The Unseen

by James McKenna

  Sean tried the Old Boys’ approach. “Snibbard may have murdered Sammy Sinclair’s daughter. He may be able to provide evidence relating to Superintendent Sinclair’s death.”

  A muscle twitched in the hard face staring back at him.

  “Excuse me a moment.” The superintendent extracted his mobile and moved to one side. Isolated, he pressed buttons on the keypad and spoke quietly, occasionally glancing in Sean’s direction. When he returned his expression had mellowed. “I’ll let you up, Inspector, on the proviso that your actions are voluntary, and your enquiries are involved with evidence which might persuade Snibbard to surrender.”

  Sean thought the man a politician if nothing else. “The outcome is not guaranteed, sir.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s the way of things. The guy in charge is called Bates. If he needs your services he’ll direct you. If not, you come down again.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t take chances, Fagan. If you or any of my men become casualties, I shall not be happy. Neither will the troll.”

  The lift carried Sean and one officer of SO19 to the fifth floor. A team of about thirty was installed in an open plan office. Screens were stacked at the bottom of a stairwell to give protection.

  Sean came out of the lift to face four men. All wore the dark blue uniform and flak jackets of SO19; all were armed with Heckler and Koch MP5s.

  “I’m C.I. Bates.” One of them thrust out his hand. “I’m responsible. How can you help?”

  Sean found the man’s direct talking impressive but it left no room for manoeuvre. He began to repeat what he had told the superintendent. He added, “If the woman in the flat is dead, then a suspect known as Zoby murdered her. If that’s not Snibbard, and I don’t think it is, he may be traumatised by terror. In which case I can possibly persuade him to surrender by ensuring his safety.”

  Bates thrust hands into pockets. “Zoby. That’s the name he keeps calling. “I’ll kill you, Zoby. Bastard Zoby.” I get the impression he thinks Zoby is one of us. Let me explain the situation. We’ve tried first contact and reasoning, but with no intelligible response. We can’t use gas on account of others in the proximity and the possibility that the woman he’s supposedly murdered is still held hostage and seriously injured. I’m told by the politically correct that anyone held hostage can sue us for not taking appropriate action which might have lessened their suffering. Neither am I allowed to starve him out by denying food and water as it’s against his human rights. He shot at a woman staff member who was first on the scene. He shot at one of my men and he shot at me when I stepped out to reason with him. Your player, Victoria Lawless, also tried shouting to him but got no response. Occasionally we pick up whispered conversation between Snibbard and Caswell but our long range listening device is not clarifying what is said. Caswell is close and first in the line of fire should Snibbard do something rash. It’s probable he’s been talking for his life, trying to convince Snibbard that his situation is hopeless. What are you going to say, Inspector?”

  “That I believe he’s not Zoby. That I can save him from Zoby,” Sean said, knowing that to extract Snibbard alive would earn Bates a commendation. “I’m also a trained negotiator,” he threw in for good measure.

  Bates was eyeing him with professional detachment and clearly still calculating. His future career hung in the balance, pivoted between his decision and Sean’s ability. Sean knew Snibbard’s death would black mark Bates’ record. But if SOCA entered and things went wrong, then SOCA could be blamed. That was the principal reason he had been allowed up.

  “OK, we’ll give one final try. After that I’ve no real choice but to whack the guy.”

  Sean climbed the stairs and stopped below an armed group of SO19 clustered at the top. On Bates’ insistence, Sean wore a flak jacket and body set. While a sergeant checked the body mike, Sean adjusted the earpiece and registered transmission with SO19 control below.

  Once you step round the corner you’re in range,” the sergeant said. “Unless you have a face hit, at this distance you’ll be OK, but the closer you approach the more likelihood of serious injury. So, all initial negotiation you do from here.” He pointed to a megaphone and surveillance camera sited in the open passage on attached cable and bogey trolley. “If you look to the CCTV screen,” he said, pointing. “You’ll see two open doors. The female hostage is inside the first. At the moment she’s perfectly safe and we’ve talked to her over the mobile. But to conserve battery power, she only switches on when necessary. Caswell is in the second doorway. We’ve also spoken to him over the mobile. He tells us he’s tried repeatedly to talk Snibbard out, but the guy won’t budge on account he’s already murdered a woman in the flat. When you’re in the corridor keep to the near wall by the doors and don’t block the view of the camera. In that way, if he lifts the weapon to shoot we’ll see and retaliate. Then you go immediately to ground, or be in the line of fire. And you know what that means, Inspector.” He slapped Sean’s arm. “Good luck.”

  Sean stood three steps down watching the CCTV screen. “Hi, Sidney,” Sean’s voice reverberated over the amplifier and down the corridor. “My name’s Sean Fagan. I’m a detective inspector. I’ve come to help you. You see, I know all about PKL and the problems you’ve had with Zoby. I also believe you are not Zoby. I’d like to help if you’d let me. I can prove your innocence. Will you let me do that?” Sean paused. “OK, I’m going to step into the corridor, please don’t fire your weapon or it will be fatal for us both.”

