by David Barry
Brad studied me, a gentle smile pulling at his mouth, almost as if he could read my thoughts. Just then I heard a child bawling in the street outside, followed by a mother yelling at it.
‘Yes,’ Brad chuckled, ‘there is a real world outside, which intrudes from time to time. So you can rest easy.’
I let my breath out slowly, relieved I hadn’t become trapped in a virtual world of machines. Even though this gleaming emporium of gizmos and gadgets looked hygienically flawless, I think I preferred the squalor of the disreputable world outside. This one was too make-believe for me.
‘An impressive room,’ I said. ‘But each to his own. Call me old-fashioned but I think I prefer a bit of - shall we say normality?’
He laughed.
‘But don’t get me wrong,’ I added apologetically, ‘I guess this is your work station, and this is where you can catch me a troll.’
‘Exactly. But you must tell me all about it.’
He saw me looking about for furniture to sit on, but there was only one high-backed black swivel office chair in front of a glistening silver workstation.
‘So why don’t we go into the kitchen and chill, have some coffee, and you can give me some details of this cancer on your computer?’
He ushered me along the bare hall to his kitchen at the far end. As I’d suspected, this was not going to be just any old cooking area. Pristine and shiny, it was a technological space for advanced gastronomy. Not a hint of wood to be seen anywhere. This was truly a space-age kitchen. But on the sparkling work surface was a tell-tale ready meal carton, and I suspected his eating habits were far less cultivated than his ultra-modern kitchen.
He gave me a friendly smile. ‘How d’you like your coffee?’
I glanced at his expensive espresso machine. ‘Strong and black, please.’
‘Double espresso, do you?’
‘Perfect.’
‘Make yourself comfortable.’
He gestured towards a sky blue plastic table and four matching chairs that would have looked more at home in a trendy Hampstead playschool. He turned his back to me to make the coffee and I surveyed my surroundings. Apart from the empty ready-meal carton, everything was horribly clinical. Not a glimmer of untidiness or anything to upset the sterility of this kitchen that resembled an operating theatre. I wondered if he had some sort of Howard Hughes problem, fear of dirt and germs.
Still with his back to me, as water gurgled through the espresso, he said, ‘I haven’t got a fear of dirt like old Howard Hughes, you know.’
Uncanny. This man could read my thoughts. On the other hand, it was obvious to anyone visiting this house that his taste in immaculate modernism was extreme, and he probably felt a need to explain himself. The Howard Hughes comparison seemed pretty obvious, so I was not about to be spooked by it.
‘I didn’t think for one minute...’ I began.
‘I like order in my life. I’m a geek, you see. If my surroundings are uncluttered, my brain is organised and methodical, ready to solve some of the most challenging technologies. And it seems to work. I can usually solve most cyber problems. Which is why I’m way ahead of my game.’
Grinning, he carried two white china cups and saucers of thick black espresso over and sat opposite me, pushed one of them across, and looked me straight in the eye, almost as if he expected me to dispute his cyber superiority claim. I was reminded of my conversation with Trev the Rev when we discussed the geek’s ego, and just to confirm how large it was he went on to tell me about how he would have liked to have been around during the war, stationed at Bletchley Park to work on the enigma code, hinting that he could have broken the code quicker than Turing and shortened the war by many more months.
I sipped my coffee, waiting for him to conclude this testimonial to his brainpower. Eventually, he grinned and shook his head. ‘You must think me highly narcissistic and conceited, going on about myself like this. But I try not to hide my light under a bushel. I like to be realistic about my computing skills. What line of business are you in, Freddie?’
‘I supply doormen to West End Clubs.’
‘So I guess you must be quite handy with your fists.’
‘It has been known.’
‘Good. Now, please tell me about your daughter’s problem with this troll.’
I gave him the details, told him about the troll’s email address, and explained how much more threatening the emails were becoming. He frowned and stared at the table as he listened intently. When I finished, he looked up at me, his eyes moist, as if he was emotionally involved in Olivia’s predicament.
‘I think I can help you, Freddie.’
‘How d’you know, Brad, even before you’ve - you’ve done whatever it is you’ve got to do?’
He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trade secrets, Freddie. But I guarantee I can stop this rat contacting your daughter again. And for this service, I charge three-hundred cash up front.’
Of course, I hadn’t expected to use his services for free, but for three-hundred I wanted a result. The doubt must have showed in my expression because he held up his hands in surrender.
‘Freddie, I promise you I will put an end to this monster once and for all. I’ll even find his location for you. I suspect you’re a man capable of dishing out a reprisal that will end this demon’s career as a cyber paedo. First let me tell you a little true story. Ever heard of the artist James McNeil Whistler?’
I nodded.
‘Well, Whistler painted a portrait for a client in just over an hour, and charged him forty guineas for it. When the client complained that it seemed an excessive sum for an hour’s work, Whistler replied: “My dear, sir, you are paying for the knowledge of a lifetime”.’
