As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series)

by Boyd, Damien

  Jake’s home screen looked much like his own but there were subtle differences. There were all the standard icons for Phone, Music, Mail, Internet and the like. There was also Newsstand. Dixon had never understood what Newsstand was for, nor had he ever worked out how to delete it. Jake had also installed the Climber Magazine app and the Crags Climbing Log Book. Dixon looked up the Police Station wi-fi password and connected Jake’s iPhone to the internet. He then returned to the Home screen.

  Jake had not received any email but the App Store icon was displaying an update alert. The figure 1 in a red circle at the top right corner of the icon indicated that one app needed updating. Dixon touched the App Store icon and opened the Updates screen. It showed a Twitter app requiring an update and gave the new version number. Dixon pressed the Home button and returned to the home screen. He then tapped the Photos icon and spent five minutes looking at Jake’s photos. All of them climbing photographs. He recognised the sea cliffs at Gogarth, the Dinorwic slate quarries and, inevitably, Cheddar Gorge.

  His mind wandered back to climbing on the slate. It had always suited him. The rock was rarely vertical and it was possible to stay in balance on the tiniest of foot and handholds. Jake had enjoyed climbing on slate too and had proved to be exceptionally good at it, bagging a number of outstanding second ascents. Dixon remembered a whole week spent ticking all of the routes on the Rainbow Slab, including a second ascent by Jake of Raped by Affection (E7 6c).

  There was a knock at Dixon’s office door.

  ‘Come in, Jane.’

  ‘We’ve got Hunter’s bank statements, Sir.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He has two accounts with Barclays in Burnham. A current account with small change in it and a savings account with just under one hundred and forty grand.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money for a divorced postman, wouldn’t you say? Do we know when it arrived?’

  ‘17th May. The bank checked with him and he told them it was an inheritance, apparently.’

  ‘I bet he did. That’s the money from the second trip to Dubai.’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Well, now we know why Dan was killed. And it’s reasonable to assume we’re sitting on what the killer wants.’

  ‘We are.’

  ‘Get back onto the bank and find out where that money came from, will you?’

  ‘They’re coming back to me with that information. Anything on the laptop or phone?’

  ‘Not really, no. You have a read of it, see what you think.’ Dixon handed her the report.

  ‘Yes, Sir’

  ‘I’d better take Monty for a walk.’

  Dixon arrived back from Victoria Park to find Dan Hunter’s post mortem report on his desk. Single gunshot wound to the head. Dan had been alive when he entered the water but, almost certainly, unconscious. The time of death was given as between 1.00pm and 4.00pm on Sunday afternoon. Nothing new.

  Dixon spent the rest of the afternoon watching the CCTV footage from Burnham the evening before Jake’s death. There was extensive coverage, which the local CCTV Control Team had provided. It included Automatic Number Plate Recognition but, sadly, this did not make it any more interesting. There was over nine hours of footage in total from four different cameras. Not only that but Barclays and NatWest had also been able to recover the footage from their cashpoint cameras and a police constable had been despatched to collect it.

  Dixon watched with his finger hovering over the fast forward button. After nearly three hours he had seen nothing of note. He stopped the tape, went back to his office and sent an email to DCI Lewis asking for a junior officer to assist with reviewing the CCTV footage. He then shouted across to Jane.

  ‘Fancy a drink, Jane?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. Where are we going?’

  ‘The Vic.’

  Dixon drove out through Bridgwater and headed north on the A38.

  ‘We’ll stay off the motorway, I think. What did you make of the High Tech report?’

  ‘Disappointing. I was hoping there’d be some email or chat exchange with our man.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Maybe all of the contact was in person?’ asked Jane.

  ‘If it was we’re in deep trouble. The only person who could identify the dealer was Hunter.’

  ‘That would explain why he was killed?’

