“I’ve no doubt we’ll be there.” She touched him again, but only with her fingertips. He sensed the tension and indecision in her as she stepped back. “But, I have to see Alice first, she’s called me home.”
“Then there’s no need for our cover house any more, Mrs Fagan.”
“No.” Her smile held sadness. “Goodbye, Mr Fagan,” she said and stepped into the lift.
Something was wrong, he knew. Something just didn’t gel. Victoria and the Witch were playing games.
Jan went back to the Kilburn office after dropping her charge at university. A pickup was arranged for 7 p.m. in the student bar. She had clicked with Danielle the moment they both recognised a mutual preference. Each had given the other space while enjoying friendly, tactile touch, no connotations. Jan thought time might change that.
Carole sat in a chair viewing video footage of Luton airport. Half a dozen Red Team members manned the phones.
“Any news?” Jan asked.
“Shootings over. Half the team have gone to raid Milton Keynes. Got something here, though.” She reeled back the footage and lifted a photograph scanned from the airport tape. “The guy who had his driving licence stolen, Darley. I’ve been on to him, persuaded him to e-mail his photograph. He’s turned up on three different videos.”
“Can’t be.” Jan peered over Carole’s shoulder.
“Not him – but I’d take bets it’s Zoby. Once checking in, once going through security, again by the check out gate. There!” She froze the screen as the target sat back, unaware he stared directly into a camera.
“Looks like Darley.” Jan leaned closer.
“But it’s not. I took a scan of it.” She picked up three printouts, laying them side-by-side. Each showed a face of identical proportions. “This one’s Darley, that’s from the video, and that’s from the drawing of Mark Harrison. All very similar in facial shape, but if you take measurements between the features, Darley and the video don’t fit, Harrison does. The video shows Harrison disguised as Darley.”
“You’re a genius. Does Sean know?”
Carole shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. “Last I heard Zoby had been killed at Shoreditch and Sean was up to his neck in it.”
“Men, all guns, no brains.” Jan took out her mobile and dialled. “This was your find, love. You want to tell him?” She passed the mobile.
“A definite ID?” Sean repeated over the earpiece.
“Ninety-five percent.”
“Don’t mess, Carole, I want a full hit on his flat. Get a search warrant and take a couple of boys from Red Team to help.”
“What if he turns up?”
“Hold him on suspicion.”
“We’ve got a raid,” Carole said, handing back the phone.
“Yoo.” Jan lifted her fist.
Big Nose was eager to advise when a couple of Red Team boys took the door from its hinges. So as not to disturb forensic evidence, only Jan and Carole entered. Jan went to the kitchen and Carole to the first door on the left.
“The guy’s army mad,” Jan called over her shoulder. “Books, posters, the place is more like a field unit.” When she received no reply she went back into the hall and looked into the opposite room. Carole stood cradling herself, rocking slowly before a display cabinet containing a pegged out section of a vagina and uterus. She was shivering.
“The bastard!”
She took Carole’s shoulders and guided her back outside.
The neighbours had gathered and school kids were arriving like locusts.
Jan beckoned a DC and whispered, “Get this place sealed off. No one in but Forensics. There’re human body parts inside.” She led Carole to the car and sat with her in the back seat.
“I’m sorry,” Carole said, brushing a hand through curls. “I could never stomach that kind of thing. What sort of mind commits such atrocities for self-gratification? They want to make us victims. I don’t want to be a victim.” She leant against Jan’s shoulder.
“We’ll get him, but whoever they shot at Shoreditch, it wasn’t Zoby.” Jan cradled her, took out a mobile with her free hand and punched in Sean’s number.
Sean briefed Steve Rawlings in the back of a high-tech operations van parked outside the PKL industrial unit at Milton Keynes. When he re-emerged the area outside was seriously crowded with official vehicles. The plates on several told him they were government owned, Home Office. More fingers in the pie. He went into the foyer and found Victoria with a thin woman wearing a long pencil slim suit, her face austere and without make-up, her haircut like a helmet.
“I’d like you to meet Alice Sibree,” Victoria introduced him. “My boss.”
“To what do I owe this privilege?” Sean asked, thinking she really did look a modern-day witch.
“The HO are here,” Sibree said over Victoria’s hesitation. “I just wish to inform you that whatever you uncover regarding SPI is now classified. That includes statements from PKL staff whether here or Shoreditch.”
“Why? What we gather is evidence. It will be used in court.”
Sibree shook her head and handed him a Home Office directive. “Eventually, perhaps,” she said. “But the possible involvement of Starways has given this incident political significance, which for now, is guided by MI5. Your murder enquiry is not our concern, only SPI. So, all evidence until cleared, is restricted.”
“If Caswell is involved, I want him.”
“Mr Caswell is currently a hero. He saved Victoria’s life and probably saved your life.”
