by Alan Veale
That would have been the same day something unusual happened to Ed, Billie noted. It didn’t help that there was no further description of the body. No indication of age, or how she was dressed, so it could be a coincidence. But for a guy who knew two women had disappeared from that same area in recent days, it was a worry. Hence sleep had been sporadic. In between, he had visions of himself going to the police and trying to bargain for information.
‘Why are you asking me what she was wearing?’
‘Well, it might have been someone I know.’
‘Has she been reported missing?’
‘No. Not yet.’
‘Okay, so are you making that report now?’
‘No. Look, I just wondered if you had a description?’
‘Yes. Cold, wet and very dead. Just like all the other bodies we pull out of the canals and sewers around here. So what’s your interest? Are you reporting a missing person, or are you just after a cheap thrill?’
There lay the problem. He was in no position to report either Emma or Emily as missing. Two days ago, he reported a hit and run incident to the police. To his surprise, they treated it as fairly routine and showed no interest in the reason for them being in the car park. Billie knew Ed had been a little more forthcoming in his own statement when an officer attended his bedside yesterday. He had answered truthfully that he did not know the identity of the driver, and said he had been running to try and get through the gate before it closed. Again, no further comment or interest. Given the concerns raised by Ed about the potential involvement of ‘bad guys’, and factor in the fears voiced on several occasions by Emma herself, Billie wondered if it was even safe to involve the police. It was a dilemma that would not go away. And then there was the phone call that came out of the blue last night.
‘Chrissie?’
‘Who else were you expecting? Are you okay?’
There was a warmth in her voice he hadn’t heard for a long time, and in his present emotional state an ex-girlfriend’s genuine concern was very, very welcome. The conversation had lasted over twenty minutes and had concluded with a proposal.
‘I’m coming over. I’ll have to sit in for Ed at the office anyway. Busy schedule coming up for Fersen Marine but that’s not what matters. I want to see both of you, so I’m due in Manchester around 7.40 in the morning. Are you okay with that?’
Her last question brought a lump to his throat. Was he okay with that? Sure he was, and that had been his answer. Maybe she too felt their relationship needed a reboot, especially with her next proposition.
‘Maybe I can help with your investigation.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You guys may be good, but when it comes to checking out mysterious women, I think I might just have the edge!’
It was a reference to her connection to Jessie McLachlan, and a previous quest for truth that had introduced them to each other six years earlier. Those had been emotional times, but it had been the start of the best relationship he had ever experienced, for around twelve months. Perhaps the door was still open.
Thoughts of Chrissie’s pending arrival had lasted well into the evening. The planned excursion to Liverpool was put on hold, but his quandary over the dead woman’s identity refused to go away.
*
‘He took a call from a woman. An American by the name of Chrissie.’
‘Did you get a source?’
‘A landline in Manhattan. But she’s coming over to join him. Wants to help the investigation.’
‘How?’
‘Didn’t say. But sounds like she and him are close.’
‘Girlfriend?’
‘Almost certainly. They got history for sure. She’s also a connection to the big guy I put in hospital. Same company: Fersen Marine.’
‘I’ll check it out. Send me the audio file too. When does she arrive?’
‘07.40 Delta Airlines. But Little Guy’s not meeting her. She’s picking up a rental.’
‘Interesting. Anything more on his second visit to the apartment?’
‘Negative. Couldn’t get a clear sight but he was there seventeen minutes. Any interest in the other male?’
‘No. Checks out as Robin Hazell, a businessman from Edinburgh. Looks like he and your American are partners of the carnal sort. I don’t see a threat there. Stay with your target and get back to me if he shows any sign of following a lead.’
‘Will do. Anything in that coded message?’
‘Waste of time. The girl probably fucked up. Little Guy’s our best hope now. Stay on it.’
*
Billie was sitting at the breakfast table when Robin joined him.
‘You look deep in thought, young man. It may never happen, y’know.’
Billie gave a weak smile. ‘Thanks for the young. I’ll admit I don’t feel it right now. Just shy of my forty-eighth birthday and look at me. I scare myself when I look in the mirror.’
It was Robin’s turn to smile. ‘And you’re meeting your lost-lady-love later? Oops… pass the salt, will you, laddie?’
‘Yeah. Chrissie. Look, Robin, you remember what you were telling me the other day about phones? When I said how mine was getting warm? You were saying it might not be a battery problem.’
Robin took a mouthful of porridge and digested the question. ‘I was just suggesting an element of caution, that’s all. As I said at the time, it’s all too easy for some questionable folks to listen in to private conversations. We’ve moved on since the demise of the News of the World, and now it’s not just voicemails that get hacked.’
‘But you also said a warm battery that drains quickly could be a sign of something planted inside an app. Can you tell by looking?’ He pushed his phone across the table.
Robin paused his porridge consumption to pick it up and press the home button. ‘Hmmm. It is a little warm… Samsung, Android. Well, at least you use a passcode. I can’t tell you much right now. I’d have to examine it back at the lab in Edinburgh to be certain. But I wouldn’t read too much into your phone playing up. Has anything else happened to make you think you’re at risk? Apart from this wee business with Ed?’ He slid the phone back over the table.
