What I Left Behind (The gripping prequel to the DS Jan Pearce Crime Fiction Series)

by Jacqueline Ward

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Just looking around. When we looked at the cameras they’d been at someone’s desktop computer earlier, but they couldn’t get at any of our data. Not the important stuff. It’s all encrypted.’

  I sigh. I expect he has the tightest security around his sites, but IT systems are often the easiest to get into.

  ‘Not even HR stuff. Names and addresses?’

  His eyes widen.

  ‘You think…?’

  ‘I don’t know, Marc. I have to look at all the possibilities. You said you’ve got access to the server. Would you mind if I tried to get in? Just as a test?’

  We move over to his computer and he taps away until a welcome screen appears.

  ‘OK. We’re at the start of the system. Exactly what they would have seen.’

  I move the mouse around and enter the system. I’m no IT whizkid, but I can get around a system. I manage to get as far as the security console and I hit the open access area. There’s nothing obvious listed. No HR tabs or address lists. I play around with it for a while, and then I see a possible way in. I return to the home screen and press F3 – return to start-up.

  The computer reboots and I’m faced with an option screen. I choose ‘root’ and I can choose from a list of directories. I choose Human Resources.

  ‘Hardly encrypted.’

  Marc fumes behind me. I feel bad because he’s suffering, but I need to get to the bottom of this. To find out how whoever delivered he messages to the addresses.

  ‘That may not be, but the valuable stuff is.’

  I swing around in the chair.

  ‘What’s more valuable than personal information?’

  He returns service.

  ‘There’s little more on there than could be found out from Companies House. All the people from Truestat are directors. I’d put money on all the other people who received threats being directors too.’

  I concede, but make a note of it. He’s right. That information may be available to anyone anywhere, but if someone’s been sneaking around his computer system, alarm bells are ringing for me.

  ‘Maybe they didn’t get into your system. Maybe they got their information from elsewhere. Maybe they’re unconnected. But I need every single instance like this. And access to all your CCTV files for each incident. You said they go by codenames?’

  ‘Yeah. Too many to mention. They’ve all got them. But there is one that sticks out. Like those two guys and I’ve no idea if they’re connected to this, but the name that comes up again and again is Magellan.’

  ‘Magellan?’

  ‘It’s been scrawled on the back of photocopied protest flyers that they stick up all over our windows, and car windscreens. Our information analysts watch the internet forums for news of any activism near our jobs, and they’ve seen it there too.’

  ‘Thanks Marc. We’ll look into this. It’s all helping.’

  He nods and begins to write an email. I text the word Magellan to Keith. He’ll know exactly what to do with it. My phone rings.

  ‘Hi Steve. How did it go?’

  I walk into the hallway for privacy.

  ‘It went well. Heightened security at all vulnerable targets. All ports warning too, a bit late, but better late than never. You?’

  ‘Just interviewing Marc Lewis about possible inciting incidents. He thinks it’s protesters. Two guys broke into his London office recently and they were what he describes as activists, as opposed to financial dealings. Seems quite convinced but can’t name any of them. I’ve requested all records.’

  I look at the clock. Quarter to eleven. Time ticking on. Steve continues.

  ‘Look. I’ve been thinking. You can tell Marc and Amy Lewis about the ammonium nitrate. If you look outside the gates now you’ll see plenty of press, gathering. The second sweep is underway and once that’s over we’re empty. We’ve got nothing. We need to warn them that we’re stepping up the investigation.’

  I pause to think. It’s a gamble. It would be better if we could get a confirmed lead first. But Steve’s right. We’ve got nothing new.

  ‘What have you got in mind?’

  ‘Petra’s just called me to tell me the paper analysis is almost complete. She’s going to call you as soon as it is. If that doesn’t give you anything new you need to tell him. Then, someone’s need to go outside and give a short statement to the press. Obviously not you. Something along the lines of ‘We’re following all possible lines of enquiry’. But we’ll have to give them something or they’ll start digging and everyone’s tetchy. I don’t want any information blurted out. I want a tight control on it. Public interest. I’m on my way there now. Let me know if anything happens.’

