by Bo Brennan
Maggie pursed her lips and nodded approvingly. “Good idea. I’ll start designating officers to suspects now. As tallest, you should really be spotter, guv. But I’m gonna hedge my bets and say that you’d rather serve Bashir.”
“Yes, I would,” Colt said, cracking his knuckles. “Make sure I get him.”
Maggie grimaced and inclined her head. “Don’t suppose you fancy standing on a squad car bonnet tomorrow, Nate?”
Nathan Sharp screwed up his face. “Not really, Mags. If there’s gonna be a brawl, I’d rather be in it.”
“I’ll do it,” Clorindar said.
All three looked at Colt. He peered at Clorindar with a thoughtful eye. Spotting wasn’t easy in a moving crowd. Head and shoulders above the rest, you were the prime target if it went tits up and mob mentality kicked in. Clorindar was tiny, but tough. And most importantly she was up for the task. “How are you with heights?” he asked. “We might have to stick you on the roof.”
“I’m good,” she said enthusiastically. “Roof’s fine.”
“Okay then.” Colt spread his hands and turned to Mags. “Spotter sorted. Need anything else?”
“Nope. I’ll leave you to it. Want the door open or closed?”
Colt cautiously assessed his company. Nathan was his usual relaxed and slouchy self, but over-edgy Clorindar’s butt cheeks seemed to clench the chair. “Closed, please,” he said, and waited until Maggie left before speaking again. “What’s the latest on Councillor Cooper?”
“We cracked his computer password, sir,” Clorindar said.
Colt’s brows rose in surprise. “Already? Who was the tech?”
“Didn’t need one,” Nathan cut in. “Clorindar cracked it, guv.”
“Impressive.” Colt leaned back in his seat. “Well done.”
Clorindar coyly dipped her head. “It wasn’t difficult, sir. He’s National Front. ‘Fuck off Pakis’ is hardly original.”
Colt rolled his eyes. “What did you find on it?”
With a stony face, she handed him the file. “One hundred and forty-two images of underage girls and seventeen of him, mainly with his dog, sir. There’s also extensive webcam footage of three victims. I feel the need to warn you –”
Colt glanced at Nathan as he plucked the memory stick from the file and plugged it into his computer. “Unwritten rule one-o-one: Don’t,” Nate softly said and Clorindar fell silent with an audible swallow.
The first viewing was always the worst viewing, and it was best done cold. Experienced inwardly, taken acutely personally. Preparation was impossible. Pre-warning primed the body for revulsion and made the job harder. It was never easy, but immersion in horror kept them sharp, passionate, and relentlessly hungry for justice.
Colt flicked through the images, his jaw tightening further with every click of the mouse. Sorted by victim and increasing in severity, each series of photos started out with a fully clothed smiling schoolgirl. And ended with a naked, soul-destroying display of bestial sexual depravity. When he returned the memory stick to the file, his jaw ached. “Who graded these?” he asked tightly.
“I did, sir,” Clorindar said. “Under DS Sharp’s supervision.”
The majority were at the top end of the scale, grade 4 and 5 images, the sort that usually had her running from her desk and sobbing uncontrollably in the toilets. The very same ones that kept Colt awake at night. He shifted his gaze to Nathan Sharp. Nate gave a small nod and a discreet thumbs-up. No tears. They might’ve cracked it.
“And no one else has access to this computer?” Colt asked, handing the file back.
“No, sir. This is from his private home study. No wife, no children, just him and the Rottweiler live there,” Clorindar said. “There’s extensive evidence of him grooming girls in online chatrooms in a concerted effort to meet up. We haven’t found any evidence that he physically met with anyone other than Winchester’s blackmailer yet, though. He couldn’t get to him quick enough.”
