“Was it just the pancuronium? Did he —”
“Cut him? No.” Pierce sighed. “I’d better get back inside. Was there something you needed to tell me?”
Kate hesitated briefly before answering. “No. No. Rain-check on the coffee?”
“Definitely.” Kate could hear that he was smiling again, and she found her own lips forming a smile in return as she hung up. Then her smile faded. Wuss! You should have told him!
“Argh!” Kate put down the phone and cradled her head in her hands. Part of her wanted to call Pierce right back, tell him everything and turn all the responsibility safely and completely over into his hands, and the hands of the London Metropolitan Police. The other part…
Kate jumped to her feet, grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and made a beeline for the door. As she stepped into the hallway, Kate nearly ran over Jimi Khan, her arms laden with three black binders packed to bursting.
“Whoa! What gives? Oh, it’s you, Kate.” Jimi’s annoyed expression faded only slightly as she recognized the American woman. Jimi liked Kate, she really did, but the girl seemed to be constantly running at top speed. Kate grinned broadly in response and the remainder of Jimi’s annoyance melted away.
“Jimi. Are you busy?”
“Of course. I work in the DNA Lab. Why?”
“I need your help.” Kate took Jimi’s arm and steered her toward a small alcove in the hallway. “Has Neville come in today?”
Jimi frowned, puzzled. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Wouldn’t you have seen him?”
“I saw him this morning. He said he would be at the doctor’s office today. You know, for his arm.” Kate looked around before continuing. “Okay, Jimi, leave your stuff here. It will only take a few minutes.”
“What will only take a few minutes? Kate?” Jimi set the binders down on Kate’s desk and followed Kate back out into the hallway. They paused at the end of the hallway and Jimi watched as Kate peeked around the corner. “Kate?”
Kate looked for a moment longer, then turned back to face Jimi. “Do me a favor… Keep a lookout.”
“Lookout for what?”
“Neville.” Kate quickly stepped around the corner and continued down the hallway a short distance, stopping in front of the third door on her left.
Jimi scrambled after her, stopping as Kate took out her lock-picking kit and leaned over the doorknob. “What are you doing? What’s going on?”
“Long story,” Kate replied, the click of the lock opening punctuating her words. She smiled at Jimi. “I need to go through Neville’s drawers. Keep an eye out for him, okay?”
“And if I see him?” Jimi asked anxiously.
“Just… Use your imagination.” Kate opened the door and slipped inside.
“My imagination.” Jimi sighed and leaned against the wall beside the door. “Bloody hell.”
***
Kate closed the door behind her and looked around the office. It was meticulous, perfect… Shit, thought Kate. Messy would have been nice, Neville. How inconsiderate of you. She glanced at the clock on the wall then quickly moved to the desk and began opening drawers.
Ah-ha! Here is the messy I was looking for! Kate smiled and began leafing through the contents, pushing things this way and that. The drawers were filled with the usual office matter – paper, pens, clips of various sizes and designs, index cards, lined and unlined, of every color available on the market.
Kate sighed and reached for the final drawer in the center of the desk. Locked. She glanced at the clock again — it had only been five minutes — then looked toward the shaded window that faced the hallway. Jimi was still there, busily pretending to have an animated conversation with someone on her mobile phone as she kept a lookout.
Kate knelt down and looked closely at the lock. It was larger than your average desk lock, but Kate could see that it was just a common pin tumbler. She glanced up again at the door, then the clock, then quickly reached into her jacket and pulled her little black lock-picking kit out again. She carefully slid it open and removed the two tools she needed: a hook-pick and a torsion wrench.
Kate turned to the lock and slid the tips of both tools into the lock. She maneuvered the hook pick, positioning the curved tip so that the point made contact with the first tumbler pin inside the lock. Slowly, she levered the hook pick down, raising the pin until it clicked into place at the shear line. She slid the torsion wrench forward, angling it to hold the pin in place, then proceeded to the second pin, then the third. Kate glanced at the clock again as she finished with the third pin. It was taking a little longer than she had expected. Must be out of practice, she thought, as the last pin slid into place and the locking mechanism rotated freely.