Billie pulled a face. ‘You know why my name is spelt with an ‘i-e’, don’t you?’
‘Willie Nelson. Your mum was a die-hard Country and Western fan, God rest her soul.’
‘Correct. But everyone I meet thinks I spell my name with a ‘y’ unless they’re close enough to know about Mum. Well, I did tell Emma Dearden. But I didn’t tell the hotel at the Quays, and I didn’t even tell the police.’
‘Go on.’
Billie passed him an envelope containing the receipted invoice from his and Ed’s overnight hotel stop, addressed Mr Billie Vane. ‘I asked them to send it to me here. It didn’t strike me at first, but then I got to thinking. The invoice inside and my credit card both say W VANE, so who wrote that on the envelope?’
‘I see what you mean,’ agreed Robin. ‘How would they know the correct way to spell your name?’
‘Then last night I thought back to my time with Chrissie. You remember that business at Sandyford Place? It was your boys who did the analysis on Abram’s electronics.’
‘Ah. Yes, indeed. Highly advanced levels of telemetry. That rogue taught us a lot. So, you’re losing sleep over your phone throwing a wobbly, a mind-reading receptionist and a nightmare from years ago. Is that it?’
‘No! No, it’s just that it reminded me how right Emma was to warn me about taking precautions.’
‘Your personal life—’
‘Not those sorts of precautions!’ Billie blinked in exasperation. ‘Emma was really uptight about security, end to end encryption on WhatsApp and all that. She was frightened about being hacked, and I… I may not have appreciated how right she was. Suppose there was someone at that hotel? Or here? A receptionist gets a handout while someone else looks at my registration details. Maybe they open up the envelope with the invoice in, and write out a new one?’<
br />
‘For what purpose?’
‘To find information on me. My home address, maybe. I don’t know. It could happen, couldn’t it? After what happened to Ed, I made some calls and texts without thinking, including Chrissie, and now I know there really is a threat from… someone. Well… I’m just worried what they might do next.’
Robin left some of his porridge untouched. ‘The body in the Quays. I get your drift.’
Billie nodded. ‘Could I borrow your phone?’
Twenty-Four
‘You’re asking me to call you back and do what?’
He could hear the frustration in Chrissie’s voice, so he repeated himself. ‘I want you to confirm what we should do about lunch when you get here, and what time to expect you.’
‘But I’ve just told you!’
‘I know! Look, Chrissie, remember David Abram?’
‘I’m not likely to forget.’
‘Remember what he could do with a mobile phone?’
The line went quiet. Then: ‘Okay. I get it. You don’t want me to use my cell.’
‘NO! I want you to use your cell to call me and set up some kind of scene in case these bastards are listening in to the calls I make on my own phone! I’m using Robin’s right now.’
‘Give me five minutes. I’m on my third cup of coffee and I’ll swear this hospital stuff is anaesthetising my brain. I got it, Billie. I’m on it. Just give me five.’
Fifteen minutes later Billie received a call on his own phone.
‘Billie—sorry, I’m running a bit late at the hospital. Where are you now? At the Hilton?’
‘Yeah, no problem. How are things?’
‘Okay. My big brother’s lost his gift for answering back a little but he’s promised to arm-wrestle me tomorrow, so I guess he’s improving. You wanna do lunch?’
‘Sounds good to me. We got a lot to catch up on.’
‘You bet. I wanna hear all about this Emma girlfriend of yours. And the Titanic. You got a place in mind?’
‘Well, there’s a great restaurant right here on the twenty-third floor you should like. Views all over the city. Hey, and she’s not my girlfriend. But I’ll tell you everything I know over lunch.’
‘Sounds perfect. I should get there around 12.30 and check-in. Can you meet me in the lobby?’
‘I’ll be there. Hey, Chrissie, thanks for this. I’ve missed you.’
‘Me too, Billie. Just one thing—stop calling my brother slaphead. At least for a while?’
Billie allowed himself a chuckle. ‘You’re the boss!’
‘Glad you remembered that.’
*
Three men around a table in a rented apartment, two of them with phones in their hands. One stared hard at his screen while the other glanced at his own before raising an eyebrow at his neighbour. The third man was older, wore a suit and tie, and kept his expression blank while returning the look from his ponytailed colleague.
‘Got it!’
They turned to their guest. He was holding up his phone so they could see the display. A green LED was blinking above the screen, where a spot glowed red from the centre of a detailed map of their location.
‘That’s my phone right there?’
‘It is. I just tagged it. Now turn it off. Power it right down.’
Ponytail gave an irritated sigh, but did as he was asked. ‘And the point of all this is?’
‘My brief was to report on Billie Vane’s movements as well as conversations. Well, he switches his phone off occasionally, and I guess he’s also getting a little suspicious by now. What if he changes his SIM? We lose him for a few hours? What’s your boss going to say?’
‘I’ll want to know why our so-called technical expert fucked up.’ It was the first time the man in the suit had spoken.