“That’s because Winchester’s blackmailer pretended to have a pony.” Nathan sneered in disgust. “Seems Councillor Cooper wanted a ride of that himself. He worked on the three webcam girls for months. Initially gained their trust through their shared love of animals. Little by little, he slowly pushed the boundaries until he had them thinking they were in a relationship with a fifteen-year-old boy and sending topless selfies. That’s when he upped the ante and brought the pets into play. He threatened to post the intimate pictures to their Facebook and social media accounts unless they –”
“Agreed to do whatever he wanted,” Colt murmured. It was a story they heard way too often. “Can we trace these girls?”
“We can, sir,” Clorindar said. “But should we? It could do more harm than good.”
Both men jerked their heads her way and she immediately shrank in her seat. “You can’t make a statement like that and then shy away from scrutiny, Clorindar,” Colt said. “Speak up and back it up.”
Clorindar roughly cleared her throat. “Look at the lengths they went to in order to prevent a topless photo getting out. What do you think will happen if we rock up at their houses with the RSPCA in tow, take away the family pet and tell their parents what’s been going on?”
Colt frowned. “They’re victims. None of this is their fault.”
“I’m not saying –”
“And witnesses,” Nathan chimed in.
“Oh my God, you’ve got no chance of them testifying!” Clorindar doubled over in a rare lapse of composure. “They’re teenage girls. Their lives would be over. The shame of anybody knowing about this would absolutely destroy them.”
“But we do know,” Colt said. “And these girls need to know the threat has gone, that their abuser is in custody and won’t be making them, or anybody else, do anything ever again. Cooper’s the one who’s destroyed them. Their trust will be shattered. They’re going to need a lot of help to get back on their feet. And that starts with us.”
“All right, but why can’t we leave it at that?” she said. “Take them to one side and quietly tell them it’s over. Offer them counselling as well if they want it. But do it privately, sir. You don’t have to inform their parents. No one close to them needs to know about this.”
“Clorindar, I hear you,” Colt said evenly. “But these girls have been horrifically abused. They’re just children; you can’t expect them to deal with this on their own. They’ll need their family’s support to get over it and move on. This is our job. This is what we do. If you want to work in this unit, you need to understand the long-term repercussions these cases have on the victims’ lives as well as their families.”
“I do,” she said flatly. “But I think the unit needs to understand the repercussions our actions can have on the victims’ lives as well, especially when they’re teenage girls.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. In the interim, I want these images databased and locked down, and the three girls located. Get onto the websites and internet service providers and find out their details.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, stiffening as she made a note on her pad. “There was also a lot of political and technical stuff on his computer. In addition to a National Front membership list, it looks like he’s got links to some extreme far right groups in Europe that have been implicated in several bombings. I’ve alerted Interpol and the NCA.”
“Good,” Colt said. “Shame Doug had to rush off; I imagine he’d want in on this.”
“I’ve left a message for him, guv,” Nathan said, before nudging Clorindar and whispering, “Charge sheet.”
“Oh, sorry, sir.” Clorindar hastily handed Colt the document. “The CPS has signed these off.”
“Already?”
“Michael Moore came in while you were at lunch,” Nate said. “Seemed eager the commander should have something good to tell the Home Secretary tomorrow.”
I bet he did. Colt ran his eye over the long list of charges facing Councillor Colin Cooper, and glanced at his watch. “Get him back in and ch
arge him,” he said. “He can spend the night in the cells and be up before the judge first thing in the morning. Push for remand.”
“Me?” Clorindar said, jabbing herself in the chest. “You want me to charge him, sir?”
Colt nodded. “Your collar, your hard work, your brownie points. Top job. Well done.”
Clorindar beamed him a broad smile. “Thank you, sir.”
Colt smiled back. There was still plenty to work on, but she’d come a long way. And he couldn’t think of a more appropriate ending to a racist paedophile’s political career than being charged by a young Muslim officer.
Chapter 24
Hampshire CID, Winchester
Well, this was certainly a turn up for the books. India Kane felt a little odd sitting on the wrong side of the interview room table, but guessed her new found unexpected insight into being interrogated by a power crazed ego maniac could only be good for her own conduct in future investigations.
