Catwalk Criminal

by Sarah Sky

  “You know I’m innocent, and whether you like it or not, I’ve been working the case with Zak.”

  Nathan cracked the knuckles of his left hand. “I know, and that’s partly my fault for not protecting you from Agent Hatfield.” He paused. “No doubt Zak will tell you later that the CIA’s heading the hunt for Lee in the US and MI6 has sent agents to South America, where Margaret has extensive contacts. All our agents are secured now in case LibertyCrossing decides to finally follow through with his threat to publish everyone’s names.”

  Was that likely? Zak had said Rodarte didn’t believe that releasing the agents’ names was ever on LibertyCrossing’s agenda. It was only about freeing Lee Caplin. Or perhaps it wasn’t. She couldn’t think straight. Her head pounded and her body was shaking with tiredness.

  “You should get some rest, Jessica. I’ve already told Rodarte you’re done here. They’ll need to go through me if they want to talk to you again. I’ll drop you home.”

  “That would be great,” she said, rising to her feet. “And Zak?”

  “He’s still in debriefing. He could be a while.”

  She followed Nathan out, steadying herself against the door frame. The agents had vanished and the men standing guard on the front door didn’t attempt to stop them as they walked out. Every part of her body ached and a vein in her right temple throbbed as she walked slowly down the street. Despite feeling rotten, she had to know where she stood.

  “Are you going to lift my suspension? You know I’m not working with The Collective. I was almost killed exposing their operation tonight.”

  Nathan took a sharp intake of breath but didn’t ease up his pace. “It’s not as simple as that, unfortunately.” He guided her towards a black Mercedes, parked illegally on double yellow lines. “Sam’s proved that your dad’s home computer was hacked with a virus, which also attacked your school’s IT system. It had similar coding to the virus that launched the assault on MI6 via your phone, which was also hacked.”

  “Which proves my innocence,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat. “I had nothing to do with the hack on MI6, so what’s the problem?”

  “There’s still the whole accessing Sargasso files business to deal with. That isn’t going away. Your prison visit hasn’t helped matters either – you arrive and suddenly Margaret escapes. Agent Hatfield has her claws into you, but even worse than that, she’s coming after Westwood. She thinks the whole division needs to be closed down. She’s using you as a scapegoat for a much bigger agenda.”

  Jessica gaped at him as he started up the engine. “What?”

  “She doesn’t believe that teenagers should be trusted with state secrets. She’s finding evidence to fit her theory that Westwood agents aren’t up to the job; that the division isn’t needed and shouldn’t even exist.”

  “Does she have the power to close us down?” The words caught in her throat.

  “She’s whispering in the ears of some very important people in government, people who have the power to pull the plug on our funding. If that money goes, so does Westwood. Mrs T has privately confirmed that MI6 can’t afford to siphon off resources from other departments to keep us going.”

  “We have to stop that from happening. Surely tonight has helped to prove that Westwood is needed? That I’m up to the job? I discovered Ossa Cosway’s link to The Collective, something that MI6 hadn’t established yet.”

  Nathan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “Rodarte’s already taken the credit for that. Zak said he suspected a link between Ossa Cosway’s clothes and The Collective and saved your life in the warehouse.”

  “No way!” She stared at him, aghast. Zak was seriously unbelievable. One minute he was telling her how amazing she was and the next, he was stitching her up in spectacular fashion. Hadn’t Margaret warned her that Rodarte always swooped in at the last moment to claim the glory? She hated to think Margaret had been right. Quickly, she reeled off what had really happened.

  “I did wonder about Zak’s version of events…” Nathan’s voice trailed off. “He’s obviously trying to impress his bosses after the disaster at Margaret’s prison. It worked. He’s flavour of the month.”

  Not with her. She’d kill him when she saw him next. “We need to start impressing people big time. We can’t let Rodarte take the credit for everything. We need to find Ossa Cosway, Margaret Becker and Lee Caplin.”