  The line goes dead just as I turn to go back to the lounge Lauren appears. She’s wearing wellington boots and oversized waterproof trousers.

  ‘No one asked for directions other than Petra and Steve. A foreign looking lady and a middle-aged Mancunian in a black car, apparently. No one else. I don’t see how the perp found it then. It’s a bastard. I missed the turning twice.’

  I smile at her and she smiles back. Maybe I’ve been too hard on her.

  ‘Sorry. It’s all a bit on top at the moment.’

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  ‘I asked for it. Sorry if I pissed you off.’

  My phone rings.

  ‘Anything new, Petra?’

  The ensuing pause tells me that it’s not good news. When Petra has discovered something she doesn’t waste any time.

  ‘Yes and no. The impressions on the paper dolls are from two different hands. One is part of a list of names pertaining to the threats perceived. Including part of the Lewis’s postcode. This was the least recent imprint. Over that was a different hand. This isn’t so clear. I’m going to come over with the details, but I’m not sure it’s relevant.’

  I feel my stomach turn over. I was hoping the handwriting would lead us somewhere.

  ‘OK Petra. I’ll see you in a while.’

  It would take her about half an hour to get here. Enough time to explain the rest of the case to the Lewis'.

  ‘Lauren. Do you want to take those off and come through to the lounge? I need to brief the Lewis' and you need to be there.’

  She’s quick. In less than three minutes she’s beside me in the lounge. Marc’s still on his computer and Amy’s sleeping. Lorraine’s looking out of the far window, watching the line of yellow tunics descend the moors. I would have known now if they had found anything. Now I’ve got to break this to Marc.

  ‘Marc. This is DS Lauren Dixon. She’s part of the team. We have news.’

  He jumps up and rushes towards us. I see his pupils dilate and he breaks into a slight sweat.

  ‘You’ve found her? Is she OK? Where is she?’

  ‘No. No we haven’t found her. I’m sorry. There’s something else. The operation has escalated.’

  He sits down and holds his head in his hands, the excitement subsiding.

  ‘Escalated? My God? Have they taken another baby? Someone else’s child?’

  I look at Lauren. She’s poker faced.

  ‘No. That’s not it either. The thing is, Marc, our forensics people have been analysing the previous threats. The notes. And the one found on your property. They found fingerprints, but unfortunately they are not on our database, suggesting that the person who did this hasn’t got a criminal record.’

  He snorts his derision. I see him flush more red. His usual calm exterior is close to breaking point and no wonder.

  ‘Or you just haven’t ever caught the fucking scum. Like you’re not catching them now.’

  Still angry. It’s perfectly understandable. I nod. Lauren bows her head.

  ‘No we haven’t caught them. Yet. But we will. As I said, there’s been another development. But you must understand that it doesn’t necessarily mean that your daughter is in any more danger. This thing is, our forensics team has found traces of ammonium nitrate on the paper dolls. The message
s. ‘

  His face contorts and he makes a silent scream. I know it comes for deep inside him, somewhere primal, and I know to wait until it exhausts itself. When it finally does he collapses onto a chair. He is, of course, imagining his daughter in a room with a large amount of explosives. No amount of warning could have prevented this image. I continue.

  ‘We’ve put out an all ports warning. And, as a precaution, we’ve secured the infrastructure.’

  He rallies a little. Marc Lewis is a fighter. He would do anything to get Maisie back.

  ‘I want to do an appeal. Directly to them. Me and Amy. I want to go on the TV and appeal directly to them. Look at me. Look at Amy. They’re destroying us. If this is about money they can have everything. They can have it all, just give me Maisie back. If it’s about anything else I can fix it. Just let me go on TV.’