  With no movement from behind the table barricading the flat, Sean mounted the final steps, turning to face the flat as he moved closer to the wall.

  “It’s my firm belief you’re innocent, Sidney. Someone is trying to put the blame on you, but I won’t let them get away with it. I’ll see to that. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” Sean took three steps down the hall until able to see where Victoria lay prone on the floor at an angle to the doorway. “Put down your weapon, Sidney, and I guarantee no harm will come to you,” he said, his words firm and isolated in the confined atmosphere.

  Snibbard’s domed head and hooded eyes suddenly lifted over the table edge, his expression terrified. Ignoring the sergeant’s warning, Sean edged closer. Ten feet from Victoria’s doorway he watched the barrel of Snibbard’s shotgun appear. Sean raised both arms.

  “I can help you, Sidney. Help you get out of this mess and back to your computers. Everything is so easy when you’re dealing with computers. Everything is logical, you have none of this craziness.”

  Snibbard’s whole face appeared, his eyes bulging, mouth open. Sean could see threads of saliva between the man’s upper and lower teeth.

  “Lay down your weapon, Sidney, step over the table. No harm will come to you.”

  Sean moved forward again as Snibbard slowly rose. First his head and shoulders, then his chest came into view as he pushed to one knee.

  “You don’t really want to hurt anyone, do you, Sidney?” Sean reassured, glancing to Victoria who lay biting on her lower lip, her eyes squinting. “You’ve never meant to cause harm. But sometimes it just happens. That’s why you hide in your computer. It’s safe in there, in there you’re somebody. I can help you get back inside. Do you want me to do that for you, Sidney?”

  To Sean’s relief Snibbard nodded, and continued to rise upwards onto his feet, shotgun level in both hands as it slowly swung round.

  “It wasn’t me,” he said. “She let me. It was Zoby. I know who you are, you’re Zoby. I know because he told me.” Snibbard looked to the nearest door where Caswell lay crouching. “I bet you killed the girl in Glasgow too.”

  “Not me. I’m not Zoby, Sidney. Neither are you. Let me help.” Sean watched Snibbard’s eyes cloud with doubt. His mouth closed but the shotgun barrel continued moving towards the corridor.

  “I know who I can trust. Trust Richard, trust Richard,” he repeated, his eyes narrowed. “How can you help?”

  Sean jumped at the numbing roar of a weapon
discharged in the confined space. Instinctively he threw himself sideways through the open door of the accounts office. He hit the floor at full stretch and waited for the engulfing pain of gunshot trauma to rake over his body. In the following instant, the very air vibrated under the repeated whip crack of multiple gunfire, the crescendo of sound hammering into his ears. He could feel Victoria hauling at his dead weight, pulling and twisting him towards her. Then came sudden silence, followed immediately by the clamour of voices.

  Sean felt no pain, no wound, no blood. His face was buried in Victoria’s lap, her upper body bent over him in a gesture of protection. He kissed where his lips pressed then raised his head.

  She touched his cheek and smiled. “Did you mean it, that you loved me?”

  CHAPTER 19

  “What the hell were you doing with a shotgun and why did you fire?” Sean asked, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop.

  Caswell lifted his hands as if in pained confusion. “Because I saw by his expression he was about to shoot, at me, at you, or both of us. Being unable to see you, I let off a round in warning. What else could I to do?”

  They sat in the downstairs office where screens, tables and chairs had been gathered to form a small enclosure away from the busy activity of the Forensics teams. The superintendent, a CID inspector, Victoria and Sean were on one side with a woman DC taking notes. Caswell sat opposite, sometimes with his head in his hands, sometimes just staring at the table. His face showed nothing other than what appeared to be genuine grief.

  “I’ve know Snibbsy a long time,” he said. “I could see what he intended. I didn’t know the police would fire. I was trying to save a life. Your life, Inspector.”

  Sean watched the superintendent nod his head in silent agreement.

  “Regular little hero, aren’t you, Mr Caswell? First you save Ms Lawless, then me.” Sean stared at the man, saw the flash of hostility, then a return to grief.

  “That will do, Fagan.” The superintendent leant heavily on the table. “I apologise, Mr Caswell.”

  “Accepted.”

  “Who’s Zoby? Who’s Crystal? Who’s the Colonel?” Sean asked.

  “Snibbard was Zoby, as testified by poor Mrs Zellar. He was controlled and ruled by Faulkner who played both Crystal and the Colonel. I had long suspected their involvement after I discovered e-mails between them on our main server.”

  “You knew they had murdered and said nothing?” the CID inspector asked.

  “I suspected, but how can you prove murder via the Internet? I may have been wrong. Such allegations would have caused tremendous damage. Call it callous if you wish, but I also had contractual agreements. I needed those guys.”

  “How did Helen Carter, Lizzie Sinclair and Sarah Finch involve themselves here so that they ended up as murder victims?” Victoria asked.

  Again Caswell raised his hands. “I don’t know. What I do know is, Helen and Lizzie were friendly with Derek Faulkner. All were prominent in the field of IT. Derek used their body shapes for Princess Kay-ling’s figure. Originally I think both were flattered, but it was Snibbard who turned their measurements into computer generated shapes. He created them. He used to say he owned them. They objected to that. As for Sarah, she and I used to be close. She helped by putting money into PKL when I first started.”

