“My God, my God, Snibbard’s shot him,” Caswell screamed and crawled beneath a table.
Victoria twisted herself over and scrambled for the door. Faulkner lay in the corridor, his body half propped by a radiator, his face and upper torso torn open by buckshot.
The after-burn of gunfire lingered in the air, smoke drifting with a smell of cordite. The leather wallet with the flash drives lay a few feet away but too far for her to reach without exposure. She looked back to Caswell who crouched on elbows and knees, his hands clasped over his head. Kneeling there, she thought he looked ridiculous, too ridiculous. She retrieved her bag and fished out the mobile, immediately opening a line to MI5 Control. Tight against the doorframe she peered towards the flat but at such an acute angle was unable to see. A third gunshot sent her shying backwards. It came with a woman’s scream. The sound of terror mixed with hysteria. For moments Patricia’s voice filled the corridor then slowly receded as she fled.
Again Victoria looked at the leather wallet, so close yet so far. She rolled back to a sitting position. Caswell crawled across the floor towards her, his eyes wild. “Faulkner?” he asked.
“Dead.”
“Are you OK? Did I hurt you? When he pointed the gun I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I’m fine.” The guy had saved her life but she couldn’t bring herself to thank him. “What’s going on, Caswell? What’s this about?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” He sat back, his mouth open as if in exhaustion.
“Try me, I’m MI5.”
She saw a flutter of shock, then panic, then cunning.
“Thank goodness, get help quickly.”
“Tell me the truth. Who’s Zoby?”
“Snibbard is Zoby, Faulkner was both Crystal and the Colonel. I’ve suspected them for a year but how do you prove it? The police would have laughed at me.”
“Try them. They’ll be here any minute. You want to tell me about anything else?”
He shook his head. “I left Jovana Zellar and Snibbard in the conference room. For him to behave like this I can only think he’s done something terrible to her. Faulkner controlled him by SPI. They developed it between them but Snibbard never realised Faulkner had used subliminal induction on him. Ironic, is it not?”
“The police may believe you, Mr Caswell. I’m not sure I do.” She folded her arms.
He came to his feet. “Sorry for my honesty, but if that’s what you think I will distress you no further.” In a second he was out the door, his voice resounding in the empty corridor. “Snibbsy, don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”
Doors crashed then came silence. When she peered out the leather wallet had gone.
“Shit.” Victoria rolled back to a sitting position. From the distance came the wail of sirens.
With Snibbard so hyper, Richard threw himself into the doorway, rolling across the floor of the empty conference room before scrambling towards the cupboard and his 12-bore shotgun. He checked first for cartridges, then hid the wallet containing the flash drives he had snatched from the hall in a drawer. The find would keep MI5 happy. Keep the Home Office happy and leave him to walk away with the original kept in his deposit box. Back in the doorway he flattened himself against the wall. At this angle and closer than the accounts office where Fagan crouched, he saw Snibbard peering over the table edge no more than twenty feet away. To show unity Richard lifted his own shotgun and indicated for Snibbard to stay down. Snibbard’s exophthalmic eyes disappeared until only the bald dome of his head occasionally showed above the table. Richard was happy with that, the skull was visible enough for him to blow a hole in it, if the police did not do so first.
From her more acute angle along the corridor, the MI5 woman had no view unless she stuck out her head. A dangerous move for anyone at this moment. She had felt good beneath him. In seemingly saving her life he had been unable to resist the opportunity to lay claim on her body. She could say nothing against him. That she proved to be MI5 only heightened his sense of power. Richard smiled. Everything still stayed within plan. He thought of Zellar lying on the bedroom floor, her butchered carcass ready to create fear in every woman who learnt how she’d died. Wileman would disown all association. Once he had the SPI file he’d banish Richard Caswell forever. Harry’s day had arrived. All he needed was for the police to shoot Snibbard. If they did not, then he would do so himself in a pretence of self-defence.
He watched Snibbard’s skull rise into view again, that little round dome of computer technology. Then his hooded eyes appeared.
“Zoby’s downstairs, we’re trapped.” Richard spoke in a harsh whisper, hopeful the woman did not hear. “They gutted Zellar, now Zoby is coming to gut you and me. For Christ’s sake, shoot him on sight. It’s our only chance.”
CHAPTER 18
Immediately the bell rang for mid-morning break, Sophie was out of her seat and heading for computer club. First in the room, even before the prefect, within two minutes she had hotmail on screen.
Hi Sophie, hi Becky. Got your e-mail and arrangements are confirmed, 4 p.m. sharp, foyer of the Red Lion Hotel, Dunstable High Street. Zoby will arrive to whisk you away for your photo session with PKL and party, A..A..A..AND presentation of your two thousand pound cheque! Don’t forget your sweatshirts so Zoby can easily recognise you. Of course, you’ll know Zoby. Everyone knows Zoby. See you there, Crystal. Please confirm.
