There were still a few more darknet contacts left that had expressed interest in his initial post. He had ignored them until now, as so far he had only really needed one of them. Another death would have the police reeling; if Barry were simply to disappear it would be even better. Barry might become famous for having disappeared but then the spotlight would be on him, and not Edwin. Now was not the time for a light touch. If Barry disappeared, Edwin could stiff the next guy, and put the whole sorry saga to bed for good.
Chapter 23: Officer Down
Sarah Morton stayed with David in the hospital for almost a week straight. Her husband's condition had stabilised quickly, but Sarah had always had a morbid fear that her husband would come to harm while on duty. David had laughed off her concerns with his typical machismo, but he hadn't refused when Sarah offered to sleep on a camp bed in his hospital room to keep an eye on him.
A week later and David was beginning to tire of his wife's company. He loved her dearly, but his work was his true calling in life and he had several investigations on the go to sink his teeth into. He had almost discharged himself twice already, but had stayed after Sarah begged him to.
David frowned. There were dozens of live cases within his purview, and all he could do was flick through the few papers that the other officers deigned to allow him in his hospital room. Between the frustration of not being able to do anything and the other ward residents moaning and screaming at odd times, David was having a hard time getting any quality sleep.
He knew the tedium of watching hospital television would eventually get to him though; while he was desperate to be back out investigating he knew he would need to be well rested. Human resources had already tried to suggest he take an extended break by being reassigned to desk duty for a while.
If there was one part of being a policeman that David detested, it was paper pushing. When he had started out in the force the work had been about being on the beat, helping to build the community and arresting criminals. Now he spent more time filling in incident reports, documenting the chain of custody for evidence and analysing performance targets. He would sooner retire than be forced to sit at a desk for a few weeks. No, he'd just need to block out the noise and get some quality rest before he went back to work.
The one saving grace was that his deputies had visited a few times, but the visits had been more social in nature than professional. Although they had brought him up to date on case progression it had been professional courtesy. It seemed the younger detectives were hungry for the opportunity to prove themselves by taking up the slack.
Perhaps some of them even shared Sarah's concerns that he was getting too old to investigate murders. David didn't want to believe it though; his injury could just as easily have happened to a younger man. When someone throws a knife at your back you're pretty lucky to escape with only a flesh wound. The blade had missed the major arteries in the leg, and he had been taken to hospital before the blood loss had approached fatal levels. He was ashamed of passing out, but he had always been terribly squeamish about the sight of his own blood.
At least he would be back at work soon.
***
Edwin had several unanswered darknet messages in response to his original posting. One of them was from a man who wanted a problem neighbour removed. His request was simple, but as always with Edwin it didn't matter what he asked for. Edwin could promise the earth, but with no intention of ever delivering, it wouldn't cost a penny.
The slight problem was that Edwin would have to find out where Barry was in order to send someone after him. He would need to be quicker than the police, and this time element made the job urgent.
'If you can eliminate my problems in next 48 hrs, I can sort yours after that.' Edwin typed, feeling the same surge of energy he had on the previous occasions. There was no getting around it: playing puppet master was fun.
The other man might not agree to go first, but if he didn't, Edwin would simply move onto another prospect. There seemed to be no lack of unscrupulous individuals on the Internet.
Chapter 24: One of Ours
The ground-down serial number had not been entirely removed. They rarely were. It took considerable effort to completely smooth out metal, but it was much easier to use an acid bath to reinvigorate the etchings to reveal the serial numbers.
It was odd however. The serial numbers concerned showed the gun had been confiscated by the police during a drugs raid, and subsequently destroyed. The technician made a mental note to investigate personally. He could simply pass the information on up the chain of command, but without knowing how the gun went from the police locker to the black market no one, the inspectors included, could be trusted implicitly.
***
It took another week before the hospital pronounced David Morton fit to go home. It was about time, for Morton was not one to stand idly by when there was work to be done. Sarah begged him to come home and rest for a while. He had more than enough holiday days banked to take a week off to recuperate, but Morton had decided that he was needed down at the station, and when he made his mind up he was incredibly stubborn about changing it.
He was greeted warmly as he entered his office. His wife had evidently called ahead, as his squad mates had managed to pull together not only a cake but balloons as well. They all congratulated him on his war wounds, masking the tension in the room with laughter.
It was not until the Superintendent said 'Morton, have you got a moment?' that the room fell silent. While Morton was gone it had become first rumour, and then agreed common knowledge, that the Superintendent wanted him on desk duty. He was too old, went the rumours. He got lucky this time, but his luck would run out. Others argued that his pension age wasn't all that far away, and that he should be allowed to continue doing his duty until he was physically unable.
In the end, the decision came down to the director. Morton would be placed on desk duty for the determinable future.
‘How's your leg?'
'Better, thanks. I'm fit to get back out in the field.' Morton was in significant pain still, but he was damned if he would let it show.