“I’ll ask you again, Kane,” the NCA cock said, eyeballing her. “Why did you repeatedly attempt to access restricted files?”
“And I’ll tell you again,” India said. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”
“DC Kane is currently active on several investigations,” Firman said from the chair beside her. “You’re going to have to provide additional information for my officer to answer adequately.”
He glanced down at his notebook, turned a couple of pages and looked back up. “Yesterday, between 16:04 and 18:37 hours, your officer made thirty-seven attempts to access restricted information on NAFIS.”
“Thirty-seven?” India said. “Wow, you’re right, guv. I am impatient.”
“And right now, you’re trying mine,” Mr NCA said. “Why were you attempting to access that information?”
“Well, obviously, I was trying to retrieve fingerprint data.”
“Why?”
India huffed a mirthless chuckle and turned to her boss. “Is he for real?”
“Just answer the question,” Firman muttered.
“It’s one of the ways we identify dead people. Particularly when they don’t have a head.”
The NCA dick glared at her. “Why did you try to access the information a further thirty-six times after it red flagged?”
“Because I really, really, wanted to ID her and it’s my job,” India snapped. “What is this bullshit?” Firman drew a sharp warning breath. “I didn’t notice any flag,” she ground out.
“Why didn’t you notice the flag?”
India sighed and crossed her arms. “I don’t know. It could be because our system is shit and crashes all the time, or, I could simply be really unobservant.”
“Strange,” he said, pulling a file from his briefcase and placing it on the table. India didn’t need to look at it to know the bold black writing in her peripheral vision spelled out her name. “DCI Firman states your attention to detail is impeccable.”
“That’s nice to know.” If she could have smiled, she’d have done it then. “Cheers, guv.”
“So which is it,” the moron pressed. “Unobservant liability or impeccable pain in the arse?”
India said nothing. The question was ridiculous, a basic leader for him to spout more of his bullshit and waste more of her time. Or get himself chinned.
He turned his attentions to her boss. “Is she always so unresponsive, Detective Chief Inspector?”
“My officer has answered all of your questions,” Firman said coolly, even though beads of sweat were forming on his brow. “Can we draw this interview to a close?”
“No,” India said. “He hasn’t answered mine yet.”
Mr NCA cocked his shadowed jaw. “Excuse me?”
“Why is our murder victim’s file restricted?” India narrowed her eyes. “Was she in Witness Protection?”
“I ask the questions here, Kane.” He slammed a hand down on the folder. There was no way that folder was hers, it just wasn’t thick enough. “And you do not have a murder victim.”
“She didn’t dismember herself,” India said, and leaned across the table. “If you’re Witness Protection, you didn’t do a very good job, did you?”
She felt her boss tense, he worried too much. A few years back he would’ve kicked this prick’s arse straight out the door. But not before finding out how a moment’s impatience by a junior officer had set off an alarm so loud the National Crime Agency were interested.
“I understand you’re taking your sergeant’s exam next week,” he said, staring at her.
“In there, was it?” She nodded to the hashed up mock file between them without diverting her eyes from his.
He leaned in and smiled. “Good luck.”
“Cheers,” she said. His powers might be specially designated, but she doubted they extended to screwing with her exam score.
Firman made an exaggerated gesture of looking at his watch. “Are we finished, Officer Henderson? We’re late for a meeting.”
Doug Henderson gave India one last lingering look. “For now,” he said.
They emerged from the interview room to find Nisha Fisher waiting patiently in Sangrin’s office, sipping stewed coffee from a chipped mug. It was clear to see what kept the lead in Freaky Fisher’s pencil sharp. His wife was an elegant, striking looking woman, and easily twenty years his junior.
