by Phil Brett
‘Oh, er, um.’ She was stammering, clearly not sure whether she should tell me. ‘I suppose it was the same as you. He wanted to know who was working here, their backgrounds and what I knew about them.’
‘Did anything come up which we might have missed?’
I could sense that she was having an internal battle as to what to tell me.
‘No,’ she finally said.
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Nothing that I haven’t already told you,’ she replied, in a tone which was increasing in defensiveness.
I wondered if that was true. After all, something had led to his murder.
I didn’t push her because it would be better to do that face to face. I did have one question before she could return to her bed. ‘So, why did you not tell us that he had contacted you?’
‘You hadn’t asked.’
It wasn’t a clever answer.
‘Well, actually, I did when I first rang, but you seemed reluctant to answer. And, comrade, I should point out that both I and Victoria asked you to get in contact with us if anything came up, which we should know about. To be honest, I would say that a leading party member making similar enquiries as us and who winds up dead is something which might be of interest to us. Why the mystery, Janet? What exactly is the problem?’
Her voice was hushed. Surely, she didn't also fear the great Dr Brakus? But no. ‘He asked me to keep it a secret. Insisted upon it.’
‘And you did. To the extent of keeping it from us. We who are investigating the murder of comrade Harrison. Sorry, Janet, but I don’t understand why.’
She merely repeated that he had asked her not to say anything.
‘Even to us?’
Did I imagine it, or did she actually draw in breath?
‘He specifically told me to keep this from you.’
‘Me?’
‘Er, yes.’
‘Keep it secret from me?’
Her voice was raising in fluster. ‘Yes. Well, no, well not just you. He meant all the comrades investigating Harrison's murder.’
That was odd. ‘Did he say why?’ I asked.
‘No.’
She went off into a fluster of stuttering and stammering which added nothing to my sum of knowledge. Eventually, I put her out of both of our miseries and said that we would be paying her another visit tomorrow.
‘We'll be there at nine, so you better get some sleep,’ I said, not giving her a second to oppose the idea.
After hanging up, I sat thinking, before doing something I couldn't believe I was doing. I rang Roijin Kemal.
She answered on 2D visual on the third ring. Dressed in sweat pants and t-shirt, she was sitting in a large old leather armchair.
‘Pete? What's up? Has something happened?’ She looked worried as to why I would ring her at such a time. Or, indeed, at any time.
‘No, no, Roijin. Sorry to disturb you.’ I told her about Youssef not wanting to involve us.
Her smile was what you might call ironic. ‘He didn't trust us?’
‘Seems not.’
‘You think he thought that one of us is the killer?’
‘Seem so.’ My conversational skills had gone to bed.
Her smiled broadened, becoming more ironic. If a smile can. ‘So, why are you telling me? Couldn't I be the one?’
Responding to a rare touch of anything which could not be classified as hostility, I returned the smile with interest and grinned. ‘I'm risking that.’
‘I'm flattered, comrade. So, what can I do for you?’
‘Have we found anything of use in Ali's communications which might point us to what he was looking into?’
She shook her head, whilst pushing away an animal, which I guessed was a small dog. ‘No. There has been a systemic clean of whole swathes of his files. His databases are the same as Olivia's. It is just blank. Total blank.’
‘Could we not try to look at the files of the other end? Say, if he had contacted me, then the record of it might be erased on his computer but what about mine?’
‘Erased as well. It's a simple programme. Basically, in non-tech speak, it erases first the subject's computer, then travels to others which are connected, cleaning them.’
‘Surely you could tell which computers have been wiped, which would at least help us to know who he had contacted?’
‘Only if we directly hack into the software of the people that Youssef or Olivia contacted. So, to use your example: yes, if Youssef had emailed you, I could see in your account a gap where there had been one. But I would have to know, in the first place, that he had emailed you, for me to search yours. There is no direct trail from the home accounts to others showing erasure. It's a chicken and the egg. I have to specifically direct a search to trace such a gap, but to do that must mean I already know that they contacted someone. So finding the gap only confirms that.’
