Faraday 02 Network Virus

by Michael Hillier

  There was a long silence when she had finished. The lad had unfolded his arms and was clearly rather shaken by the prospect Charlotte had mapped out for him.

  “I don’t want to wreck my future,” he said at last. “Perhaps I have been unwise in allowing myself to become involved in certain - er - activities which it now seems I shouldn’t have done. However I can assure you that I know nothing about Tracey’s disappearance and I am confident that it has nothing to do with her talk with me on Monday morning. Will that satisfy you?”

  “I’m afraid it won’t.” Charlotte had a sudden inspiration. “Tracey was observed getting into a dark blue car on Thursday morning. It was the last sighting we have of her. She appeared to freely get into the car without being forced, so we assume she knew at least one of the persons in the car. Were you in that car?”

  Again he thought long and carefully about it before he replied. “Yes, I was.”

  “Were you driving the car?”

  “No.”

  “So who was driving it?”

  “Oh, a chauffeur. I don’t know his name.”

  “Was anyone else in the car?”

  “Only some old nonentity who was doing some work for the owner. We were being taken somewhere before school.”

  “Where were you taken?”

  Jason paused for only a few seconds. “Er - to Stokewell House.”

  “What was the purpose of your visit?”

  “I would prefer you to ask the owner of Stokewell House. He will also confirm that Tracey was returned to school before ten o’clock that morning.”

  “And who is the owner of Stokewell House?”

  “Surely you can find that out from the information I have given you.”

  “Of course we can.” Charlotte sighed. “But you might as well tell us, and I will also feel well-disposed towards you because you’ve been helpful in answering my questions.”

  Again he thought for a few seconds. “All right. His name is Charles Hawardine.”

  “Thank you.” Charlotte felt confident that he was now telling the truth. “Well, Jason, I must say that I think you’ve been very foolish in some of your recent actions and in who you’ve made contact with recently. However, as long as you are proved to be correct in your assertion that Tracey Bostock’s disappearance had nothing to do with you, I do not propose to take further action against you. Nevertheless,” she wagged a finger at him, “you must make sure your behaviour is above reproach for the next few months. I’m sure young Karen is more than willing to let you have sex with her, but you must tell her to restrain herself until after her sixteenth birthday.” She smiled grimly. “After that I suggest you think very carefully about your behaviour with her and with any other of your girlfriends. It’s clear to me that you are an intelligent lad with a bright future in front of you. Just make sure you don’t louse it up by getting into trouble before you have taken the first few steps on the ladder.”

  He was silent as he thought about it but the deputy head had no such inhibitions. “I think you should thank Chief Inspector Faraday for being so lenient, my lad. Personally I think you deserve a good thrashing and if I catch you stepping out of line again while you’re at this school, I’ll make sure your parents are called in and you’re hauled over the carpet. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  “Good . Say ‘thank you’ to the Chief Inspector.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  They rose and shook hands. Then, observing he was dismissed, Jason got out speedily.

  “My goodness,” said Gwyneth when he had gone, “one discovers all sorts of dreadful things in this job.”

  “At least I think Jason will be a bit more careful before he gets involved in things in the future.”

  “Don’t worry,” said the deputy head. “I’ll be keeping a close eye on him and I’ll make sure he does.”

  “Well, thank you for your help and support,” said Charlotte.

  A few minutes later she departed, making sure there was still time to catch Stafford before he left for the night.

  - 24 -

  Stafford Paulson received the phone call from London late in the afternoon. He was alone in the office because all the others were out doing searches of various derelict buildings on private land, farms and other possible hiding places in the area.

  It was Richard Harris, who asked for him.

  “That was very prompt,” said the inspector.

  “Is it you I should be speaking to, or DCI Faraday?”

  “I’m dealing with the de Billiere case.”

  “OK. Well, I’ve got some information for you. We’ve been able to gain access to some of Alfred’s bank accounts. The Swiss are much more amenable these days, provided we can show evidence of malpractice. The transactions the man has made appear to be deliberately confusing. He’s been moving a variety of sums from private accounts to funds, from fund to fund and then back again into private accounts in different amounts all the time. However we’ve been able to track payments amounting to about a quarter of a million pounds which have found their way into a numbered account belonging to some other individual or organisation over a period of six weeks between May and July 2009 - approximately two years ago.”

  “That’s fantastic. Thank you very much. Now we can pull him in and start to question him about what the money was payment for.”

  Harris coughed discreetly. “I’m afraid we can’t allow you to approach him yet. Our investigations are ongoing and are far from complete. I checked with Garbutt before I released this information to you and he confirmed that it is for internal use only. We don’t want de Billiere to realise he is being investigated yet.”

  “I see.” Paulson sighed. “Who owns this numbered account that the money has been paid into?”