  ‘It would. But then so would the money.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘We’ll see what we find in the Vic but I’m not holding my breath. The CCTV is the better bet but we’re not entirely sure what we’re looking for, are we?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  Dixon was deep in thought. Suddenly, he thumped the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  He stamped on the brakes and swerved into the entrance to the British Car Auctions depot. The car behind swerved to avoid him and hooted its horn in a loud blast. Dixon spun the Land Rover around and was trying to cross the northbound traffic and head south.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Was there any mention of a Twitter app in the High Tech report on Jake’s iPhone?’

  ‘No, there was a Twitter account but no app. There were some climbing apps and Words With Friends but he hadn’t installed the Twitter app.’

  ‘Yes, he had,’ said Dixon, spinning his wheels as he sped across the line of northbound traffic and headed south. ‘I looked at his phone. There was an App Store Update alert and it was Twitter.’

  ‘But it may be for the same account?’ said Jane.

  ‘We’ll soon see.’

  They were back at Bridgwater Police Station within ten minutes. Dixon retrieved Jake’s iPhone from the evidence store and switched it on while he walked up to his office. Jane was waiting for him in his office.

  ‘Are you familiar with this Twitter app?’

  ‘No, Sir, sorry.’

  Dixon unlocked Jake’s iPhone and looked at the Home screen. There was no Twitter app icon. He showed it to Jane.

  ‘Try the Utilities folder,’ she said.

  Dixon touched the Utilities folder icon and there it was, the familiar blue square with a white songbird in flight. Without hesitation, Dixon opened the app.

  ‘Will it work if it’s not connected to the internet?’ asked Jane.

  ‘It’s opened but I don’t think it will update, that’s all.’

  Dixon placed the iPhone on his desk and sat in his chair. Jane was standing behind him looking over his shoulder.

  The app opened at the Home page, which displayed tweets from users Jake had been following. It had not been opened for some time, as evidenced by the most recent tweet being timed seventeen days ago. Dixon had never really understood Twitter and skipped the @Connect and #Discover icons, opening instead the section called ‘Me’. This displayed Jake’s full name and username, the number of tweets, following and followers, as well as the Account Settings button. There was a direct messages icon in the form of a grey envelope on a white background. Next to Settings was an icon Dixon did not recognise. It looked like the head and shoulders of two people in silhouette. Dixon pointed to it.

  ‘What’s that one?’

  ‘No idea, Sir. Open it and see.’

  Dixon tapped the icon. The screen turned clockwise to reveal a new page headed Accounts. There were two. Dixon recognised the first. It was the account detailed in the High Tech Unit report. The second account was new. The full name was Armitage Shanks and the username @NewSlatesman. Dixon tapped the screen and it rotated anticlockwise to reveal the new Twitter account.

  ‘You crafty bugger, Jake,’ muttered Dixon.

  ‘He had a second Twitter account?’

  ‘He did. And someone in High Tech needs their arse kicking. New Slatesman is a rock climb in the slate quarries in North Wales. Jake got the second ascent last year.’

  ‘What about Armitage Shanks?’

  ‘We were in town, years ago, and got stopped by someone with a petition. Jake gave his name then
as Armitage Shanks. They make loos.’

  ‘I know that, Sir.’

  ‘Funny thing is, when it was my turn to the sign the petition, I gave my name as Jake Fayter. He never forgave me for that.’ Dixon smiled.

  He tapped the ‘Me’ icon.

  ‘He’s only following two people and got two followers, look,’ said Jane.

  ‘And they’re the same people. A private party perhaps?’

  The first account belonged to Desperate Dan with the username @Quarryman1971.

  ‘I’m assuming Dan Hunter was born in 1971?’

  ‘He was, Sir. What’s the significance of Quarryman?’

  ‘Another climb on the slate. Take a look at the second account. Get it?’

  ‘Perry Falco and @DuckHawkMan. Doesn’t mean anything to me,’ said Jane.

  ‘Falco Peregrinus is the Latin name for the Peregrine Falcon and Duck Hawk is the American name for it. That, Jane, is our dealer.’

  ‘Can we get Twitter to tell us who he is then?’