I shook my head. ‘And the point of the story is - ?’
‘You will now part with three-hundred, and I will go into the other room, and when I return in half an hour - or maybe a bit longer - I will have achieved the success you desire. Providing you can find something with which to amuse yourself during that time. Feel free to make more coffee.’
‘My mobile’s been alerting me to many calls or texts which need answering. But I didn’t think you could get a result that quickly.’
‘If it takes longer, I’ll let you know. But I’m good. Believe me, I’m very, very good. Hour at the most.’
I took out my wallet, counted out fifteen twenties, and slid them across the table. After he had pocketed them, he grinned and said, ‘Make yourself at home. I’ll be as quick and as thorough as I can be.’
After he’d gone, I checked my mobile. There were two texts from Nicky, saying she had some very bad news and she needed to speak to me as soon as possible. There were also two alerts to my voice mail, and when I checked them one was from Nicky, again saying she needed to speak with me, and one was from Bill. I checked my watch. It was 10:15. I still had plenty of time to get back to London for our lunchtime meeting with Alice. I sent Bill a text, saying I wanted to speak to him privately and asked him to meet me for a coffee at Marine Ices near the Roundhouse prior to the meeting. I also sent Nicky a text, saying I would call her in about an hour’s time.
I gazed around the soulless room, wondering how I could pass the next half hour or so. I decided another shot of espresso was not a good idea, so I checked thoroughly to see if there were any hidden CCTV cameras in the kitchen. I didn’t think there were and, being a nosy bugger, I got up and thought I’d take a look inside some of the kitchen drawers. His house was so regimented and clinical, I wondered if he might suffer from OCD. I pulled open one of the drawers, which contained a tray of gleaming cutlery. The one beside it was filled with a disorderly array of kitchen utensils. Its untidiness dispelled my notion that he suffered from OCD, unless it was a question of out of sight out of mind.
The next drawer was more interesting. It was fi
lled with official documents which proved irresistible to my enquiring mind. The document on the top of the pile was a folder from a firm of local estate agents. I glanced furtively over my shoulder and listened for the sound of a door opening and footsteps along the hall, just in case the American decided to return for any reason. Then I opened the folder.
To say it was a thunderbolt would be a gross exaggeration. But my mouth must have dropped open as I stared at the photograph. It was a picture of the derelict night club I had driven past on my way into Sheerness, and it was being offered on a 75 year leasehold sale for £170,000. I rifled hurriedly through the other pages until I came to the deeds for the property. Brad Shapiro had purchased the scuzzy building - a cash sale for £155,000.
I shut the folder, placed it back neatly on top of the pile, and shut the drawer. I sat back at the table, wondering why this American had purchased a derelict night club. Maybe, I thought, he wanted to expand his virtual empire and create a space similar to the HQ of SMERSH. I could picture the scene as he sat in a swivel chair in front of a bank of monitors while stroking a Persian cat. But my imagination ran away with itself. The reason was probably far more mundane. Maybe he planned on reopening the premises as a night club. I almost laughed at the idea. A new night club opening on the Isle of Sheppey. From what I’d seen of the place, it wasn’t going to happen. So perhaps, I guessed, he was thinking of broadening his computing business and needed bigger premises. Maybe he planned on recruiting staff. He was clearly talented and ambitious, so perhaps this was the first step in building a multinational company.
Whatever the reason, it had nothing to do with me. All I cared about was getting Eclipse to leave my daughter alone. And if he could manage that, as far as I was concerned he could use the premises to open a brothel.
I spent the next half hour checking with some of my club doormen, to see if there were any problems to sort out. Fingers crossed, everything seemed to be running smoothly, with the exception of one club where a doorman had broken someone’s wrist in a fight. The punter, I was told, deserved it, having attacked a young girl, and it was unlikely he would press charges for assault. Jack, my Nigerian bouncer, who I have now put in charge of four West End clubs assured me that the incident would be sorted and there would be no repercussions.
Twenty minutes later, Brad Shapiro came back into the kitchen looking pleased with himself.
‘A great result,’ he said. ‘Couldn’t be better. Your daughter needn’t even change her email address. You’ll have no more trouble from this Eclipse moron. Guaranteed.’
I could feel the grin spreading across my face. ‘That’s fantastic, Brad. Let’s hope whatever you did works.’
‘Oh, it’ll work all right. And you might like this.’
He gave me a little square of white paper on which was scribbled the name Alexei, with the address of an internet café in Krakow.
‘Should you ever decide to go over there, you won’t find him too difficult to locate. He operates from this internet café. I know Aleksy is quite a common name over there, but this one is the Russian spelling - Alexei. So you shouldn’t find him too difficult to track down.’
‘I hadn’t planned on a trip to Poland, but I’ll give it some thought. And now it’s sorted, maybe I should just let it go.’
Brad shrugged. ‘Whatever you decide. You never know. At least you have the information.’
‘Yeah, thanks for that, Brad. Much appreciated.’
