were openly interviewed, just the collation of facts and DNA samples from mouth wipes. It was possible for the murderer to have been either in Birmingham or London, then Dublin and back again in a matter of six hours. That left plenty of time for a pre-arranged meeting with the victim. Sean also needed a face for Mark Harrison. The department artist had produced a drawing from Stratton’s description which bore no resemblance to the bogus plumber. Harrison’s neighbour was better, but it was still a face that mirrored an ambiguous mug shot. Airport security had responded to a request with thirty-six hours of video footage. A further twenty-four hours of footage was due from the channel ports. All had relevant times either to the air ticket or car hire paid for with the stolen credit card. At 9 p.m., Sean felt the pressure of a thousand facts and details crowding in on him. He needed a break, needed time for it all to filter. On Diane’s suggestion he went with her and Simmy to the pub.
Close to the bar Simmy received a mobile call. Sean bought the drinks and passed Diane her vodka. When their fingers touched he saw her eyes lose weariness and for a moment she sparkled with a soft smile. Sean took out his mobile and dialled Danielle.
“Am I safe?” she asked.
“Sure, Jan’s only a precaution due to this op having a remote but possible personal link.”
“I cook her good dinner,” she paused. “Jan is very nice girl.”
“Don’t spoil her.”
“No more than you. Au revoir, Monsieur.” She hung up and Sean listened to the echo of her words, imagining the two of them side by side on the couch. They wouldn’t, would they? He phoned Victoria.
“How’s Mrs Fagan?”
“Living the life of Mrs Fagan, sitting alone with a takeaway pizza in an empty house.”
“How was your day?”
“PKL have sanitised their software. Snibbard is a grubby pervert who can’t keep his hands off women. But if someone snapped back he’d run a mile. He could be Crystal, but my bet that’s Caswell or Faulkner. How’s it your end?”
“I have a suspect, but nothing proven as yet. For politically correct reasons I can’t bust his empty flat, but tomorrow might change that. No contact your end?”
“No evil demons popping out of the shadows. I was expecting Caswell to phone, he never did. I’ve been left like a wallflower. But maybe that’s intentional. My impression is, he considers himself a slick ladies’ man, and I’m playing that angle far as possible. My beguiling smile aside, a million has to be of some interest to him, unless he’s twigged us.”
“Just remember, he’s a prime suspect for brutal murder. Don’t push your luck.”
“Don’t worry, I’m perfectly safe.”
“I’ll be back in about two hours.”
“I’ll be waiting, Mr Fagan.”
Sean switched off and wondered how many times he had spoken similar words to his ex-wife. I’ll be home before the kids go to bed, home before they go to school. Home before they grow up and you walk away. But he never was home, never there to read the signs and learn the lessons. Maybe Victoria was right – their lives were too complex and far apart.
Victoria put down the phone and returned to her half-eaten pizza. Waiting for him to come back, she thought, was really no different from waiting alone in her Maida Vale flat. Waiting for no-one. But at least alone you had peace. She had changed for him, put on a long skirt and stockings, also a more natural shaped bra under a very low top. She had re-vamped her makeup and opened a bottle of wine in expectation. She never did that in Maida Vale. Alone she did not sit and worry, alone she did not wait eternally, hoping he was safe. She poured more wine and sat for a moment until the sharp shrill of the doorbell cut into the silence.
Every nerve in her body went taut. Who would call? Had Sean sent Jan to watch over her, or had someone in PKL sent Zoby? She lifted her handbag and slipped the Glock 9mm from inside. She had no place on her body to hide the weapon so kept it in her left hand while she latched the chain then opened the front door. Caswell stood staring with the kind of smile which said he knew she was alone.
“I hope I’m not intruding on you, Mrs Fagan. I’ve been trying to get back to you all day and as I was on the M1 from Milton Keynes and passing, I thought maybe I’d drop off your contract.”
She realised then why she had been left with Snibbard in a crowded office. It gave Caswell the perfect excuse to check her address and turn up unexpectedly. He had called her bluff and left her no choice but to play the part.