  ‘I doubt it. Fake name. Probably a fake email too and I bet he’s hidden his IP address behind any number of proxy servers.’

  ‘Could be abroad even?’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t when he stood next to Dan Hunter and shot him in the eye.’

  ‘True.’

  Dixon looked at all three accounts. None had ever tweeted.

  ‘Must be direct messages then,’ he said. He returned to the ‘Me’ screen and tapped the grey envelope. This revealed a page entitled Messages. There was only one entry, an exchange started by Perry Falco @DuckHawkMan. It was not recent, as evidenced by the ‘198d’ adjacent to it.

  ‘One hundred and ninety eight days ago, I suppose?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Beginning of April at a guess,’ said Dixon. He tapped the arrow to open the message string. ‘This is it.’ Dixon reached for a pen and paper and wrote out the messages exactly as they appeared on the screen.

  09/04 09:34

  Millennium girls

  birthday 27 November

  09/04 19:17

  Wish them a Happy Birthday

  from me

  10/04 10.02

  Ring me on 313050

  10/04 17:12

  Will do. Give me a couple

  of days

  13/04 20:46

  Well?

  14/04 07:32

  We are in luck

  14/04 15:49

  Party starts Manchester on 17th.

  Entry code EK018. You’ll be met

  18/04 21:20

  Great party. Loving it!

  30/04 09:12

  Fancy another trip?

  30/04 14:43

  Yes!

  02/05 08:14

  Same birthday. Ring me on

  312100

  05/05 20:12

  On way to Manchester.

  Same entry code?

  05/05 21:42

  Yes. All booked

  ‘It’s a load of crap.’

  ‘Code is the word you’re looking for, Jane. It’s a load of code.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘That’s what we need to find out, isn’t it? For starters, I’ll bet you a tenner that Manchester EK018 is a flight number. What price Manchester to Dubai?’

  Dixon opened Google on his computer and typed in EK018.

  ‘There we are. Manchester to Dubai daily. Emirates flight 18. An A380 no less.’

  ‘So, they flew from Manchester to Dubai on 17th April.’

  ‘Better check with Emirates. And find out who booked and paid for those flights.’

  ‘Now?’

  Dixon looked at his watch. It was nearly 7.00pm.

  ‘No, in the morning will do. You head off home.’

  ‘Yes, Sir. What about the rest of it?’

  ‘Setting up the two egg stealing trips, I expect.’

  ‘Not the most elaborate code, is it?’

  ‘Probably never expected anyone to read it. They just dressed the messages up as innocuous crap that wouldn’t attract attention. Easily lost in the billions of direct messages passing daily on Twitter.’

  Jane went home leaving Dixon sitting at his desk. He turned back to the piece of paper in front of him. He had always hated crosswords, particularly cryptic ones. The millennium girls’ birthday on 27th November was clearly significant, whoever the millennium girls were, as were the telephone numbers with no dialling code. Most importantly, though, he now had proof of the dealer’s existence.

  Dixon looked at Jake’s iPhone. It was his only means of communication with @DuckHawkMan, unless he could follow him on Twitter. He turned back to his computer and went to twitter.com/duckhawkman.

  @DuckHawkMan’s tweets are protected.

  Only confirmed followers have access to @duckhawkman’s Tweets and complete profile. Click the “Follow” button to send a follow request.

  ‘Fuck it.’

  Dixon did not hold out much hope of a Follow request being accepted and, without the password, his only access to the second Twitter account was through the app on Jake’s iPhone. He made up his mind quickly. He put the empty evidence bag in the bottom drawer of his desk, slipped Jake’s phone into his jacket pocket and went home.

  Dixon drove north on the A38. He was not entirely comfortable with his decision to take Jake’s iPhone but consoled himself with the knowledge that he needed to move quickly. Various clichés occurred to him, that the end would justify the means and an unfortunate one involving omelettes and breaking eggs. But there was no escaping the simple fact that he had crossed the line. At worst, it would involve a disciplinary process and a reprimand. At best, he would get away with it. It was a risk worth taking.

