Death Call

by Wendy Cartmell

  “I don’t think we’ve any other option have we?” Derek asked.

  Crane agreed. “No. But there’s one other thing we could do.”

  “Which is?”

  Crane heard the reluctance in Derek’s voice, obviously detecting a Crane special coming, but decided to ignore it.

  “Get Diane to write another piece. Goad him into going on line again. Insult him, say he’s not clever enough to outwit us, he’s a coward for hiding behind a computer.” Crane was warming to his theme. “Say that it’s about time he came into the light and showed himself, and then we can all see how clever he is.” Crane sat back in satisfaction, having got that lot off his chest.

  “Jesus, boss, are you sure? “asked Billy.

  “Yes and I’m not your boss anymore. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “I know, but old habits die hard.”

  “Don’t they just, Billy. Don’t they just.”

  Very much against Anderson’s advice, Crane had decided to meet up with Diane Chambers. He’d been keen to delegate the task to Billy Williams, as he was sure Billy would be more able to sweet talk her into writing the article than Crane ever could. However, in the end Billy bottled out, telling Crane that he didn’t feel comfortable revisiting his past. He was happy with Emma and he didn’t think Diane needed to know anything about his new relationship.

  As it happened, Crane didn’t have to sweet talk her at all. He called into the Aldershot News offices on the off chance she’d be there and she agreed to see him immediately. Crane wondered at his good fortune, but soon heard the reason why she’d been so keen to talk to him.

  Sat in her office, which overlooked the newsroom, she began, “It makes me so bloody mad!” crossing one elegant stocking-covered leg over the other. Crane was having trouble taking his eyes away from those long legs and focusing on her words instead. Her previous tomboy image was clearly very firmly out of the window. It seemed she really was maturing into her role as Editor of the Aldershot News and associated papers within the group.

  “I was going to email you,” she said. “I’ve heard about another case. But now you’re here I can tell you about it instead.”

  Crane was taken aback at the thought of another family grieving and, just for a moment, he closed his eyes as images of Tina bombarded him once again. When he’d composed himself, she apologised.

  “Jesus, Crane, sorry for springing that on you. As you can see my image may have changed, but my character still needs work.”

  Crane had to smile at her self-depreciation and readied himself to hear of another tragedy. She told him the tale of the latest victim of their fake operator, a young boy who’d fallen off the garage roof of a local house.

  During the telling, she’d played with a biro, twisting it round and round in her fingers. As she finished, she threw the pen across her desk and said, “Or at least he’s the latest that we know of. There still could be others, so yes, I’m happy to publish another piece in the paper. I’ll also reach out to the other Hampshire papers, in fact anyone who will listen. In the meantime, here are the contact details of the poor mother. I guess you lot will want to talk to her.”

  35

  The operator had been seriously considering scaling back his forays into the 999 system, well aware that investigations were being made, and that there were calls for ‘witnesses’ to the crimes to come forward. Although he still felt the emergency services needed to be punished for their failings and he needed more people to understand his loss and grief, he didn’t really want to get caught. Then he’d read the piece in the local paper.

  Phrases had leapt out at him. ‘Cowardly crimes’, ‘abhorrent behaviour’, and then the ending where he was accused of having, ‘no sympathy or empathy with his victims.’ He’d thrown the paper across the room at that one. Sympathy? Empathy? Where was the sympathy or empathy when he’d suffered loss? Where were the apologies for the appalling failure of the emergency services? Where was the understanding of his grief? They were treating him like a pariah, when he’d done nothing wrong! They were the ones responsible. They were the killers. He was just showing up their total lack of understanding. Where was their willingness to do something about it? Like putting more money into the emergency services. Like having enough resources, so the emergency rule was never in place. Like meeting the government targets, so ambulances arrived in time to help, rather than just confirming the death of the patient.

  Well fuck them, he decided. He would carry on with his good work. He would carry on highlighting the appalling service they offered. He would carry on making the public aware of the horror of losing a loved one. A loved one that didn’t deserve, or need, to die.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, the operator moved to his computer, put on his headset and centred himself, before flexing his fingers and taking the paths that would lead him into the heart of the 999 system.

  A buzz from Dudley-Jones’ computer woke him up. He’d been dozing with his feet up on the table, while Crane was in another part of the house playing with Daniel. For the first few days of the vigil he’d been keen, awake, alert. But as the hours had gone by with nothing to report, he’d become lackadaisical. So, when the buzzer awoke him, he tried hard not to panic. He rubbed his eyes and peered at his screen. Jesus. The operator really was active. Shouting for Crane, he pulled on his headset in case the operator answered a call, so that he would be able to hear what was going on.

  “Crane!” he shouted again. “It’s him!”

  Crane burst through the dining room door. “You sure?”

  Dudley-Jones frantically nodded, but he didn’t take his eyes from the screen.

  Crane pulled a chair up next to Dudley-Jones, but looking at the computer screen himself, he had to admit that he hadn’t got a bloody clue what it all meant. It appeared to be a stream of data. All he could do was sit there and listen to Dudley-Jones, who was trying to give Crane a blow-by-blow account of what was happening.