‘Fair point. I’m guessing there’s a lot depending on me keeping a close eye on your Mr Vane. Which is why I’ve been working on a little bonus package here. You did say the money was sound, didn’t you?’ The technician glanced at the man in the suit but got a frosty stare in response. ‘Though I’d have to say I already gave you everything you asked for. You know where he is right now, and you know what he’s doing for lunch.’ He dropped his focus to the table in front of Ponytail. ‘Is your phone off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then how come I can still see it?’
He held up his own phone again with the display and LED blinking as before.
‘Shit, Kellaway! How are you doing that without power?’ Excitement in his voice, a gleam in his eye.
‘Your battery didn’t close down. Just the display. My tag is sitting quietly inside your phone using the same circuit that operates the clock. How d’you think your phone still keeps time when you switch it off?’
Ponytail digested the answer, then immediately demanded another. ‘And if Vane gets himself a new SIM will this still work?’
‘Yes. And it reports the new number direct to me.’
‘You clever fucking bastard! We’ve got to do it—’
‘One moment.’ Ponytail’s boss took command. ‘I agree this holds promise. But how soon can you duplicate the process onto someone else’s phone?’
‘Well, give me until this afternoon.’
‘That’s too late. This needs to be in place for our lunchtime appointment. My client insists every resource is made available to make use of Mr Vane’s privileged information. As you said yourself, he could take evasive action at any time.’
‘I’ll do it myself, then.’ Kellaway’s expression was confident. ‘He doesn’t know what I look like. All I need is to get within about four metres and for him to sit still a few minutes. Could do it while he’s on the khazi!’
Ponytail gave his technician a hard stare before looking for approval from his boss. It came in the form of a raised eyebrow and a slight inclination of the head.
*
‘That’s a great suit.’
‘And do you like the way it’s filled?’ It was a leading question and Chrissie knew it, but she didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Would you mind?’ She dangled her car fob.
Billie smiled and went to retrieve Chrissie’s luggage while she approached the reception desk. When he returned with the suitcases, she was asking about valet parking, and Billie passed the fob over before broaching a question.
‘Are you ready for lunch? Or—is there anything else you need?’
She caught on immediately. ‘Now that you mention it, I do need some toiletries.’
‘There’s a wide range in your room, madam.’ The receptionist was on the ball, but Billie was not impressed. Again, Chrissie caught his look.
‘Yes, well. Something a little more… I’m thinking there’s a store near here called Kimballs?’
‘Kendals, madam.’ The ever-resourceful receptionist was still keen to assist. ‘It’s a House of Fraser now. On Deansgate. Just ten minutes’ walk that way.’
‘Perfect. Sorry, Billie. A girl has to do what a girl has to do! Why don’t we eat out instead? C’mon. Let’s go.’ She led the way to the revolving doors.
Billie glanced at the stony expression on the receptionist’s face and dared a what-can-you-do smile before following in Chrissie’s wake. He noticed a man and his wife quietly arguing about a mix-up of room allocation further along the counter, but failed to see the reaction of a heavy-set girl in her mid-thirties looking at a display of things to do in Manchester.
As Billie exited the lobby, she strode quickly across to where a man in a leather jacket was sitting nearby, listening to music on his phone.
‘They’re going out to lunch.’
‘What? But they’re supposed to be eating here!’
‘I know. I heard her say something about shopping for toiletries, but they might come back. Did you manage the tag yet?’
‘Fuck no! I tried beaming it twice but the little shit wouldn’t stay still long enough.’
‘Do you want me to follow them? Shouldn’t be difficult.’
‘
No. I’ll do it. I need to try again if I get a chance. Call it in and ask for back-up.’
Twenty-Five
‘What are we supposed to be doing? And should I be whispering?’ Chrissie and her electric blue suit were attracting interest from others walking along Deansgate, but Billie’s attention was elsewhere.
‘No need for whispering. I’m not sure what we’re looking for. But if I’ve got this right, then someone just might be following us.’
‘Oh great. And here’s me dressed for the incognito ball.’
‘You look wonderful, Chrissie. You always do. But right now, I’ve got a thing about men with ponytails. It’s all Ed’s fault.’
‘So what did you reckon to the old dame with the wig we just passed?’
‘That was a wig?’
‘Billie! It was pure black. Hey, she might have a ponytail underneath, though.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I can’t expect you to take this seriously, can I? Part of me almost wants something to happen just so I can prove how bad things are.’
‘Okay. I’ll behave. I promise.’
‘What do you want in Kendals anyway?’
‘Whatever you can afford to buy me. Maybe a black wig.’
He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, but continued to stay alert as they approached the department store. More notes were compared after the shopping experience.
‘I spotted someone,’ said Billie. ‘At least I think so.’
‘Who? What did they look like?’
‘It was a guy with a shaved head in a maroon jacket, stood by the aftershaves. I’m almost certain he was in the hotel lobby.’
‘I call it burgundy, and yes he was.’
Billie stared at her. ‘You saw him too?’
‘Well, he was certainly next to the aftershaves. I noticed the jacket because you used to have one that colour. You were wearing it the day we met outside The People’s Palace.’