Kate pulled the drawer open and began to push around the contents, searching for… she wasn’t entirely sure what. There were receipts for photographic equipment, an empty bottle of Vicodin and beside it what looked suspiciously like a doctor’s prescription pad. She pulled some of the papers out of the desk, depositing them unceremoniously on top of the desk. They immediately slid, sending several pieces onto the floor. Kate groaned with irritation and turned to scoop the papers up. Then she froze, staring at a photograph that had fallen from the pile.
The edges were worn from handling and the sheen of the photo was faded. On the upper right corner, there was a smear of a dark substance, possibly dirt, or…
Blood. Kate shivered involuntarily and picked up the picture. Even with these differences, it was unmistakably the same picture she had seen at the home of Doctor Thomas Flynn.
It was the same picture she had seen amongst the evidence taken from the VW van near the Henry Bell crime scene.
Kate turned the picture of Helen Flynn over. There was writing on the back and she strained to read it in the dim light.
“To my beloved Percy… ‘Innocent is the heart’s devotion with which I worship thine’… with all my love… Mary.”
Kate lowered the photograph slowly. There was a little part of her that had hoped, truly hoped, that she was wrong, that the whole thing with the crime scene photographs was just a mistake. But this…
Shelley... son of a bitch. Kate leaned back against the desk and rubbed her temple firmly. Her head was beginning to pound, and she felt overly warm and sick to her stomach. She had always prided herself on her knack for reading people, figuring out their needs and motivations, but this totally blew her out of the water. Neville Crane was an odd duck, to be sure, but she never would have thought him capable of this.
Kate could feel the burn of tears welling in her eyes, but the feeling that was building within her now was not one of sadness or confusion or grief. It was anger.
She quickly jumped to her feet and shoved the papers back into the drawer. She picked up the photograph again and looked for a moment at Helen Flynn’s beautiful, smiling face. Then she stuffed the photo back in the drawer and closed it firmly, the lock clicking back into place.
Kate hurried to the door and opened it a crack. Jimi was still stationed nearby, busily fumbling her mobile as she dramatically typed an imaginary text or email or something. The hallway was quiet.
Kate stepped out, shutting the door silently behind her, and was by Jimi’s side in seconds. “Jimi.”
Jimi jumped, nearly throwing her mobile down the hallway. “Bloody hell! Good, you’re done. I was starting to get panicky.”
“Are you going to be here for a while?”
Jimi frowned. “Here? You mean at Lambeth?”
Kate nodded. “Yeah. I need you to keep an eye out for Neville. Let me know when he comes into work. Okay?”
Jimi hesitated before answering. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to go do a little yard work. See ya later.” Kate winked, then hurried down the hall, around the corner and out of sight.
Jimi sighed and grumbled, “Brilliant.”
16
Murder Squad, New Scotland Yard
Owens closed the yellow manil
a folder in front of him and let out a deep sigh. That was the last of the paperwork, for now at least. He removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes, his hand drifting upwards onto his forehead and his fingers running through his thick brown hair. He could go ahead and leave for the day… Hagen had said as much before he marched upstairs to the Commissioner’s office for what Hagen had anticipated would be a verbal spanking regarding the Dempsey fiasco.
The young Scotsman leaned back in his chair and looked around the room. It was relatively empty, unusual for this time of day, but the Norton and Bell crimes had meant a great deal of extra hours on the job for everyone in the Murder Squad. Now the attack on John Dempsey had raised the stakes even higher, and Hagen was taking no chances. He had posted detectives at the hospital to keep watch over Dempsey, just in case the perpetrator decided to finish the job, and many of the other Detective Constables and Sergeants in the unit were out on the streets following lead after lead obtained through the dedicated phone line that the Met had set up.