  “He’s entered the proprietary software system and is now sending out probes looking for incoming calls. We just have to wait until he manages to grab one.”

  Crane peered at the screen as though it would give him answers, going cross-eyed looking at the random jumble of letters and numbers.

  “Fuck, he’s got one!”

  Crane realised Dudley-Jones meant a call. He grabbed a notepad and pencil from the table, poised to take down any details. He held his breath, waiting for Dudley-Jones to speak.

  “He’s talking to someone – her husband has collapsed – Jesus, she’s in Aldershot.”

  Crane scribbled down the address of the victim as Dudley-Jones repeated it, whilst grabbing his mobile and dialling 999.

  Repeating the address to an operator and trying to explain what was going on, was taking up precious seconds to Crane’s frustration. Nevertheless, in the end, the real emergency operator agreed to dispatch an ambulance to the suspected heart attack.

  “The wife is giving him compressions,” Dudley-Jones said. “Hang on, the operator is asking her to stop and see if she can hear him breathing.”

  “She shouldn’t stop!” shouted Crane.

  “I know, but I can’t tell her that. I can only listen!” Dudley-Jones shouted back.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Crane. “What’s happening now?”

  “She’s refusing to stop. She shouting something at the operator. I can’t quite hear…”

  Dudley-Jones pressed the pads to his ears. ”Oh hell, I think it’s Diane Chambers.”

  “Diane?”

  “Yes, she’s calling him a bastard and telling him to get off the line. Wait a minute, I think… yes, it’s the sound of a siren. The ambulance is nearly there.”

  “Thank God,” said Crane.

  “Hang on, she’s still talking… No, there’s nothing more. The call’s gone. The operator has hung up.”

  36

  It was late into the evening when Crane’s phone rang. Frowning at the screen, he realised it was a ca
ll from Diane.

  “Tell me your husband is alright?” was his greeting.

  “So it was you and your lot who found my call and rang the ambulance. I thought as much.”

  “Yes. I’ve never felt less impotent in my life, though. Once I’d called for the ambulance, there was nothing Dudley-Jones or I could do apart from listen and hope the paramedics got there in time. Did they?”

  “Yes, thanks to you they managed to keep him alive until they could get him to hospital. He went straight into the theatre and they’ve put in a new heart valve and stents in the blocked arteries. Obviously, he’s still in hospital, but I’ve come home to try and get some rest. I can’t thank you enough for what you did. It was a close call.”

  “I bet it was. It sounded like it.”

  “Mmmm, not my finest performance,” she laughed.

  “You know, I didn’t even know you were married.”

  “That’s another thing that’s changed me,” she said. “We’ve only been married a couple of months, so if I’d lost him so soon, I…”

  Crane said, “Fate was smiling on you then. His death clearly wasn’t meant to be. Not then at any rate.”

  “Do you believe in fate then, Crane?”

  He could hear her burrowing down in bed, the whisper of fabric against fabric, the slight creak of springs.

  “I guess, although I can’t imagine why Tina had to be taken so early, but I do think that when your time is up, it’s up. No leeway, no reprieve. It’s just the way it has to be. Your husband had a narrow escape. Maybe it’s a wakeup call?”

  “I think so,” she agreed. “He’s older than me. I’ll have to make sure he takes better care of himself won’t I?”

  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, Diane, and try and get some sleep. It’s all over now. Try not to worry about him. He’s in the best place.”

  “Thanks again,” she whispered.

  He started to reply, to tell her to stop saying thank you, but she’d already gone.

  37

  The next morning Dudley-Jones had news for Crane. “I’ve managed to get a hold of the IP address our operator used yesterday.”

  “IP address?” Crane said, picking Weetabix off his tie that Daniel had obligingly flicked at him at breakfast. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s tied to the internet system you use to go online and in that string of numbers is your location.”

  “Really?” Crane stopped inspecting his tie. “How is that going to help us then?”

  “Well, I’ve traced the location to a point in the middle of Winchester.”

  “Winchester eh? So it seems we were on the right lines with our profile of who could be doing this.”

  “Yes, which is really good.”

  Crane heard the ‘but’ in Dudley-Jones’ voice. “What isn’t so good then?”

  “It only gives us a general location. For instance, if we get there and the location is a block of flats, there will be no way of knowing which apartment he is in. If it’s a row of shops, then equally we won’t know which one of those it is either.”

  “But we might be able to find out?”

  “Yes, by talking to people in that location.”

  “What are we waiting for then?” Crane stood and grabbed his coat. “It’s about time you got away from that screen and went out in the field. We’re off to Winchester.”

  “But shouldn’t I stay and monitor the back-door?”

  Crane stopped gathering his stuff. “Look, firstly there’s only me and you available today. Secondly, I don’t understand this IP address thingy, but you do. Thirdly, weighing up the possibility that you may stop one call today by monitoring the board, against the much larger number you may save by catching this monster – well that’s my call and I say we go to Winchester. Mrs Strange!” Crane called as he walked out the door, “We’re going out for a while.”