  “That’s where we have another problem. Our Swiss friends will disclose information about accounts if we can provide evidence of wrongdoing which is being investigated. However they are much tighter on release of information on secondary accounts. They point out quite reasonably that the owner of the numbered account in question may have received the payments in good faith for services or goods properly provided and they are unwilling to release information on that account until we actually provide the evidence of malpractice in direct connection to that account. As I’m sure you’ve already grasped, we can’t very well do that without knowing the owner’s name and his account number. In other words we’ve got to come at it from the wrong direction as far as we’re concerned.”

  “Bloody hell.” Paulson slapped the desk in frustration. “All this red tape gets up my nose.”

  “Well, don’t be too depressed. We’re working on it to see if we can approach the problem from a different direction. Meanwhile, at least you know that if you come up with serious evidence against either de Billiere or this other person, we can provide the financial data. Have you got anything specific you can charge anyone with?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Any bright ideas - using your copper’s nose or whatever you call it?”

  “Nothing, except that the blighter may have smoked Gauloises.”

  “What?”

  “Gauloises. It’s a strong-smelling brand of French cigarette. A butt end of a Gauloises Bleu was found on the boat after Joanne de Billiere fell or was pushed from it and subsequently drowned.”

  “Blimey.” There was a humourless laugh from the other end of the phone. “That should narrow the suspects down to a few hundred thousand.”

  “A lot less than that. We’ve run through police records and only twelve criminals in this country have been recorded as smoking the things. Of those, nine were in jail at the time of her death, one lives in Glasgow and has been ruled out for other reasons and two have disappeared as far as we can discover at present.”

  “So you need to find the other two.”

  “We’ve got a trace out but it’s not high priority at this stage. Of course the killer doesn’t have to have had a criminal re
cord or he may have been a criminal who didn’t admit to smoking Gauloises on his record.”

  “What about the suppliers of the things?”

  “Yes. We’ve tried that line. In our region only one company in Plymouth admits to ever carrying a small stock but they don’t keep records of who they supply them to. They suggest that they are probably mainly bought by foreign sailors calling in from time to time. Apparently there’s a certain taste for them among that group.” Paulson sighed. “We don’t seem to be getting very far on that one. Like your comment on the financial evidence, it will only come in useful if we can find something more positive.”

  “Well, we’ll keep trying and I’ll come back to you as soon as we’ve got some more information or when we can let you take action on the data I’ve already given you.”

  “OK. Well, thanks anyway, Richard.”

  “Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you. I don’t know whether this might help you to identify the person who holds this numbered account, but Alfred de Billiere made another payment into this account nearly thirteen years ago. In fact it’s the payment which set the account up. He was less careful about how he handled his transactions then. The payment was for a single sum of fifty thousand pounds from one of his personal accounts in Switzerland. So obviously the suspected killing of his wife wasn’t the first personal service this individual had carried out for him.”

  “That’s interesting, but it doesn’t get us any closer to finding out who the person was.”

  “Not unless you come up with a suspect who fits that pattern.”

  “That’s right. It’s a thought.” Paulson pause. “Well thanks for that, Richard. I’ll discuss it with Charlotte when she gets back in and we’ll decide where to go next. Meanwhile I’ll hope to hear from you with some more information in the next few days.”

  “OK. Keep your pecker up.” Harris rang off.

  The inspector hung up and sat there deep in thought for a few minutes. It was no good dragging de Billiere in for questioning on the sketchy evidence he had so far, especially as he couldn’t disclose the information he had about the payments which had been made. The man would be able to deny everything and then probably lodge a complaint for harassment. Not for the first time, Stafford wondered whether he was barking up the wrong tree in trying to find someone guilty of murdering Joanne de Billiere. He couldn’t even claim it was recorded as an unsolved crime.

  - 25 -

  When she got back to the department, Charlotte found a rather depressed Stafford Paulson waiting for her. He told her about the call from Richard Harris.

  “Well,” she said, “we’ll just have to file the information away for now. Don’t worry, Stafford, it’ll come in useful one day. After all, Joanne’s death occurred two years ago. Another week or two won’t make any difference.”

  He had to agree with that.

  “Meanwhile I’ve come up with some more information about Tracey’s movements in the few hours before she disappeared.” She told him about her interviews with Karen Tilt and Jason Smart.

  “I’ve been thinking about the next step on the way back. I want to beard this guy Hawardine in his den before he’s got a chance to get rid of the evidence. But it’s something I don’t want to do on my own. Would you be willing to come with me? I think I’d make more impact with you by my side.”

  Stafford was impressed by being asked for help by this self-confident woman. “Of course I will. When do you want to go?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “How about this evening? The wife’s gone to visit her mum, so I don’t have to rush home.”

  “All right. We might as well catch the bloke at the first opportunity. Do you know how to find this Stokewell House?”