  I hear Steve’s voice behind me.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea at the moment, Marc. As I said before, we need to find out what they want first. If we broadcast an appeal it might spook them. We don’t know who we’re dealing with, but I can assure you that within the next few hours we will have developments. I’ve brought in extra resources and half the UK police force is out looking for your daughter. We’re keeping a news blackout as far as we can for the same reasons I mentioned.’

  I jump in with a suggestion that I hope will dissuade him from taking things into his own hands.

  ‘I’m going to ask Lauren here to give a statement to the press in a few minutes. It will just be a basic statement, no details. They know that something high level is going on.’

  He sniffs, more confused than ever.

  ‘How? How do they know that?’

  ‘They’ll have seen the members of our team. We only come together when something… critical happens. They know this is big.’

  Marc shakes his head.

  ‘My God. My God. I can’t believe this is happening. Why aren’t the press in here right now? Surely they can help find her?’

  Steve looks at me and I raise my eyebrows. It has to come out sometime.

  ‘That’s not a good idea. First, like I explained before, if they give the exposure the perpetrator requires then… and then we have other reasons.’

  He looks at me. ‘In complete confidence, we’re keeping Jan as our best kept secret. She’s one of the best coppers in the UK. Well, I can tell you that she worked on the Lando case. In London. The one where the two young girls were held for months. Jan was on that case and almost didn’t survive it. She put her personal safety on the line for that case, and she would do the same for Maisie. Wherever Jan goes, her reputation follows. So try everything else before we involve the press. ‘

  Marc stares at me. I can see his expression, the one that says that I look so young – which incredibly I do, much younger than my 25 years – so how can I be so experienced. But he’s got offices in London and spends time there.

  ‘Lando? Were you the woman who faced off the gunman and escaped?’

  I nod. I faced off a gunman alright and I escaped. But what they don’t know is how I paid for it later. I feel the wind on my face again, the hood of my convertible down, and London rushing by. Aretha now. Respect. The colourful shop fronts and the plies of fruit and vegetables stacked outside, as I wait in a traffic queue. The semi-suburban streets lined with trees, stretching away into the distance at the end of every block. The smell of a laundry, crisp pillows and sheets, as I follow the traffic flow. I breathe it in, glad to be alive. I’ve picked up Chinese food and a bottle of single malt whiskey and I’m heading home to my beautiful apartment.

  Marc Lewis is shaking his head and his next word shakes me out of my nightmare.

  ‘But wasn’t that a grudge? Gang related? Between two brothers in rival gangs? This is different. This is about my business. This isn’t personal.’

  It’s unbelievable how many people think that crime is apart from them. Detached.

  ‘No. That’s where you’re wrong.’ I don’t want point out to him that somewhere Maisie is with another person, her captive. Someone is feeding her, washing her, tending to her. Hopefully. Someone is intentionally keeping her from being with her parents. How much more personal can you get? ‘When it comes down to people, Marc, everything’s personal.’

  Chapter Seven.

  A moment later my phone rings. It’s Keith. There’s no time for greetings and he launches straight in.

  ‘Magellan? Codename? Tag? Operation?’

  ‘Marc Lewis gave it to us. Magellan. It’s a name that comes up on forums and on activist literature. I need you to find everything on it. Everything. And quickly. Any more on the CCTV?’

  I hear him tapping on his keyboard frantically. The internet hasn't been around long, but it's made policing different, not necessarily better, but different.

  ‘No. Not yet. The stills from the cameras around the house are poor quality and I’ve sent them to some guys who can enhance them. At the moment it’s difficult to see anything. Doesn’t help that it was dark.’

  ‘Thanks Keith. Let me know, about that and the Magellan thing. It’s all Marc Lewis came up with.’

  The call ends. He’ll know that we’re running out of leads and time. I hurry back to Steve and Lauren. Steve looks tired. Or worried. Probably both. He looks at us and shakes his head.