I understood, which was, I guessed, the reason for Roijin keeping the language not technical and barely multisyllabic.
‘And if I gave you suggestions?’
‘I could do that. Have you any?’
I sure did. ‘For both Youssef and Olivia, check for searches on the backgrounds of all staff at the fracking centre: cleaners, technicians, guards, anybody. You have the list. We have done this for Olivia already, but do it again. Then cross match it with Youssef's. Also try to find out if either contacted anyone on the list directly.’
‘No probs, comrade. Anything else?’
Bombshell time.
‘Yes, do exactly the same for anyone connected with the CIM. Youssef Ali didn't trust us. We need to try to find out why not.’
‘You want me to hack into the personal databases of all those working on this case?’
I noted that she had used cop-speak. ‘Yes, anyone involved in this case. If it makes you feel any better, include me.’
A dark eyebrow raised. This was illegal, immoral, reactionary, uncomradely and unsocial. It was wrong. But she understood.
‘Okay. You want me to get back to you ASAP?’
‘Yeah. I don't think I'm going to be doing much sleeping tonight. So anytime.’
She rang off.
Was I going to get any sleep tonight? I looked outside. It wasn't snowing. Good. Time not to go to bed. I got up and went to fetch my helmet.
32. Angelica archangelica
Outside Youssef Ali's home, a comrade shivered, blowing into his hands and nodding hello as I approached. It had been Victoria's idea to contact the NWC stewards who had been disturbing Ali's neighbours with photos of Jack Foxton. They'd know who had been designated as the comrade who was monitoring any comings or goings to the house. Thus, Christopher Stein, a rather cold looking man in his sixties, was waiting for me. After exchanging brief greetings and finding out that we had once met, he let me in. There were no questions as to why I wanted to visit a murder scene in the middle of the night. Evidently, Victoria had explained everything. All he did ask was if it was alright if he waited inside. Feeling that a refusal might not be that fraternal, I told him that he could sit in the living room. Not seeing that as a hardship, he disappeared with a palm-set to, in his words; see what was up in the world.
That left me to start my search. My thinking was simple. It usually was. If Ali had decided to try to find out what Olivia Harrison was investigating, then there might be a clue here as to what he had found. All his communications and databases had been wiped, but my guess was that Ali would have known what a personal risk he was taking. Olivia had been murdered. The killer had hidden their tracks. Ali was no fool; he'd have realised that a similar fate might befall him, so he would have made a provision for such an eventuality. I was sure that Ali would have left something which might escape the notice of our diligent murderer, but might help us to catch them. That was the theory, anyway. I think it was known officially as “grasping at straws”.
The stewards, under the guidance of Asher Joseph, had conducted a thorough search of the place, but that didn't deter m
e. It wasn't going to be that obvious. Ali had lived through the emergency clampdowns and had known clandestine work, so he wouldn't have just left it at the mercy of a few electronic click wipes or a big post-it with the killer's name. Either here or at the NWC, there was something. I was sure of it. Victoria was too, and had gone to the NWC to search again the office space he shared.
So, I started in the kitchen, with not the faintest idea of what I was looking for. After over an hour of opening drawers, emptying cookbooks, peering into pots and behind appliances, I found nothing. Not even a cobweb. Ali kept a clean ship.
Next was the bathroom, with toothpaste, soap and everything else. All I achieved there was a quick toilet break. Bedrooms one, two and three followed. Found nothing. It had been such a great idea coming here. I sat on the landing and sighed. I had been in there for nearly three hours and had found sod all. Just the lounge to go. I was sure that old comrade Chris was going to be well cheesed off, but there you go. I trudged down, woke him up and shooed him out. With that, I got down on my hands and knees and delved into the backs and sides of the furniture. My lovely bathroom cleanliness was ruined, with the human
detritus in my finger nails, dust on my knees and dirt on my cuffs. Not a good look. And still found nothing.