  Crane was glad to be driving and therefore having something to concentrate on, as Dudley-Jones wasn’t the greatest conversationalist. His passion was computers and that’s mostly what he talked about. Which meant it was like him trying to have a conversation with someone from Spain, who didn’t speak any English and Crane didn’t speak any Spanish.

  After arriving in Winchester and parking in a conveniently located town centre car park, they emerged into the historic city centre.

  “I’ve not been here before,” Dudley-Jones said looking around. “It’s pretty impressive.” He gestured his arm to encompass the old buildings. “It’s the arches.”

  “Arches?”

  “Yes, look there are arches everywhere, above windows, protecting doorways, over shop windows.”

  “My overriding impression is of gothic style buildings, but none of this is getting us anywhere. We’re not here on a sightseeing tour. Now where are we going?”

  In response, Dudley-Jones pulled out his phone.

  “Jesus, who are you phoning? Can’t we get on?” Crane frustration was spilling out, until he caught sight of the screen of the mobile. “What’s that?”

  “Google maps. It shows us where we are and how to get to the location we’re interested in.”

  “Oh, right, I was going to get a map from the tourist office.”

  Dudley-Jones just looked at Crane as if he were an ancient species.

  “Don’t say a word,” Crane growled. “Just start walking. I’ll follow you.”

  A few minutes later, they stopped outside an innocuous business premises. As they looked through the window they could see the room was set out like an office with each desk having a computer. The business name was TeleSolutions. Crane looked at Dudley-Jones, who shrugged, so he pushed the door, which opened and they walked in.

  A man sat at a desk nearest the door looked up from his computer and said, “Good morning, can I help?”

  “I’m from Hampshire Major Crimes,” Crane flashed his ID, “and this is my computer specialist,” Crane indicated Dudley-Jones. “Your IP address has come up in the course of one of our investigations.”

  “Really? Oh, well, I’m sure there must be a mistake.”

  “Is this your IP address?” Crane held up his notebook open on the correct page and showed it to him.

  “Um, yes, but…”

  “You’re a solutions provider,” Dudley-Jones piped up.

  “Exactly.”

  “What the hell are you both talking about?” Crane wanted to know, once again feeling disorientated because of his lack of understanding.

  “My name is Shaun Webb. This is my company.”

  Crane’s eyebrows went up at the man’s name, but decided it was best to keep quiet. After all, they did need his help. “We provide internet services to people living in bad coverage areas, or in crowded areas where the main infrastructure can’t cope, resulting in sluggish speeds.”

  “Which means that this IP address is the source address for someone using this system.”

  Dudley-Jones’ words hadn’t helped Crane understand what was going on.

  “So it would be easy for someone to ‘cloak’ their address and use the main one.”

  “Or even use a VPN. Sorry,” he said to Crane. “I mean a virtual private network which scrambles your IP address.”

  Crane was still none the wiser.

  “Also someone could have hacked into us,” continued Mr Webb.

  “Exactly.”

  “Plus, some of our subscribers are often resellers, who have their own organisation of clients and masts. So, even though we use an internet provider, our clients use us as their internet provider and spread the net even wider, as it were.”

  Crane finally said, “Can someone please explain this gobbledy gook?”

  “We won’t find our man through this IP address,” said Dudley-Jones. “There are probably hundreds on the system…”

  “Try thousands,” interrupted Webb.

  “So it would take a month of Sundays to go through the list of users…”

  “Not that we’d give it to
you,” came another interruption.

  “Exactly.”

  “So that’s it?” Crane said.

  Both men nodded at Crane.

  “For fuck’s sake,” exploded Crane and pushed his way past Dudley-Jones and out of the office.

  38

  The team were discussing Dudley-Jones’ achievement in saving Diane’s husband, with much backslapping and fist pumping. When Crane saw a red flush creeping up the lad’s face, he called everyone to order.

  “Okay let’s go back to basics, now the drama is all over,” he said. “We have to formalise this investigation with the Major Crimes team, we need more manpower. It can’t just be our little gang anymore.”

  “Why?” asked Dudley-Jones, clearly unnerved by the thought of working in a large office with lots of people. Crane really wished he would come out of his shell, but he hadn’t in the few years that he’d known him, so it was doubtful he’d be able to change any time soon.

  “Because someone has to look at the suspects we’ve got,” explained DI Anderson. “Now I’ve got Superintendent Grimes’ approval for pulling together a team to work on the case, we can merge our resources. Work rotas need to be checked, to see who was working at the time of the calls – we have six suspects now.”

  “Would it have to be someone who wasn’t working?” asked Billy.

  “That’s a difficult one,” said Dudley-Jones. “If he was at work, he could monitor the 999 calls during a break. But,” he paused for a moment and everyone waited, “on balance I think he would be doing this during the days when he wasn’t working. He would be too afraid of someone finding him, walking in on him, or worse.”

  “Worse?” asked Crane.

  “Yes, if someone from the call centre managed to access the back door in the system, the same as we have, then that person could potentially recognise the voice of the fake operator and call for a search of the building.”