  She had to prove to Agent Hatfield – and everyone else, for that matter – that she was up to the job. If she secured a big success, it’d help Mrs T persuade the men in suits that MI6 needed their division.

  “It’s going to be tricky,” Nathan said. “You know that, don’t you? Agent Hatfield’s mind’s already made up. Plus, we’re already hitting a brick wall where Ossa’s concerned. We’ve got Sam trawling through his HQ, but it doesn’t look good. A virus has been downloaded, corrupting every single computer and iPad in the building. It’s destroyed anything potentially incriminating. It could be a long, drawn-out process, piecing together Ossa’s involvement in this unless he confesses to everything when he’s finally arrested. We don’t have any hard proof of his involvement in any of this, just a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

  “When has it ever been easy? You have to take me back, Nathan. I can help, truly I can, particularly when it comes to Ossa. I know him better than anyone at Westwood or Rodarte. I’m supposed to have a fitting tomorrow ahead of London Fashion Week. I can keep my ear to the ground and find out whether his employees have heard from him or know anything. They’re more likely to talk to me. They’ve seen me around a lot over the last few months.”

  He hesitated. “I’m guessing the catwalk show will go ahead even without Ossa. We can’t close down Ossa Cosway Ltd even after what happened tonight; it’s far bigger than one man. It’s become a billion-dollar worldwide industry, with what appears to be quite a complicated financial structure. It’s going to take us some time to get to the bottom of what’s been happening there.”

  “So use me. Let me see if I can dig up anything.”

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed as he weighed up her offer. “Agent Hatfield must never know. This has to be completely off the books until we manage to turn up something concrete.”

  “Of course. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just Ossa Cosway’s muse, but I’ll be quietly picking up clues along the way. Talking of which, I have this.” She delved into her back pocket and pulled out the bag containing threads she’d taken from the warehouse. “I held off giving this to Rodarte. I was trying to think of a way to get it to MI6 so you could compare these samples against the thread I found at Henry Murray’s boarding house.”

  “Smart move. I’ll get this over to forensics and see if they’ve got an early readout from the evidence at the school. You’re friendly with Lucas over there, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. I spent a few days shadowing him during my training. He’s cool. Why?”

  “He was asking about you the other day. He doesn’t know you’ve been suspended. I’ll tell him to copy you in on the results since you found both leads. He’ll do as he’s told and keep Agent Hatfield out of the loop, without asking questions.”

  “Brilliant.” This was a good start. Hopefully she’d managed to salvage something from the warehouse that was helpful to Westwood; Rodarte didn’t have a sniff about this clue. She hadn’t mentioned it to Zak earlier.

  She sank back in the seat and closed her eyes. She couldn’t waste this chance. Westwood had to fight back. Failure was not an option.

  “Keep still, please. This won’t take much longer.” Christine Cooper spoke through a mouthful of pins. The head dressmaker knelt at Jessica’s feet, doing some last-minute adjustments to the shimmering gold evening gown. It featured intricate beading and gold embroidery around the cleavage and hem, which had come undone. A few threads hung loose and needed tidying up.

  Nathan was
right; the Ossa Cosway show was going ahead at London Fashion Week. The issuing of Ossa’s arrest warrant hadn’t been made public; Westwood and Rodarte didn’t want to prematurely alert hackers across the UK and the States that they were rapidly closing in on them. Miranda Heartley, chief executive of Ossa Cosway Ltd, was only too happy to keep quiet about the impending scandal. She’d been cleared of involvement in The Collective, after remote checks on her home computers, iPads and phones. But she couldn’t shed any light on the designer’s whereabouts. Nathan had said she was terrified about the allegations around Ossa being made public and had agreed to all of MI6’s demands, including signing the Official Secrets Act to prevent her from discussing the investigation with anyone else. She’d also given full access to company documents.