  He stopped off at the Chinese takeaway in Burnham-on-Sea and managed to fit in ten minutes on the beach with Monty while his food was being cooked. There was a full moon, which made Monty visible in the dark. It was one advantage of a white dog.

  Dixon was home by 8.30pm. He fed Monty and then set about his takeaway. In between mouthfuls of chow mien, he opened a can of lager, powered up his laptop and switched on the TV. He opted for The Wild Geese. It was a film he had seen many times and it helped him think.

  He opened Internet Explorer and typed ‘313050’ into Google. The results were disappointing. He scrolled down through entries that meant very little to him, a hex colour code, whatever that was, and what appeared to be a zip code in Denver. The last entry on the first page was more promising and came from streetmap.co.uk. Dixon clicked on it and found himself looking at a map of Shrewsbury. He scrolled down looking for further information and clicked on a link to ‘convert coordinates’. This opened a new window, which gave easting, northing, postcode, latitude and longitude and grid reference. Dixon did not recognise the other entries.

  Dixon could see that 313050 was the northing. He recognised the grid reference format, SJ 500 103, but was unfamiliar with northing and easting. He went back to Google and typed in ‘northing’. Within a few clicks he was on Wikipedia learning about all-numeric grid references, ‘quoted as pairs of numbers’.

  ‘Pairs of numbers’ was the key. He looked again at the first of the Twitter direct messages, ‘millennium girls birthday 27 November’. He wrote down 271100 next to it on the piece of paper. It had to be the first part of an all-numeric grid reference.

  He was on gridreferencefinder.com in a matter of seconds. He entered 271100 for the easting and 313050 for the northing and clicked ‘go’. Moments later he was looking at an aerial view of Cader Idris in the Snowdonia National Park. Next he entered 271100 and 312100 and found himself at the foot of the Pencoed Pillar, again, in the Cader Idris region of Snowdonia.

  Dixon reached for Jake’s iPhone. He opened the Twitter app, navigated to direct messages and tapped out a message to @DuckHawkMan.

  I’ve got your money.

  He took a large swig of lager and clicked ‘Send’. It was going to be a long night.

  The reply came within minutes.

  Who is this?

 
Dixon was stunned. He had not expected a response at all, let alone one so quickly. He was suddenly aware of the implications of what he had done and what he was doing. He had removed evidence in a double murder investigation and, if he was right, was now in direct contact with the man who had put a gun to Dan Hunter’s head and pulled the trigger. He was also the man who had killed Jake.

  He took a swig of lager and turned his attention to his response. An honest answer to the question was not an option. ‘This is Detective Inspector Nick Dixon, Avon & Somerset CID’ would bring the exchange to an abrupt halt. Any chance of finding DuckHawkMan would be gone in an instant. The obvious answer was to masquerade as Sarah Heath. It would be entirely plausible that Jake’s girlfriend would have access to his Twitter accounts. It would be equally plausible that she had access to the money from the second Dubai trip. This might be the means of bringing DuckHawkMan out into the open.

  Dixon reached for Jake’s iPhone, which was on the arm of the sofa. His hand was shaking. He suddenly became aware that his heart was beating loud and fast. He took a deep breath and began tapping out a reply.

  Sarah Heath.

  His finger hovered over the send button. He hesitated. It occurred to him that DuckHawkMan might know where Sarah lived. If he knew Jake, it would be reasonable to assume that he knew where Jake lived and that would lead him to Sarah. He might even know where she worked. The answer was obvious. Dixon needed Sarah‘s co-operation. He threw what was left of his chow mien in the bin, picked up his car keys and set off towards Burnham.

  He had no real idea how he was going to persuade Sarah to co-operate; particularly after the hard time he had given her in interview. Not only that, but as far as she was concerned, Jake had killed her sister. It was certainly not going to be easy but he had to try. Not least for Dan Hunter’s sake.