Sophie tapped We’ll be there. She logged off and leapt from her seat. Obey Crystal, trust Zoby.
In the corridor Miss Nathan walked with a clipboard, her loose floral dress revealing a white and freckled neck.
“Did Mum send a message saying we could go shopping?” Sophie asked, digging her nails into her palms.
“I don’t know, dear. Ask in the office. Don’t you have games?”
“It’s Mum’s birthday, Becks and me, we’re buying her a present. I’ll ask.” Sophie started to run, then stopped on Miss Nathan’s shrill command.
“No running in the corridor.”
Sophie walked, her legs taking long exaggerated strides.
Mrs Thrower, the house administrator, sat at her desk. “Nothing here, poppet. But mail for you and Becky.” She handed over two packets.
“Sweatshirts!” Sophie ripped open the paper, tearing the enclosed cellophane and card until able to shake out the contents. She held the royal blue shirt up to her shoulders. Princess Kay-ling was shown in dramatic pose, legs and body braced, arms and sword held horizontally and ready to strike.
“Cool,” Mrs Thrower said.
Sophie rushed to the dorm. Becky and Julie sat with a laptop.
“They’re coming at four and Mum hasn’t texted back. What are we going to do?” Sophie asked.
“’S OK, she texted me.”
“But she hasn’t told the school.”
“Don’t worry, she will. She likes presents.” Becky took her package.
“I’ll ask Dad.”
“No, he’ll start questioning. You can’t tell that many lies. Mum will do it, don’t worry.”
“But when?” Sophie leant forward, hands splayed in question.
“When she lands. She can’t use a mobile on a plane.”
“Oh.” Sophie stood straight. She desperately wanted a wee. “When’s that?”
Becky checked her watch. “About 2.30.”
“But we have to catch the bus to Dunstable. We have to leave at 3.”
“We’ll have plenty time.”
“But will we?” Sophie asked, gesturing with both hands. Why couldn’t her sister understand the importance?
“If we’re late, he’ll wait. You can trust Zoby. Anyway, if we’ve won two thousand, we’ll get it. They’ll post it. The photos are only a PR gimmick. There’s no such person as Princess Kay-ling.”
Sophie snapped her teeth and ran out the room. Sometimes her sister was just too stupid for words.
Sean felt admiration for Carole’s efforts, the resulting portraits of Harrison were first class. Others cam
e to look over her shoulder.
“That’s your man,” Carole said, laying together two identical sketches of Harrison, one from Cindy Bradshaw and one from Harrison’s work colleagues. “Drawn from the perspective of totally different witnesses.”
“Doesn’t really match our other descriptions.” Sean thrust his hands into his pockets. “Could be he used disguise.”
“That did cross my mind.” Carole looked up, her pale grey eyes on his. “When Zoby collected his flight ticket and passed through security, he needed photo ID,” she said. “So he used Darley’s passport and driving licence. It’s easy for a close resemblance to be mistaken for the real person.”
“Any similarities between Darley and Harrison?” Sean asked
Carole swivelled the drawing and traced with a finger. “Face shapes are similar, Darley has a heavier jaw, wider cheeks. Different colour eyes, glasses, shaved head and a slight touch of acne on one cheek.”
“Nothing too difficult for a competent makeup artist to change. Carole’s right,” he said to those around him. “We could be looking at the wrong man. Go over the video footage at the check-in gate. Look for someone resembling Darley, check facial structure and dimensions, anything similar to Harrison.”
Simmy tapped his shoulder. “Victoria’s on the line, boss. PKL Shoreditch has gone zappy. Someone’s shot Faulkner and fired on a female staff member. It could be Zoby. He’s holed up, armed and dangerous. Situation, priority one.”
“That doesn’t gel.” Sean took the phone. “You cornered Zoby?” he asked. Victoria’s voice came back, slightly breathless and with a touch of tremor.
“He’s cornered me. I’m trapped in the accounts office of PKL. Snibbard’s barricaded himself into a flat and is firing on anything that moves. Caswell is next door, also under threat. I hate to say it, but the man saved my life. Zellar maybe a prisoner or dead, we don’t know. SO19 are here but they’re waiting on developments.”
“No communication with Snibbard?”
“No mobiles and the land lines are out. I’ve been told by the local boys to stay put and concealed. When I arrived there was only one member of staff here. I think Zellar’s dead and I think I was being lined up as the next victim. In my opinion these guys are seriously weird, including Caswell. But he saved my life. He says that Faulkner was Crystal and Snibbard is Zoby. Somehow he guessed what was going to happen and tried to prevent it, though I have no proof.”
“Two women, top quality, you and Mrs Zellar. It was in the Colonel’s e-mail.”
“It certainly looks that way, though I don’t care for the compliment.”
“You OK?”