  ‘Bloody hell. We’re getting nowhere fast. We need something. Anything. I don’t like the thought of letting them out there know what’s going on. You know what they’re like. As soon as you go out there they’ll be like vultures. They’ll be all over this place, asking questions. It’s bad enough they know about Maisie, but if they find out about the rest…’

  ‘They won’t.’ I can see he’s being pushed to his limits. Steve’s a good leader, but he likes to do things his way. He doesn’t like to be pushed into making statements or going after people too soon. I understand his reasons; too much too soon means not enough evidence. Not enough evidence means no prosecution. ‘Lauren’s going to give them the statement. She’s going to read it.’ I nod at Lauren and she smiles. ‘She’s going to read the statement and come back in without answering questions. That way they have something to print, and they‘ll focus on finding Maisie. And we’re controlling what the perpetrator knows we know.’

  I know Steve’s still worried about the whole story getting out. He’s right to be worried. There’d be mass panic, not to mention the abductor reaching saturation point and being forced into making decisions. But knowing the tabloid media, they’ll take the abduction story and run with it. In the process we might even get a witness. The downside is that they’ll harass the Lewis', but if we leave officers on the gates and Lorraine stays here with them they should remain untouchable. In the end he agrees.

  ‘OK. Let’s go with that.’

  I watch as Petra drives up the gravel causeway and round the side of the house. She appears in a few seconds with a huge bag of paper.

  ‘Is there anywhere we can look at these?’

  We go through to the Lewis’ kitchen and Petra shuts the door.

  ‘OK. We’ve managed to analyse the rest of the paper and the handwriting impressions. The problem is that the paper was folded in a zig zag in order to cut it and make a chain of doll shapes. So, to read the fragments of writing in the right order it was like a jigsaw.’

  She gets the individual dolls out of the bag. They’re oversized copies and the impressions of writing on them overs them with grey. She lays them out side by side and although we can pick out individual words, they are feint and don’t make sense. Then she lifts out a large sheet and unfolds it.

  ‘This is the top sheet of writing. If we number this, with the addresses on it and ripped off the pad as one, this piece of paper the dolls were made from is number three. As you can see, we’ve rebuilt the doll pattern in the sequence of the writing. You can see the partial addresses. Including the postcode for this property, marked in red.

  The dolls are laid out on the sheet, holdi
ng hands. The dolls lay landscape, and the writing is portrait. Some of the addresses are almost complete, some fragmented, and I scan the words, hoping for some clue to jump out at me. The extra. But they’re just addresses. Worse, they’re addresses that we already know. Petra continues.

  ‘The second sheet, the one that would have been just above the sheet the dolls were cut from, has a list written on it. The writing is in large letters and block capitals and it’s not clear at all. What it is. Random words and some partial names, there are lots of doodles that obscure most of the words. Even our high-tech analysis couldn’t separate them. The doodles appear to be more dolls. This sheet is almost certainly in the same handwriting as the handwritten messages on the dolls that were posted through the doors. The top sheet, the one with the addresses, is written by someone different.’

  Steve looks puzzled.

  ‘At least two people then? At least we know that now. Anything else, Petra?’

  She pulls out another sheet.

  ‘Even fainter, thinking of this sheet as the one above the addresses is what could be another list? We’re still working on that one. The pressure on the paper was very light and dissecting it from the other clearer text is difficult. But we think there may be a telephone number. So these are the sheets above the messages, first the phone number, then the addresses then the doodles. Then the dolls.’

  No one says it, but we all silently acknowledge that there is nothing new at all from this. I clutch at straws.

  ‘So the second sheet, Petra, is there any indication what the writing means? The parts that are readable?’

  She pushes the enlarged sheet forward. It’s a blur of scribbles with some words visible. Don’t. Woman. Say. Dance. On. It reminds me of the notes I used to take as a student, neat at first then, as I lost interest, I’d draw outlines of stained glass windows all over the notes until you couldn’t read them at all. Well, no one else could. But I’d be able to decipher most of it from memory, because I was there and it mattered to me. I’d read the material and I remembered it. That’s why I could scribble on it, because I already knew what it was. By heart. Whatever was on that sheet is important to the person who wrote it. To the person who posted the notes. To the person who took Maisie.