“Don’t believe it.” Sean looked to Victoria who had folded her arms, pressing the ground with the toe of one shoe, not meeting his eyes. He blew breath. “If Caswell has anything to answer, I’ll find it.”
“No doubt, Inspector. Meanwhile he’s in custody,” Sibree said. “And Zoby is dead.”
“Snibbard was not Zoby,” Sean said to them. “My team has positive ID for Mark Harrison as Zoby. But of course, there could be two Zobys. My mind’s open. I’m just about to find out, at Harrison’s flat.”
Sibree kept her smile. “I can assure you, Inspector, MI5 will give every co-operation on this. We’re all team members in a joint effort.”
“Good, because it’s my belief Caswell has contrived a complex alibi. If I find evidence against him, he’ll go down.”
“Well, as we’re a team, I’ll come to the flat with you,” Victoria said.
During the journey to London, Sean drove in silence, feeling both tension and magnetism grow steadily between them. Eventually he broke the deadlock.
“How long has MI5 known of the SPI programme?” he asked.
“We’re not stupid.”
“Neither is SOCA,” he said, thinking love was a bitch. He glanced momentarily from his driving to take stock of her expression and wondered what she had hatched with Sibree. Faulkner and Snibbard were set up too conveniently. MI5 seemed keen on that, a convenient closure of events.
Outside Harrison’s flat, journalists clustered around as Sean pushed through and under the tape. “We’re technicians,” he told the reporters. “The CID are following.”
They looked at him disbelieving and to his annoyance some took photographs. Victoria had split, moving in from the side, her head down.
Jan stood outside the door sharing a thermos of coffee with one of the blue clad Forensic girls. Two uniformed constables kept kids and neighbours back.
“Place is a regular Aladdin’s cave,” Jan told him. “Pieces of bodies, photographs, porn, weapons, chemicals, uniforms, theatrical disguises.”
“But do we have a DNA link?” Sean asked.
“Positive. Michelin man has details.” She looked in through the door and called, “Dr Martin.”
Dr Martin appeared from the kitchen giving full justification for his nickname. Short, rotund, bald and heavily bespectacled, his over-sized zip suit hung in bulbous folds. He grinned sparse teeth. “Hair and skin from the bathroom match with other crime scenes,” he said.
“Then
we have our target. S’OK if we go inside?”
“My guys are still in the kitchen, rest is yours.”
Before Sean moved, Jan put a hand on his arm. “Big Nose called the press. He’s already given three interviews. They want you. The rats are piling up and becoming a nuisance.”
“Active SOCA don’t do press, you know that. We’re supposed to be covert. Get the local boys, give them the glory.”
Sean moved into the flat and stabbed buttons on his mobile while watching Victoria head for the computer. Heidi answered.
“I want a warrant out for Mark Harrison, ASAP. National coverage, priority one. Call everyone back. Harrison is prime target, possibly armed and certainly dangerous. Get Chad and some of the team to Travelpath; interview all staff. I want every address where Harrison might be, that’s every address of every customer away on holiday. And I need that nationwide.”
“Understood, boss.” Heidi paused. “A report just in from Shoreditch. Evidence indicates that Zellar was probably raped prior to her murder. DNA found inside the vaginal tract, on torn clothing and the remains all match Snibbard’s sperm. Met CID now believe he raped and then murdered her.”
“Then we have two Zobys. Or one Zoby and one very crafty Crystal.”
“What about Faulkner?”
“I wonder if he trusted Richard.”
“Sorry, boss,” Heidi’s voice came back. “But you’ve lost me.”
“Just thinking aloud, Heidi. Stay with it.” Sean switched off and looked for Carole. He found her in the bedroom with a crime scene photographer. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her face grim.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Just angry, boss.”
“This was your raid.” Sean tried a smile for her. “So I’m leaving you in charge of the crime scene. Collect all the evidence and get it back to Cricklewood.”
“Will do, boss.” She gave a tight but proud smile in return.
He understood her anger, understood now a little more about Victoria’s anger. With people like Harrison, every woman was a potential victim, so every woman who knew of his existence became mentally vulnerable. He was a predator hunting their sex for the sake of their sex, and providing they satisfied his lust, it made no difference which one of them he used. Zoby’s freedom was personal to all women. Their sex was the reason he killed them. Sean had no doubt the man would be caught but equally important, and more difficult to capture, was the person who controlled him, the Colonel, Crystal. Somewhere another victim might be lined up. Did Caswell know who?
Sean found Simmy standing by the entrance accepting a cigarette from one of the Forensics girl. “Simmy, interview the neighbours,” Sean said. “I want a profile of Harrison’s character. Anyone who knows him or his possible whereabouts. Get some lads from the office down.” Sean moved to the living room where Jan stood making notes. The walls were pinned with posters of Paras, SAS and American Special Forces, the shelves stacked with combat magazines, books and military memorabilia.