'Glad to hear it. David, I'm going to place you on desk duty, at least for a little while. We can't risk your leg in the field. I'll be assigning your active cases to Detective Inspector Rosenburg.' The director's words all came out in a rush as if afraid to pause for fear of giving Morton the opportunity to interject.
Morton's face turned ashen. To avoid getting fired he remained silent, nodded, then turned and left.
Minutes later he was in the station gym. Health and safety buffs had insisted on a punch bag being placed on site to help relieve high stress levels. Morton hated to admit that human resources occasionally had a good idea, but it worked.
He was sweating profusely from attacking the vaguely man-shaped bag when his long-time colleague Alan Sheppard walked in.
'You seem upset. What's up?' Alan asked.
Morton glanced around and saw they were not alone in the gym.
'I'll tell you later,' he said apologetically. 'In private.'
***
It took a while to get a response, but Edwin's contact agreed to carry out the hit. It was on the condition that Edwin carried out his hit simultaneously, which Edwin had no intention of doing.
To gain his trust Edwin had to be particularly cruel. He asked questions about the intended victim, plotting an elaborate kill that he knew would never take place. The plan was to cut the brake cables on the man's car while he was at mosque. The car park at the mosque would be deserted, with no CCTV in place.
The plotting made Edwin feel dirty. While he was more than happy to play puppet master for his own ends, he would never feel comfortable directly bringing about the death of another. Perhaps it was his upbringing. His parents had drummed into him the sanctity of life. Somehow he could disassociate himself from it if someone else did the actual deed. All he was doing was sending some messages on the Internet, after all.
***
/> 'I fucking hate that guy.' The beer had begun to loosen Morton's tongue. The Hog's Head was not a policeman's bar, and Morton felt that he could talk freely sat in a quiet booth towards the rear of the pub.
'Who?' asked his drinking buddy, Alan Sheppard.
'Rosenburg.'
'Why? He's always seemed like a nice guy to me.'
'He's a sycophantic tosser,' Morton said
'How?' Alan had been an usher at Rosenburg's wedding.
'He stole my cases!'
Alan laughed. 'I think you'll find the Superintendent stole your cases. You wouldn't like me if I'd nicked them either.'
'True enough.' It would not be long before Morton began to slip back into his usual morose persona.
While he did hate the fact he'd lost all of his cases, his problems with Rosenburg had started long before the stabbing incident. Rosenburg had once attempted to seduce Sarah, and Morton considered it a point of honour that he owed him a beating.
Chapter 25: Incognito
It took a while for Barry to be able to find an Internet connection. He had managed to snatch a bag containing a laptop while its owner was talking on his mobile a few feet away. It was bold, but Barry had been fully prepared to take it by force if he was caught.
Finding somewhere he wouldn't be overlooked, and the Wi-Fi wouldn't be monitored, had been a bit more difficult. People are often careless about their Internet security and leave their connection unencrypted, but finding one within range of a place he could sit without being noticed proved more difficult.
The solution had been a coffee shop at the base of a block of flats. Barry sat with his back to the wall, and booted up the laptop. There wasn't much battery left, but the owner of the coffee shop became amenable to letting him plug it in when it became evident he would be staying for a while.
Barry kept the coffee flowing for two reasons. First, it greatly extended his welcome. The owner was happy to mind his own business and only ventured over to top Barry up every hour or so. Secondly it helped him concentrate. The combination of sugar and caffeine fired up neurons that hadn't been active in a long time.
Barry looked gaunter than he had previously been. He wasn't eating well, with the only proper meal of each day being the breakfast he had at the bed and breakfast. He was on to his fourth B&B. Changing every few days stopped anyone noticing him. He still needed to get out and about, however, to avoid suspicion, so he spent a lot of time walking around London. He walked as if he had a purpose but it was really more of a wander.
Four cups of coffee later, and Barry broke the security on the laptop. It hadn't taken much in the end. There was no BIOS administrator password set, so a brute force change of password was simple enough. Once he was in, he looked to see what Internet connections were available. He knew the coffee shop offered free Wi-Fi, that much was advertised in the window. What Barry didn't expect was to find a number of flats above had left their Wi-Fi unsecured, and the signal was strong enough to maintain a steady connection.
Barry didn't take an elaborate route to connecting to the darknet. He knew how, but keeping his identity secret was the least of his worries. The police already had CCTV images of him, and that meant they probably had fingerprints and maybe even a DNA sample too.
He fired off a quick message.
'Still alive. Need help. Running out of funds. Can you help?'
Then, he sat and waited. Hopefully his contact would come good. It was his fault that he had gotten into the mess after all.
***
For Edwin, the message was manna from heaven. He had needed to pin down a location at which he could find the errant Barry, and now he had the perfect excuse to arrange a meeting.
Being a devious fellow Edwin knew not to agree too quickly. If he was too eager then Barry might smell a rat and disappear off his radar. The concern that it might also be the police posing as his contact also crossed Edwin's mind. He was a smart man, but it manifested in being overly paranoid sometimes.