Owens glanced up at the wall clock. It was nearly five o’clock, too late for tea, too early to fight through the crowds and grab takeaway for supper. He sighed again and leaned forward, pulling out his crosswords and grabbing up a pen from the desktop. A little mental relaxation first, then…
“Detective Constable Owens. Just the man I need to see.”
Bollocks! Owens knew who it was before he even looked up and he couldn’t keep the annoyance from his face. Whether that annoyance was because his crossword was being interrupted, or because he knew that some sort of shenanigans was in the wind he could not be sure.
Kate slipped into the room and quietly crossed to him, pulling a chair from a neighboring empty desk and sitting down quickly.
“I need you to —”
“Help me out.” Owens sighed again, voicing his annoyance with the interruption. “What now?”
“Okay, so…” Kate paused, glanced around, then leaned closer before continuing. “I need some help with a computer issue.”
“A computer issue?”
Kate nodded. “Yes.”
Owens frown faded slightly as puzzlement began to take its place. “And this has what to do with me?”
“Well, it doesn’t take a genius of any kind to see that you pretty much have the market cornered when it comes to knowing what’s what. I’ve seen you on the job. If anybody knows who I can talk to about getting some… assistance… it’s you.”
Owens fought to keep his frown in place even as he felt the wave of pride well up inside him. He didn’t do the job for thanks, not at all, but to know that people noticed, other than Hagen and Pierce…
“What kind of issue is it?”
“I need to get some photos off a computer. Crime scene photos, from Regent’s Park.” Kate leaned back in the chair, glancing around the squad room again before continuing. “Although, I may not need the computer help if I can just see the photos I sent over here.”
Owens frowned. “What photos?”
Now it was Kate’s turn to frown. “What do you mean, what photos? I printed them off the other day, sent copies to Hagen as he requested. You mean, there aren’t any here?”
“No. I would have seen them if they were.” Owens watched the young woman’s face darken with what could only be called anger. He truly hoped it wasn’t anger at him.
As quickly as it had descended, the storm of anger on Kate’s face faded. “Okay, so, we’re back to the computer issue. I need to get into a computer and access those crime scene photos.”
“Someone from IT over at Lambeth should be able to help you with that,” Owens offered.
Kate shook her head. “Nope, that won’t work. The computer isn’t at Lambeth.” She flashed a cryptic smile. “In fact, it isn’t actually… mine.”
Owens sat back hard in his chair. She could NOT be asking what he knew she was asking. Accessing a computer was not difficult, if you knew what you were doing. He’d done it several times himself, helping out his mum or aunt or a girl he really liked and saving them a few hundred pounds in maintenance fees. But this –
“So, do you know someone who could do it?”
Owens hesitated a moment. His brain told him to send her away empty-handed, to follow procedure…
“Constable?”
Owens glanced at his computer. “Sorry. Yes, I know someone who could do it. We’ll need a different computer terminal, though.” He stood quickly, grabbing his jacket from off his chair and picking up his messenger bag from the floor. He paused in the doorway, looking back at Kate. “Are you coming, Miss Gardener?”
Kate smiled broadly and jumped up. “It’s Kate. Where are we going?”
Owens grinned as he hit the lift call button. “Somewhere… inconspicuous.”
***
“Click” Cyber Café, Soho
Kate deposited two extraordinarily generous cups of coffee on the table and sat down, glancing at the handsome young Scotsman beside her. It was difficult to place his age, but she guessed he had to be at least in his mid-twenties. She noticed the slight set to his jaw as he sat at the computer, his posture anything but relaxed as his dark eyes darted here and there on the screen. Kate noticed his eyes flick briefly in her direction before returning to the screen, his posture quickly becoming more tense. She smiled to herself.
He was nervous.
Kate’s eyes moved up and away, taking in the busy cyber café. “This is inconspicuous, huh?”