  “I think so.” He went to the map of the area on the wall and put his finger almost directly on the spot. “I’ve never actually been inside the place but I can find it all right.”

  “That’s the advantage of local knowledge. Shall we be on our way then?”

  They arrived at the gates of Stokewell House about half an hour later. Charlotte got out of the car and pressed the call button on the grand masonry gatepost. She saw the CCTV camera on the top of the other gatepost swivel and focus on her. Then a metallic voice asked, “Who is it?”

  “DCI Charlotte Faraday.” She took out her warrant card and pointed it at the camera. “I wish to speak to Charles Hawardine.”

  “What is it about?”

  “I will explain when I meet him face to face.”

  There was a long pause while this was considered, then the voice said, “Very well, please drive to the front porch. I will meet you there.”

  The gates swung open as Charlotte got back into the car. Stafford drove up the winding drive and on to the gravel turning area in front of Stokewell House, an imposing but not very large building. A tall, nearly bald man was standing at the top of the short flight of steps which led up to the front door. The detectives got out of the car.

  “Can I help you?” the man enquired.

  “I hope so,” said Charlotte. “Are you Charles Hawardine?”

  The man inclined his head. “That is so.”

  “You know my name. This is DI Stafford Paulson.”

  “My, this must be important to bring two senior police officers to my house at such a late hour.”

  “It certainly is, Mr Hawardine. We are looking for a missing twelve year-old girl called Tracey Bostock, whom I believe you know. She disappeared last Thursday morning about eight o’clock and was observed getting into a large dark blue car. Do you own such a car?”

  “I do.”

  Charlotte was unhappy about carrying on the conversation outside and at a three-foot height disadvantage. “Can we go inside and discuss this in more detail, Mr Hawardine?”

  “Certainly, but please call me Charles.”

  He ushered them through the front door and into a large cool sitting-room on the left of the entrance hall. Charlotte noticed the room was quite grand but rather fluffily furnished in fabrics which seemed to have a lot of pink in them and an excess of bows and frills. It made her feel slightly uncomfortable.

  “Please be seated. Would you like some refreshment?”

  They both took a seat but declined the drink. Charlotte started the questions straightaway. “Can you confirm that you picked up Tracey Bostock on Thursday morning?”

  “I didn’t personally, but my chauffeur did.”

  “And where did he take her?” Paulson asked.

  “He brought her here.”

  “What was the purpose of bringing her here, Mr Hawardine?” Charlotte had no intention of calling him Charles.

  “The purpose? I wished to interview her for a post I had in mind.”

  It was clear to her that the man had been warned in advance that they were coming, probably by a phone call from young Jason Smart, and he had fabricated a story which he hoped would satisfy the police.

  “What post would that be?”

  “Er - well - I wanted a maid to clean and change the beds - that sort of thing.”

  She listened to the lie roll off his tongue. “What - a twelve-year-old girl?”

  “Precisely. She was far too young. Jason had got his information all wrong.” He shook his head. “I sometimes wonder about that boy.”

  “Does he often recruit young girls for you for various services you require?”

  Hawardine raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you are suggesting, Charlotte.”

  She ignored his familiarity. “And when you finished your interview, what did you do with young Tracey?”

  “Do with her? I had her transported back to the place where she was picked up from.”

  “What time was she returned?” asked Paulson.

  “Oh, I don’t know precisely. You’ll have to ask my chauffeur. He’s a very reliable fellow. I’ll buzz him for you.”

  “Please don’t,” said Charlotte. “I would prefer to talk to him privately myself. Where do I find him?”


  “He lives in the converted cottage in the stableyard, just round the corner at the side of the house. He’s probably cleaning the car at the moment. He does it frequently.”

  “Well,” she said, “We’ve finished here so we’ll go and see him now.”

  “Is there nothing else I can help you with?”

  “Not just now, thank you.”

  He sniggered. “You don’t want to search the house to satisfy yourself I’m not holding the girl here against her will?”

  “That won’t be necessary today.” Charlotte knew that would be a waste of time.

  Hawardine held out his hand. “Well it has been a pleasure meeting you. You are welcome to come again any time you wish but I would suggest you ring first to make sure that I am properly prepared to welcome you.”

  She ignored the proffered hand. “Goodbye, Mr Hawardine.”

  “Goodbye, Charlotte.”

  His unctuous manner made her flesh creep. She wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face. “I would be grateful if you would address me in future as Chief Inspector Faraday.”

  “Really?” He looked surprised. “You may be interested to know that I am on Christian name terms with your superior, Chief Superintendent Mark Lasham.”

  Charlotte managed to keep the surprise out of her voice. “That must be very pleasant for you both, Mr Hawardine, however I would be grateful if you would deal with me in a formal manner.” She smiled sweetly. “But thank you for that interesting piece of information.”