'How much? Might be able to come up with some, but will take time.'
Edwin thought that was sufficiently interested to keep the conversation open, but not so eager as to scare anyone off. He hit send, and leant back in his chair. He didn't know how quickly a reply might come, but he had to pick Chelsea up from school in half an hour; so his contact would simply have to wait until she went to bed for a reply.
***
Barry waited all day, but if he was going to walk back to his B&B before dark he would have to leave soon. He didn't want to come back a second day running to see the reply, but it didn't look like he would have much choice. He could try and find somewhere else again, but it had been a stroke of luck to find the first coffee shop. He'd managed to stay there for most of a day without being bothered by anyone other than the owner who kept on topping up his coffee. At least he'd been kind enough to watch his (password-locked) laptop when he needed to go to the bathroom.
***
Edwin got a reply from Barry next morning after he had taken Chelsea to school.
'Meet me at the Thames Barrier. Nine o'clock tonight. Bring as much as you can.'
It was short notice, and Edwin needed to get his latest darknet victim to be there, preferably armed.
He quickly sent the details over to the car-brakes guy, setting Barry up. With any luck his last loose link would disappear in just a few hours, and Edwin would be free to flit off into the Canadian sunset.
***
Peter Sugden didn't like lying to his wife. He wouldn't normally so much as think of deceiving her, but tonight was different. He couldn't exactly waltz into the parlour and announce 'Hello, dear, I'm off – out for the evening to off someone.'
Instead, he used Skype to phone his mobile, and staged a conversation with himself in which he was asked to meet a client urgently regarding their account.
'Sorry, dear, I know I'm deserting you, but one of my clients has got themselves all in a tizz. If I don't go in I might lose the account.' It was believable if only because Peter was notoriously competitive.
The mere thought of losing business to a rival broker brought him out in hives. His wife didn't really mind either. An evening of peace and quiet, with a hot bath and a trashy novel (of which Peter disapproved) proved most alluring, and she readily allowed Peter to excuse himself.
Peter drove his town car to the station. It would attract attention, but his wife would be extremely suspicious if he called a taxi, and it was too far to go on foot. He could have called his driver, but the overtime would be logged in the company files, and Peter was too smart for that.
He took the train as far as Waterloo before changing to the underground. He hated the closeness of it all. People were crammed into the carriages like sardines, and there was no first class.
He waited for a while, hoping to find a carriage that was empty, or at least only full of white people. If Peter had been a more regular traveller on the London Underground he would have realised the impossibility of this. It was when a group of darker youths surrounded him that he decided he had best take the plunge. At the Bank interchange he changed for SLR, which runs both over- and underground heading to the east of London. He disembarked at the Woolwich Arsenal station, and paused on a nearby bench after leaving the station.
It was unfamiliar territory for Peter, and he had to use his BlackBerry to get his bearing.
The barrier itself was a little over a mile away, but the target point wasn't at the visitors' centre, as it would be closed for the evening. Peter began walking towards what he hoped was the river as his phone robotically called out instructions. He realised halfway there that the phone could be used to track him so he promptly switched it off.
By then he was nearly there, although he was breathing heavily. Mr Sugden was a portly man, and his exercise regime consisted mostly of fetching biscuits from the biscuit tin and lifting them to his dribbling jowls. He was diabetic as a result of his weight, and his plan was to use the insulin to induce stupor by hypogly
caemia. At that point he could simply lift the body over the barrier and into the Thames, where it would become yet another drowning victim in the gloomy icy waters.
He had to get there first. If he didn't catch his breath soon he would be late. His contact had told him the man was expecting a meeting, and expecting to be given cash. Peter wasn't carrying any, and he wouldn't give it up if he was. He would simply pretend to open his wallet and then inject the man.
The road began to get shorter, and the water came into view. He was almost there. As he waddled the last few feet he tugged his sleeves down to cover his left hand, in which the needle was situated. He hoped being a leftie would give him an element of surprise, although it was not a fact he normally broadcasted.
Chapter 26: The Barrier
Barry had arrived early. He noticed that there was more CCTV in the area than he remembered, but it was only a hand-off of some cash, and this was unlikely to be considered worthy of any attention, particularly as it was unlikely to be a significant amount.
He saw the fat man approaching long before he arrived. The spot he had chosen was near the visitors' centre, with a deserted car park to his left and the Thames path to his right. The path ran for many miles down towards Hampton Court, and was popular in the early morning with joggers.
The terminus was not so popular however. A few tourist boats sailed out far enough to look at the barrier itself, but this was only during the daytime. Even the Thames Clipper service terminated at Greenwich, so it was highly unlikely there would be passers-by. Barry assumed the fat man was his contact, but waited until he strolled straight towards him before speaking.
As the distance closed between them to around ten feet Barry called out.
The DCI Morton Box Set Page 11