Owens’ voice was low as he replied. “Half the people in here right now are doing the same thing we are about to do.”
Kate pursed her lips. “So, when committing a crime, surround one’s self with fellow criminals?”
“In a manner of speaking. All right, whose computer are we accessing?”
“Neville Crane.”
Owens frowned. “His office computer?”
“Nope. Home.”
“Why would Crane have crime scene photos on his home computer?”
Kate hesitated, her jaw clenching, her fists balled in her lap. She was clearly upset, not about him asking the question, but perhaps that the question needed to be asked at all. Owens saw her jaw release, then she answered him.
“Trophies.”
“Trophies?”
Kate closed her eyes wearily. “Yes, because keeping other men’s penises in jars is messy and unreliable. Can we do this, please?”
Owens turned toward her, his hands leaving the keyboard, his voice hushed as he spoke. “Just a minute… Are you saying that Neville Crane is the Regent’s Park killer?”
“That’s what these photos are going to tell me.”
Owens nodded curtly and turned back to the screen. “All right. Do you have an address for his home computer?”
“No, but —”
“Bollocks.”
Kate chuckled at the young man’s curse. “BUT… I know that he did connect his computer at work to his home computer before. Does that help?”
“Oh, yes.” Owens nodded, a slight smile spreading across his face as he began typing. “If I can get access to his office computer, I can step straight over to his home computer. As long as it’s turned on.”
“And if it isn’t turned on?”
Owens grinned. “Then we’ll just have to switch it on, won’t we? Here we are.” Owens’ grin quickly faded as the homepage for the FSS system came up on the screen. “You wouldn’t happen to know his password, would you?”
Kate took a breath, holding it as she typed in a sequence of letters and numbers in the login box and hit enter. Seconds later, the screen came up, greeting him as “Neville Crane”.
Owens’ eyes widened. “How did you —”
“Know his password?” Kate finished. She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “I saw him type it in once. I just… remember things that I see, you know?”
“Right then.” Owens reached for his own coffee, taking a quick sip as he stared at the screen. “Are you certain the photos are not on his w
ork computer?”
“If they are, I couldn’t find them.”
Owens set his cup back down. “Let’s take a look.” He began to type and click through rapidly, pulling up files and folders on the computer with cryptic names comprised of letters and numbers.
After looking through several folders and opening several promising files to know avail, Owens leaned back in his chair. “Bollocks,” he muttered, his deep brogue harsh with irritation.
“There’s still his home computer,” Kate offered quietly.
Owens shook his head. “Perhaps, but we can’t get into it.” He pointed to the screen, as he clicked several times on the screen. “He doesn’t have Remote Access enabled. See here?” He shook his head again. “That’s not enabled, there is no chance we can get in. Not unless he is sitting at the other end and lets us in. And since as you say these photos present some kind of proof that he committed a crime, I do not see that happening.”
“Fuck!” Kate quickly clamped her hand over her mouth as heads around the café turned their way, some shocked, others stern and accusatory. “Um, sorry. I have… it’s a… condition.” Kate slumped down in her chair and glared at the computer screen. “That’s it then.”
“I’m afraid so. The files were there, they left footprints, if you will, but there isn’t anyway to pull them up. Not without utilizing forensic data recovery. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, you tried. Thank you.” Kate drained her coffee cup and stood. She turned to go, then stopped.
Owens held up his hands. “I won’t say a word.”
Kate grinned. “Thanks. I’ll see ya.” She turned and wove her way through the crowded tables and terminals of the café.
Owens watched her leave, then turned back to the computer screen. He reached for the mouse – and froze. Owens could feel the knot in his stomach grow tighter and tighter as he watched the cursor move across the screen, opening a new blank document file. The cursor moved to the left-hand side, choosing a large font size and hitting the “bold” key. Then the cursor dropped down to the document. Seconds later, uppercase letters appeared on the blank page:
The Memory of Trees (Kate Gardener mysteries Book 1) Page 9