  The secret clampdown meant that agents had been able to seal off the designer’s HQ before employees arrived for work, blaming an investigation by the fire brigade into possible faulty electrical wiring, which they claimed was also behind the warehouse blaze. It enabled agents to forensically examine the computers at the scene without removing them, and check through all the paper personnel files for links to The Collective. Miranda was allowed to make a public statement, announcing that the runway show had been unaffected by the warehouse blaze; most of the couture collection was being stored at another site owned by Ossa Cosway Ltd in West London. Only one jacket, which was undergoing further work, had been destroyed in the fire. In agreement with MI6, Miranda had moved their main London office to this temporary base. It was where Jessica and the rest of the Ossa team had been redirected by email and text early this morning. Others steadily drifted in after failing to get the message and reading the sign on the door of the closed HQ.

  “Sorry I’m late. The traffic was unbelievable.” A young man wearing biker shorts and a helmet strode across the room towards them.

  “Don’t worry, Mark.” Christine flashed him a quick smile. “It’s been a funny old morning for everyone. I don’t think you’ll be the last of the stragglers. We’re still missing a few of our team, including Ossa. He’s not coming in today or tomorrow.”

  “Seriously?” Mark mopped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “He’s going to miss his own show? Is he gravely ill or even dead? Those are the only possible explanations I can think of.”

  Christine continued to stitch the hem of Jessica’s dress. “I’ve no idea what’s going on. We’re always the last to know. Miranda’s not saying a word. She told me to step into Ossa’s shoes and do absolutely everything to ensure the show’s a huge success tomorrow.”

  “No pressure, then!” Mark replied.

  Jessica opened her mouth to speak, but the junior dressmaker was getting into his stride.

  “I swear something fishy’s going on. Ossa’s gone AWOL at the same time that our HQ’s been closed due to faulty wiring.” Mark removed his cycling helmet. “I didn’t see any fire engines outside the building when I swung by this morning, just lots of guys in suits. It’s suspicious, don’t you think?”

  “They’re probably from the health and safety executive,” Jessica said quickly. “I mean, I guess they’re the sort of people who’d be involved in something like this, aren’t they?”

  “Hmm.” Mark sniffed. “It still seems odd to me. Why would the fire brigade assume that the same wiring was used at the warehouse that burnt down and at our HQ? Seems like a big leap to me. I didn’t believe the note on the door at all.”

  That was a good spot, which Nathan may not have anticipated. He’d only had a few hours to come up with a plausible cover story. Had anyone else at Ossa Cosway Ltd begun to smell a rat?

  “Oh no,” Christine said, laughing. “Are we about to hear another one of your mad conspiracy theories? Which one is it today?”

  “Laugh all you want,” Mark replied. “But I’m telling you, Ossa Cosway’s got a secret life.”

  Jessica’s ears immediately pricked up. “What do you mean?”

  Mark dropped his voice. “I think he’s some kind of weird time traveller. Either that, or he’s a really good magician.”

  Now that was a mad conspiracy theory. For a moment, she thought Mark might come out with something interesting.

  Christine rolled her eyes.

  “I’m telling you, Ossa’s some kind of illusionist,” protested Mark.

  “Why? Can he make spoons disappear?” Jessica asked.

  “Ha ha. Not that. But he can stop time.”

  “For goodness’ sake, stop with this nonsense,” Christine said abruptly. She stood up, dropping her box of pins, and jerked her head across the room. “Those dresses aren’t going to steam iron themselves.”

  Mark jumped at her abrasive tone. Red-faced, he bent down to help pick up the multicoloured pins.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Christine tutted loudly. “Don’t encourage him, Jessica!”

  Mark stood up, clutching a handful of pins. “I’ve noticed it for a while now, particularly since we started work on this ready-to-wear collection a few months back. It’s as if time stands still when you’re around Ossa. I double-check my watch and mobile when I arrive at work and they’re exactly on time. Yet when I leave at the end of the day, I’ve always lost at least five minutes, maybe ten, on both. That’s if my phone’s still working. Often the battery’s completely drained even though I’ve charged it that morning.”