Returning to the kitchen, I found Chris once more asleep. Gentle purring, with the occasional cough, kept me company as I sat opposite him. He probably didn't know it, but he was sitting in the exact position where Ali had died. Looking at him didn't give me any inspiration. I had been here for most of the night and had found nothing. A complete waste of time. Perhaps I had been wrong. Or I just couldn't see it. We had a conference call in ten minutes. I truly hoped Victoria had found something.
My eyelids were getting heavy, and I felt that lethargic illness you had when you'd been up all night without youthful vigour or artificial stimulants to help. I felt cold and sick. Cupping my chin on my hands, I felt the stubble growing, demanding a clean shave. Without moving from my prop, I looked around the kitchen with my half-closed eyes.
‘Come on Youssef,’ I whispered to myself, and maybe even to Youssef as well. ‘You would have left something for Nev, wouldn't you?’ Maybe I should have rung him and got him to come over. He would know if anything was out of place. That would have been the sensible thing to do, but we were hard pressed for time. Still, maybe I should have. The question remained - did he leave anything for us? It couldn't have been too obvious; otherwise, the killer would have caught on and removed it. But then, perhaps they had? Perhaps it was long gone.
My sleeping companion was now mumbling and even giving the odd a slight chuckle. I wished I could find something funny. And sleep. I gazed past him into space, near where the ONE odour clearer had been. On the wall was a digital calendar. I'd already looked through it. No amazing messages were there. Not even profound political comments. Just things like when to get the shopping and when the refuse was being collected that week. Each month featured a natural history photograph. This month's was one of stampeding zebras. Epic and dynamic. The notes included a dentist appointment, someone called Jemma having a birthday party and some scribbles. I looked at one. 08051808. Possibly a phone number? A password maybe?
I got up and walked over to take a closer look. As I did, I realised that it wasn't a phone number. It was too short and there was something which I hadn't seen from the table. It wasn't 08051808, but 08.05.1808. It could still be a password but somehow I thought it unlikely with the dots. 08.05.1808. It was more like a date. But it couldn't be.
But then it clicked. I almost yelled in triumph. ‘Oh, Youssef, you bloody, wonderful, clever bastard. You clever, clever man!’
Chris stirred, but it was when my phone went off that he really woke up. He jolted upright, dropping his palm-set onto the table. For a moment, he was disorientated. Then he saw me and remembered. I hadn't been what he had been dreaming about.
Ushering the much-put-upon Chris back into the lounge, I answered. All the gang were there. In glorious 3D visual, we all appeared in Ali's kitchen, all looking in differing stages of tiredness. Asher Joseph sat nursing a hot drink and a hang-dog expression, Roijin Kemal didn't look much more awake and Victoria looked fit to drop. Then again, it was now almost five in the morning.
Predictably, Victoria immediately took control, and came straight to the point. ‘Okay, let's make this quick. Ash, you go first. Found anything?’
He shrugged his large shoulders and pulled a face. ‘Just bits I'm afraid, comrades. Er, okay, Thierry Walsh first. I've found out from the comrades looking into the Hackney East explosion that they think they know how the bomb got into his lunch box. Seems it was a standard issue from the Dalston Communal Catering Halls. He picked it up on the way to the station. He arrived, spoke to one of the people there telling him what he wanted, and took it away. Half the people there are casual volunteers, so no one could remember exactly who served him. They were pretty certain that it wasn't staff. Obviously, there's no CCTV there. So, basically, someone with enough front could turn up and be in line to serve up his grub. Security ain't that important where sandwiches are concerned.’
Roijin pulled a face. ‘And I'm guessing that it will take a while to track down the volunteers who were there?’
He nodded. ‘We'll do it, but it isn't going to happen before tomorrow.’ He stopped and sighed heavily. ‘I mean, later today. So, it gets a small step to understanding what's happening, but it's only a tiny one.’ He stopped again, trying to marshal his thoughts. ‘Okay, sorry, this is all over the place, but this thing's like an octopus or spider's web or . . .’