‘I know I’m not cheap. But you get what you pay for in life.’
I saw his giant ego surfacing, the way he smirked cockily, his eyes full of executive arrogance. But what the hell! He had done me and my family a favour. And, giant ego or not, Brad was charming. I liked the guy.
He patted me on the shoulder, walked me to the door, and told me to drive carefully. I drove around the corner and parked the car. Then I called Nicky to hear her news about Rick, and gave what I thought was a convincing performance in pretending the first I knew of his death was on hearing about it on the news first thing this morning.
Chapter 14
Bill turned up at Marine Ices and slid into a seat opposite me. A cappuccino was on the table at his place which I had already ordered
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But why here?’
I looked around the ice cream parlour, taking a deep breath to indulge in its milk and coffee aroma. ‘They serve excellent ices, so I’m told.’
‘I’ll stick with the coffee for now. So what’s the big secret? We have an office just round the corner.’
‘I’m not sure I want Nicky to know about Rick’s death.’
‘She already knows. She’s very upset. Course, she didn’t know him that well - ’
‘You know what it said on the news about his murder being a violent robbery?’
‘Yeah. Bastards killed him for a few lousy quid.’ Bill’s eyes narrowed shrewdly and I saw the beginnings of a knowing smile. ‘But you’re going to tell me something different.’
I nodded and told him in detail the events of the previous night. When I’d finished he stared at me silently for a while.
‘Well?’ I prompted. ‘What do you think?’
‘Same as you. That was no robbery. Too much of a coincidence.’
‘That’s why I wanted to meet you on your own. I don’t want Nicky to find out. She’s a bright woman and she’ll come to the same conclusion as you did. That it was no robbery and it was made to look like one.’
‘And you’re worried that if you tell Nicky what happened, she’ll insist on the police being brought in.’
‘Exactly.’
At the table next to ours sat an elderly couple, too focused on consuming chocolate ice cream to converse. I saw Bill glance in their direction before he leant forward and lowered his voice.
‘So why didn’t you involve the police, Freddie? They might have been able to help catch the bastard who’s targeted Olivia?’
‘I don’t know. It was impulsive. My instinct told me I was involved in something much bigger than internet threats.’
‘All the more reason to involve the police.’
‘I’m not so sure. Don’t forget: Brad Shapiro, this American on the Isle of Sheppey, has got form. If the police took him in for questioning, things might have been different.’
‘In what way?’
I went on to tell Bill about my meeting with Shapiro and the way things had worked out to my family’s benefit, which was more important to me than anything else.
At the end of it, Bill shook his head and said, ‘This is like a tower block stairwell: it stinks, mate. If Rick’s murder wasn’t because of a robbery, we are looking at a killer silencing him to stop you from finding out about this Eclipse.’
‘Which I have done.’
‘So why wouldn’t he have killed the American?’
‘Maybe the killer doesn’t know about him. As Rick himself said, he wasn’t exactly a professional hacker. He might not have been as skilful as Shapiro.’
‘But are you sure this Shapiro geezer’s managed to put a stop to this Eclipse?’
‘No, not entirely. After I’d left his place I phoned Nicky, then I sent a text to Michelle telling her I hoped it was sorted. I haven’t heard back from her yet.’
Bill screwed up his face as if he was in pain, and I saw his hands curling into fists.
‘Christ! There’s something still not right about this.’
‘You don’t have to state the obvious, mate.’
‘I mean, if Rick’s murder wasn’t a robbery, is his killer just going to accept defeat? If you have managed to silence this Eclipse, is he just going to give up and go away. Assuming, of course, this internet monster is the puppet master.’
I sipped my coffee, which by now was stone cold. ‘Look, all I’m trying to do is protect my family,�
�� I protested as I slammed the cup into the saucer, startling the couple next to us. ‘I had to get to this Shapiro bloke before the police did, and maybe he’s done the trick. Maybe I was wrong to just walk away from Rick’s murder, but I think Shapiro might have helped. I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I get. He’s arrogant, I’ll give you that. But I got the impression he knows what he’s about.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right.’
‘And what about this meeting with Alice?’ I said, glancing at my watch. ‘Since last night we’ve got nothing much to report, have we?’
‘That’s where you’re wrong, mate. We’ve got a new lead.’
I looked at him, waiting for the details, but he shook his head.
‘I’ll let Nicky tell you herself. It was mainly her legwork - ‘ he mimed a telephone at his ear - ‘which got a result. And she’s been so upset over Rick’s murder, she deserves a pat on the back.’
I eyed him knowingly. ‘You sure there’s not more to it than that?’
‘How d’you mean?’
I sat back and chuckled. He knew what I meant.
‘Come off it, Freddie. A boss pulling an employee is not a good move.’
Chapter 15
When we got back to the office, Nicky, who was sitting behind her desk, got up quickly, rushed forward and flung her arms around me. I heard her sniffle and felt a tear on my cheek. She moved back, wiped the tear away, and offered me a brave smile.