“Nisha Fisher. Home Office Forced Marriage Unit,” she said, coming out to greet them. “You must be –”
“Detective Kane,” India said, shaking her hand. Her heart sank when Doug Henderson greeted his HO colleague like a long-lost lover. Continental air kisses all round. “Great,” she muttered under her breath.
“Play the game,” Firman muttered back, uncomfortable with two home office departments on the premises. India couldn’t blame him. Their two visitors both had direct lines to the Home Secretary. She’d had her arse kicked enough times to know if they didn’t bow and scrape, life could become very difficult, very quick.
“DCI Len Firman,” the guv’nor said, stepping forward to do the political plié. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Winchester, Mrs Fisher.”
“I can assure you the pleasure’s mine,” she said. “We’ve not had cause to visit Winchester before.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have one now either,” Henderson said, casually slipping an arm around her waist. “I’ll be dealing with this case from here on in, Nisha. Let’s meet next week, to discuss.”
India glowered at her boss, it was the first she’d heard of it. Firman’s eyes opened wider, but his mouth stayed firmly closed, seizing silence as his opportunity to get rid of them.
Nisha Fisher deftly sidestepped her colleague’s grip. “You know me, Doug; I never miss an opportunity to educate an enquiring mind. Feel free to join us.” She beamed India a dazzling Bollywood smile and gestured towards the meeting room. “Detective Kane, shall we?”
Doug Henderson’s smile faltered as Nisha Fisher turned her back on him and glided towards the meeting room, leaving him trailing in her wake. Perhaps they weren’t such good friends after all, India mused.
Henderson followed them in and pulled out the chair directly opposite India’s, maintaining his sullen scrutiny of their earlier interview. Firman shot her a warning look; Henderson’s calculated move hadn’t gone unnoticed. India stared across the table at him, wondering why he wanted to punish himself listening to a lecture he’d no doubt been subjected to numerous times before . . . and almost instantly got her answer.
Nisha Fisher opened her briefcase and handed India a document. “Herbie kindly furnished me with a copy of the post mortem report for your honour killing, detective.”
Doug Henderson snatched it from India’s hands.
“There’s plenty to go around, Doug.” Nisha scowled, placing further copies on the table.
Doug Henderson scooped them up. “This is an NCA case, and as such it’s off limits for the duration of this meeting.”
Nisha pursed her lips and raised a brow.
“I was called here specifically to discuss this case.”
“That was before you knew it was mine,” Doug said with a smile. “You’re free to discuss your work in general terms, Nisha, but nothing pertaining to this case.”
“This case is invaluable –” Nisha started.
“This case doesn’t exist,” Doug said, locking the PM reports in his briefcase.
India glared at him. It existed for her. It could be the difference between life and death for Shayla Begum, and depending on the sketch the Preston boys produced of the bank-robbing abductor – the difference between Young Offenders and freedom for them.
She stole a discreet look at her watch and pushed away from the table. “While you two decide what we’re discussing, I need to visit the little girl’s room.”
On her way through the main office she glanced sideways at Sangrin’s leader board. As suspected, the honour killing was already gone. Both abduction and murder, erased without trace. Once inside the toilets she pushed the first three cubicle doors open, checking she was alone, before locking herself in the final fourth. Sitting on the closed toilet lid she pulled out her mobile phone and called the sketch artist.
“Have you sent the sketch yet?”
“I’m still at the Preston place,” he said. “Your lot did a right number on their front door. I’m helping Jason and Leroy board it up for the night.”
India clenched her jaw. “Have you finished the sketch or not?”
“Yeah, it’s finished,” he said. “You’ll get it when I leave. Your lot have buggered off and left me to wait for the kids’ social worker.”
Relieved, her body slumped against the cistern. “I’m out of the office,” she said. “Can you mail it to me at home?”
“Sure. Took me three hours,” he said hesitantly. “Can I still bill double bubble?”
“Bill for eight to cover your carpentry work and babysitting duty,” India said, thankful he’d taken the time at all. “I’ll make sure you get it.”