Victoria sat at the PC attempting to open e-mails. “He has everything covered by double access codes,” she said. “Who the hell did he expect to read them?
“Military mind, military procedures.”
“Probably deleted anyway.”
“Could still be on hard drive. Another job for Steve Rawlings.”
“He’s stretched. MI5 can go through the service provider.”
“For themselves or us?” Sean asked.
Victoria swivelled round in the chair and stared at him with hard eyes, her lips tight and thin. “I stood over the butchered bodies of Helen Carter and Lizzie Sinclair. I want this man as much as you.”
“I also want the man who controls him.”
“Faulkner is dead.”
“Caswell is not.”
“Proof points to Faulkner.”
“Crystal and the Colonel are one. If they lead to Caswell, WorkWell will be exposed and SPI will hit the press. Every government and software company will develop a virus remedy. Starways will suffer huge financial loss if suspected of involvement, and the covert use of SPI will be gone forever; particularly for interested governments.”
She continued to stare at him, eyes hostile. “Subjective speculation. Rank amateur. You disappoint me.”
“Logical deduction and configuration of relevant facts. Look to who will benefit most. Caswell is taking you for a ride.” He pressed buttons on his mobile. “Steve, I have a hard drive which needs urgent examination.”
For seconds he watched Victoria breathe muted fire before she swung from her seat and left. Jan stared from the window, lips pursed in silent whistle.
“You’re kidding, mate,” Steve answered. “I’ve enough work at Milton Keynes to last a month.”
“This is Zoby’s personal computer.”
“Life was so much easier before PCs,” he answered and called to someone in the background. “The quickest way for immediate info is through his service provider. Is the computer on?”
“Yes.”
“Start typing – this is what I want.”
Sean pushed Jan forward, sat her in the chair and began to repeat what Steve requested. She clicked keys and jotted notes in her pad.
“Service provider, Pacific On-Line, URL, sas.1000mh.com, line number,” Jan read it off the phone beside her.
“Pacific On-Line, I know them,” Steve said. “I’ve good contacts through the FBI paedophile directive. I also know that e-mail address. I’ve recovered e-mails activity sent to there, sent by Crystal and the Colonel out of Milton Keynes.”
“Two different people, or the same?”
“All went through the main server. Some were from Faulkner’s terminal, some from T3, Snibbard’s terminal. Possibly the same guy. I’ll e-mail any info to Cricklewood. Leave Zoby’s computer online. I’ll access through the Net until I can send someone to pick it up.”
Outside Victoria leaned on the balcony, her arms folded. Sean leant beside her and allowed a moment of silence to establish peace.
“If it makes you feel better, they’ve found e-mail between Snibbard, Faulkner and Harrison,” he said.
“When will you believe me?”
“When I’m proved wrong. I can guarantee Zoby’s computer is awash with SPI. Little suggestions like kill, rape, stab.”
“I don’t believe SPI could make someone kill.”
“Neither do I, but it could tip a psycho already halfway there and it could also direct him towards victims without him knowing why.”
“You think Caswell did that?”
“Greed is a great motivator and someone using SPI on the commercial markets could make a lot of money.”
“Speculating again.”
“I’ve an open mind.”
She turned, leaning her back to face him. “Was it open this morning when you spoke to me over the telephone?”
“So, what’s your reaction?”
No smile, but a softening of the eyes. “Why don’t you trust me? Love and trust go together.”
“In a perfect world.” He pushed off the rail. “But the world is not perfect. You coming?”
“So, I’m still part of the team?”
“I like you where I can watch you.”
Sean clambered up the stairs to the warehouse office. New desks, equipment and people were everywhere. Centre stage John Cobbart lorded over the activity in a crumpled pinstriped suit, glasses perched, his finger pointing as he gave orders. Sean was glad to see him. He needed muscle that would open doors.
“Getting juicer by the hour,” Cobbart said, as Sean approached. “Well done, Sean. You’ll get chief inspector out of this.”
“I need Caswell for an in-depth interview, John. Although Victoria disagrees, I think Caswell is central to all this.”
“At the moment, he’s hailed a hero. That makes him untouchable. If you want him, Sean, you’ll have to produce substantial and irrefutable evidence.”
“Evidence at present is zero,” Victoria said, folding
her arms. “Snibbard, is responsible for murder and according to your own men out at Milton Keynes, Faulkner is responsible for Zoby. Be that Harrison or Snibbard, or both. Caswell is a victim in this.”
“Until we get Harrison. He’s the key to Crystal, the Colonel. Harrison is the connecting factor.”
“Steve’s lifted dozens of e-mails from Harrison’s computer,” Heidi said over his shoulder. “Want me to print them off?”
The Unseen Page 27