Eventually, he gave up thinking of an analogy. ‘Anyway, onto Ali. I see Pete, that you're in his kitchen. Well, I can say that his heart rate was low when it actually stopped. Now, if he had killed himself, you would have expected there to be a spike in his adrenalin with the thought of what he is about to do. That it is low suggests that he was unconscious. I would guess that this was because of one of two possibilities: either he had been drugged or someone had knocked him unconscious. With the absence of any drugs in his system, I would guess that he was hit on the back of his head, where the bullet exit would have obliterated the wound. In a sense, it doesn't matter how because, quite obviously, you cannot blow your brains out whilst being unconscious, which confirms our theory that he was murdered.’ He face palmed. When all his features had returned to their correct positions, he announced that he found nothing else. ‘Sorry, it's not a lot.’
‘Thanks, Ash,’ Victoria mumbled, looking visibly downcast. ‘I have to say that I haven't got much more. Pete's idea was that if Youssef had decided to follow Olivia's lead and take up amateur investigating, then he would have left some clue as to what he had found—’
I was about to say something along the lines of, if he was an amateur, then did that make us professional? And what implications did that hold? I decided not to. It wouldn't be helpful. Not at this ungodly hour.
‘Pete’s thinking was that Ali would have fully known the risk he was taking and so would have left something behind to indicate his suspicions.’
Roijin gave an ironic laugh. ‘That's quite a large haystack you've constructed and a tiny needle. Especially as you're not even sure what type of needle it is, or even if it exists.’
Victoria didn't argue. ‘Indeed, which is perhaps why I didn't find anything. I went to the NWC and searched again the office he shared. I did the same with anywhere he had worked. I tried every database I could find. I found loads of things that I have no idea what they mean: they could be what we are looking for, but equally could have no relevance at all. If we had a whole police force, organised apparatus and time, then we could sieve through them. But we don't. I also grabbed a few people who were still there. There is an all-night session preparing for the conference, and I interviewed them. But I have to say that I didn't get anything which lights my fire. Nothing.’
For a moment, the projections projected despondency and defeat. It would be lig
ht soon, and whatever was being planned would be about to take place.
It was Roijin's turn. She spoke in a voice which quite obviously was designed to be hopeful and upbeat. ‘I spoke to Pete, and he asked me to see if I could find any holes in databases which would indicate that Ali or Harrison, or both, had searched them and our killer had wiped them. Well, firstly, I can say that Ali looked into the backgrounds of all those involved in the CIM. Investigating the investigating investigators, so to speak.’
Surprise met her announcement. ‘Everyone?’ Asher asked.
‘Pretty much so. You, me, Pete, Vic, Glen, Jack and Gita, for starters. I managed to find several searches into our backgrounds. Not just us, though. Everyone who has attended our Community Information Meetings has been looked into. What he found, or was looking for, I cannot tell you, but for each there is a space, indicating a wiped memory. I looked at the meetings’ sign-in sheets and found that, in total, there were just under fifty people involved. Each one had traces of being searched.’
She paused for questions. There weren't any, so she continued. ‘Also, again at Pete's suggestion, I checked the fracking personnel files, or what is left of them, for staff, and I found that Ali had looked at them. Again, I cannot say when, why or what for. But we now know both he and Olivia were interested the staffing, recruitment and retention of personnel related to the South Downs Fracking Centre.’
Stopping, she looked around for a response. Whether through tiredness or something else, all she received were non-committal nods. She shouldn't be surprised. She had confirmed that the fracking centre was involved, but we knew that really. What we didn't know was how. The interest shown by Ali was new, but did that help us much? So, now were we to suspect fifty people? Did the fact that one of them was Jack Foxton indicate anything? Again, it came down to the fact that we were acquiring mountains of data, but was any of it relevant? To find out would take a lot of people a lot of work hours. We didn't have either.
Victoria nodded. ‘Thanks, Roijin. We will need to decide where we go with that info. So, Pete, hopefully you have something more positive, or at least concrete, that we have managed to do.’