“Just a moment.” She pushed the automatic into the pocket of her coat hanging in the hall, then undid the chain. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said, self consciously covering her exposed décolletage with one hand.
“Remiss of me not have phoned.” He looked down at her, his expression predatory.
“My husband’s unavailable, we should meet tomorrow.”
“I bet he’s in the pub. If I show you the contract now, then you could sign it tomorrow in my office. It’s your business I’m really interested in, Mrs Fagan,” he said, moving onto the step.
“In which case.” She stepped back to open the door.
She led him into the living room. She could sense the bulk of his body in close proximity behind her, sense her own clutch of anxiety.
“Nice house,” he said.
“We’ve just moved in. Everything is new. Would you care for a seat, a glass of wine?”
“I’m driving, I wouldn’t want to break the law. You never know where the police are.” He smiled and passed papers as she took a lounge chair opposite. Was this guy playing games with her, being clever by referring to the police?
“I like your outfit,” he smiled, then stayed silent.
“Thank you.” She glanced at the documents, six sheets containing details of share options.
“I like what’s underneath too.”
She smoothed her skirt. “Don’t frighten me off, Mr Caswell. One step at a time.”
“What you have there is just a start. There’s ways of making millions if you know how. If you’re open to a little explorative adventure.” He smiled again, slick, questioning.
His expression made her flesh crawl. “Mr Snibbard was very informative, I learnt a great deal about PKL, and him. Mr Snibbard has an unfortunate compulsion to touch what he shouldn’t.”
“The eccentricities of genius. I hope he didn’t annoy you. We tolerate him because his input into PKL has been vast. He makes us a lot of money. He’ll make you a lot of money, but the man who puts together most of our programme is Derek Faulkner. That man could create any computer animation you wanted.”
“Who created Zoby?”
He looked at her, his eyes momentarily dark, she felt the hair on her neck prickling, felt the goose bumps rise on her arms.
“We all created Zoby,” he said. “Cute, isn’t he?”
She uncrossed her legs and stood. “I’ll read through your share offer and meet you tomorrow, Mr Caswell.”
Caswell stood also and Victoria read indecision in his eyes. Would he make an advance and possibly jeopardise his sale? She swallowed on her sense of apprehension. To rebuff him completely and make a scene would ruin further undercover surveillance. She felt the lounge chair behind her legs as he took a step forward and raised his hands, possibly to make a point, possibly to intimidate. Was this the man who ordered Zoby to cut up women? If he thought she was police he would not be jeopardising himself, surely? Her cover was safe, but was she? She stood her ground and looked him in the eyes as she felt his fingers close over one breast. She had deliberately left herself open, offering herself as bait. She daren’t show weakness.
“My husband will be home at any moment,” she said, annoyed at the tremor in her voice. “When he’s been drinking, his behaviour can sometimes be abusive. I’ll be at your office at 11 a.m. tomorrow.”
He moved his hands. “I look forward to it.”
Vict
oria folded her arms in defensive protection, but her apprehension remained. This guy was money motivated, sex should have been secondary, yet he endangered their transaction just to fondle her breast. Something was not right.
“Don’t take offence that I touched you, please. I appreciate beautiful things.” He smiled. “And you are beautiful, Vicky.”
“Flattery, Mr Caswell, is pleasing but don’t pick up bad habits from Mr Snibbard. For the moment let’s keep our business in hard cash.”
“Message received.” He turned towards the hall and Victoria followed, trying to cover the inexplicable fear that continued to coil in her stomach. She shook his hand before closing the door and for moments rested her forehead against the wood, listening to the sound of his car move away. Back in the kitchen she retrieved her wine glass pretending the tremor in her hand did not exist, realising she had fooled herself over her ability to ignore the phobia of all women, rape. She knew then that faced with reality, she had felt as vulnerable as any female hunted simply for her sex. For two days she had flaunted money and possible availability. But would he really have behaved that way with a million pounds at stake? Maybe she had been too blatant in her portrayal, or maybe she was seeing the first insight into Crystal’s mind. Perhaps he knew she hunted him and was challenging her to back down or face him. Perhaps Alice was right, Zoby was closer than she realised.
The Unseen Page 21