  “That is strange,” Jessica said. “I wonder—”

  “It really isn’t odd,” Christine interrupted. “It means that Mark’s a cheapskate and needs to buy a new watch and phone.” She fixed him with a cool, hard stare. “Can you start to do some work? I don’t think it’s asking too much when we’ve got a major runway show tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Right away,” he said stiffly.

  “Good.” Christine frowned, suddenly distracted. “What are you doing with that dress, Amanda? Leave that flower alone!”

  The spikey-haired twenty-something blonde jumped guiltily. She clutched an exquisitely beaded white chiffon gown, studded with large gold embroidered flowers, from the rail. It was the showstopper dress that Jessica was scheduled to wear to close the runway show. She hadn’t had a fitting for it yet. That was next up after Christine had finished altering the hem of this dress.

  Amanda stared at the flower. It was a theme of the show, featuring in different shapes and sizes across the collection. “Something … something’s wrong with this.” The junior dressmaker picked at it with her index finger. “It’s not right. I mean it’s not lying on the fabric as it should, and I’ve noticed there’s…”

  “Put it back on the rack!” Christine stormed towards her, bracelets jangling and eyes sparking with anger. “You don’t get to touch that dress unless I tell you. Do you understand? Have you any idea how long it took me to individually embroider hundreds of flowers? I won’t have them ripped off by some idiot who’s fresh out of college and has no idea what they’re doing. Now back off!”

  Amanda’s bottom lip quivered as she choked back tears. Christine’s reaction was totally over the top; everyone else in the room clearly thought so too. The other dressmakers and models stared, wide-eyed, and then quickly turned away. They didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire. Within seconds, the temperature of the room felt like it had dropped by a degree or two.

  “Is Christine usually that fiery?” Jessica whispered. She meant “bad-tempered”, but figured it was best to be careful. She didn’t know how close a relationship Mark had with her.

  “She’s a creative, like Ossa, and expects things to be perfect,” he replied equally carefully. “If things aren’t perfect, she gets slightly irritated.”

  Mark was talking in code too. Christine had a nasty temper. Jessica remembered the argument between the dressmaker and Ossa at the Teen Vogue shoot; that clearly hadn’t been a one-off. Back then, she’d assumed that Ossa was being unreasonable, but
was it the other way round?

  “I guess Christine’s stressed out,” Mark said hastily. “Miranda will blame her if the show isn’t its usual huge success. Vogue magazine editors from Italy, America, Paris, Brazil and Russia will be flying in specially. From what I’ve heard on the grapevine, there will be other important guests in the front row too. It’ll be a disaster for the brand if it goes badly.”

  “Of course,” she said, straightening her dress. She could see why Ossa’s no-show had become a big problem for Christine, but was it necessary to reduce a member of her team to tears?

  “It wasn’t only me,” Mark said suddenly.

  “What?” Jessica’s eyes followed Amanda across the room as she sneaked off, teary-eyed. Presumably, she was going to compose herself in the toilets. Christine stood at the clothes rail, examining the gown.

  “You know, what I was saying about time stopping. Christine thinks I’m barking mad. But believe me, I’ve asked around and it’s happened to other people; their watches always slowed down and their mobile phone batteries ran flat back at HQ. I guess it’ll be OK today since Ossa’s not here.”

  “I believe you. I don’t think you’re mad, by the way.”

  “Thanks. The conspiracy theorist in me thinks that maybe Ossa found a way to mess with our watches. That way he squeezed an extra five or ten minutes’ work out of us each day.” He winked at her. “It’s all smoke and mirrors in fashion.”

  He picked up an iron, saluted Jessica with it, and waltzed a bemused male dressmaker over to another rail of dresses, a safe distance away from their boss.

  OK, so she took that back. Mark was a tiny bit mad. She pursed her lips as two more latecomers slipped into the room. Zak was clad in biker leathers, clutching his rucksack and chatting to a smitten-looking Bree. Great. Her nemesis had also been picked for the Ossa Cosway show. Bree looked horrified when she caught a glimpse of Jessica in a mirror. She studiously avoided making eye contact as she scooted off towards the changing area. Did she fear a public showdown?