“I wish I was out of here.” Her voice quavered on the last word and he heard the sniff of control. “They were going to kill me. My guts spewed out like the other women. The more I think, the more it hits me. Faulkner and Snibbard …” Her words trailed off. He imagined her biting down on her lower lip.
“It will be OK. Stay tight, I’m coming. I love you.” Sean replaced the receiver. When he looked up the others were staring. He drew breath. “We have ourselves a situation at Shoreditch. Zoby possibly cornered. One, maybe two dead. Two others trapped.”
“ID on Zoby?” Diane asked.
“Snibbard.”
“How was he in Ireland?”
Sean spread his hands. “No evidence, but it’s not impossible. The two women, Zellar and Victoria. It fits the e-mail, two top quality females.”
“Kill someone in their own office?” Carole shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Where’s the sense of a psychopath?”
“Shall I leave this?” Carole flicked the drawing. He saw her expression, her glory gone.
“No, there may be two Zobys. And as yet we’ve no firm proof Faulkner was Crystal, or Snibbard Zoby.”
Sean sat in the car and tried to rationalise while Simmy drove with his normal disregard for passengers’ nerves. Headlights blazing, siren screaming, he weaved the unmarked Jaguar through the traffic and red lights with zealous determination. Sean covered his eyes. None of what had emerged made sense. If Snibbard was Zoby, DNA linking the Bradshaws and Poor Girl victims also made him an accomplished burglar. Highly unlikely, unless Zoby was using help. He phoned Cobbart.
“We need this guy alive,” Sean told him. “What if he’s not Zoby, what if he has vital information?”
“Snibbard has murdered one, possibly two people. The guys on the ground will give him every chance but it’s not our turf. Snibbard has to be Zoby. It all fits, everything links back to PKL and the games, the other victims, the e-mails, everything. You’ve done well, Sean.”
“This isn’t over, John. We are making too many assumptions, it’s too tidy a package.”
“Have faith. This is the result of your own careful detective work.” Cobbart paused. “Report just in that Snibbard fired on one of the SO19 team, fortunately he missed. But these boys won’t give a him second chance.”
“Pull strings for me, John. I need to question him.”
“I’ll do my best, but it’s really out of my hands.”
Sean switched off and again closed his eyes as Simmy gunned the Jaguar passed more red lights.
Sean thumbed through the logic. More than one Zoby was possible. The world was full of psychopaths. If the Colonel controlled one, why not two, three, a hundred? To catch Zoby was not the end. He needed the one who played the Colonel. Sean sat embroiled in thought, mobile in his lap awaiting the next call. Only near their destination did he remember his closing words to Victoria. They had been instinctive, without thought, words to comfort. Difficult to believe he uttered such a statement. Now it seemed logical, to fall in love was so easy. Only the rest was difficult. Throughout the trip Diane sat in silence, arms folded, lips compressed.
The streets on either side of the building were cordoned off and traffic diverted into a resulting gridlock. Uniformed police stood everywhere. A collective display of badges and Sean’s nice-guy smile got his team under the tape and into the ground floor foyer of the building.
Members of SO19 armed with Heckler & Koch MP5s milled around in blue flak jackets looking ready for war. Clearly upstaged, groups of CID in sharp suits and leather jackets affected boredom while they waited for the crime scene to be cleared and made safe. At the centre of this a capped and baton-wielding superintendent held court with a selected group of pressmen. No one seemed visibly in charge.
When Sean approached the stairs two of SO19 at the bottom shook their heads and pointed to the uniformed superintendent. The same thing happened at the lift. Across the foyer someone set up a tea urn that caused a general shift of superfluous CID in its direction.
Sean extracted his badge. The superintendent appeared in age to qualify for the Old Boys’ Club. Cobbart had to be of some use here.
“Excuse me, sir.” Sean pushed amongst the press and showed his ID. “I need a word.”
The superintendent stared stony-faced while he read the badge, then moved from the press so they could talk.
“So, the Serious Organised Crime Agency and MI5 are still holding hands,” he said. “What’s your interest here?”
Sean ignored the dig. “Victoria Lawless is one of my team players. She was actually visiting as part of our operation. Snibbard, Caswell, Faulkner and their business activities are part of an investigation involving multiple murders and organised fraud. Snibbard could be the murderer and I would like to help extract him alive.”
“So would I, Inspector, but my priority is to make this building safe. Unfortunately, Snibbard appears to be highly volatile and erratic. Twice he’s taken shots at my men and will listen to no-one. That means he has about zero chance. If he thinks the game is up he wouldn’t be the first to choose a police bullet.”
“From what I know, Snibbard is probably terrified. If I convince him he won’t be harmed, that we don’t believe he’s a character called Zoby, then he may surrender.”
“Zoby?”
“It’s
a long story, sir. The traffic is building up while the psychiatrists hold meetings. Very soon people sitting round tables will be shouting at us to do something.
“Don’t I know it? But I already have a good man up there.”
The Unseen Page 25