  A detective constable came round the screen and whispered to the CID inspector who in turn whispered to the superintendent. He nodded and looked around the table. “New information indicates Snibbard was definitely Jovana’s killer,” the superintendent said. “His prints have been found on the murder weapon left adjacent to the body. Snibbard’s clothing also contained a memory stick. Forensics have discovered it held graphic photos of the murder victims. Evidence shows that Snibbard killed Faulkner and possibly tried to kill others. It’s almost certain he had previously killed Jovana Zellar. The stick implicates him in the murder of four women. At this point we must assume he is our principal suspect.”

  “What were you doing with shotguns?” Sean asked. “To get a shotgun into the conference room you must have placed it there prior to meeting the others.”

  Caswell stared back with dead eyes and shook his head. “The weapons are a direct result of police incompetence. I was burgled here. Entry was forced through a private door onto the back staircase. The police did not arrive until one hour after my call. The shotguns were for personal protection. The Remington I keep in the flat. Snibbard knew of its whereabouts because, perhaps foolishly, I showed it to him. The other I keep locked away in the conference room. I am the only key holder to the cupboard. It was safe. If I came home and found the door of my flat open, I would at least know how to protect myself while I waited an hour for help to arrive.”

  “Enough.” The superintendent leant from the table and made to rise.

  Caswell looked at Sean and half smiled. “Finished, Inspector?”

  “With both your partners dead, what happens to your research?”

  Caswell shrugged. “I think our research will stay on the shelf.”

  “Which leaves you as the principal beneficiary.”

  “Which leaves me a great deal of worry. For other implications you must ask my lawyer.”

  “What happened to the SPI you used fraudulently to ensnare shareholders?”

  “Ask Faulkner, ask Snibbard. They were in charge. They wrote the software. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Leave it, Inspector,” the superintendent said, his voice formal. “It is required you make a statement, Mr. Caswell. And you will be held in custody until this is done.”

  “I have no objection. But you will also understand I wish my lawyer present. Am I being charged with anything?”

  “You discharged a weapon under severe duress. You hold shotguns without a licence. I don’t see serious charges if any are forthcoming. However, all will be investigated.”

  “I will help in every way I can.” Caswell stood. “Now, you will excuse me, I must call my lawyer, there is much to do.”

  He met Sean’s direct gaze and deliberately kept it locked when Sean stared back. Did he see mockery, or was he being paranoid? Sean watched Caswell leave. Trust Richard, trust Richard. Snibbard has been controlled. Ironic if he had been a victim of his own SPI.

  “Before you ask, Inspector Fagan, the answer is no.” The superintendent pointed his baton.

  “Events here are a viable part of our investigation.”

  “The Serious Organised Crime Agency don’t do murders. This is my manor with my lads on the crime scene. End of story. And I also want a full written statement from you.” He pushed back his chair.

  Outranked, Sean gambled. “Our own investigation is relevant to what happened here. How about a joint op? Your boys investigate Shoreditch, we look into PKL’s computer system at Milton Keynes. You keep us informed of current developments, we give you full info on Poor Girl.”

  “MI5 would appreciate that, sir,” Victoria said. “SOCA and our own department have the equipment and expertise which your division lacks. Looking over computer files can take thousands of man-hours.”

  The superintendent pulled on his cap and tapped the baton on the table. For the first time he smiled. “OK. But I want a full report on all your finds, ASAP. If you want our findings, let’s see your co-operation first.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Victoria smiled, her eyes big and round. “I left my bag upstairs, mind if I retrieve it?” She left without his answer and moved between the screens.

  Once alone Sean was immediately on his mobile to Diane. “Get a search warrant and anyone who’s spare out to PKL Milton Keynes before the Wicked Witch and her goblins arrive. Get Steve from High-Tech and his team out there also. I want every staff member who was involved with SPI interviewed. Get Steve to search for any SPI evidence which links Poor Girl and any evidence that Caswell might have used SPI to influence his fellow directors, particularly Snibbard. Give me a sit rep when everything is in motion. I’ve a statement to make.” He called t
he woman DC with her notepad and sat her in a chair opposite.

  When he had finished, Victoria met him by the lift, a closed handbag hooked over her shoulder.

  “You don’t believe Caswell, do you?” She looked up at him.

  “He’s playing games with us. But it will be one hell of a job to prove.”

  “I’m unsure about Faulkner, but the facts pointing to Snibbard as Zoby are damning.” She touched a finger to his chest then drew her hand away as if unsure. He made no gesture of encouragement. He had made his move, the response must be hers.

  “Trust Richard. Snibbard repeated it twice.”

  “Caswell’s a weirdo, a creep. But he saved my life and seemingly saved yours. Why do that if he isn’t genuine?”

  “To deflect blame. If he controlled Snibbard, he could control Zoby. Maybe Snibbard was a victim of his own SPI without him realising. Does MI5 want a lift to Milton Keynes? Or are they calling it a day?”