by J. D. Weston
The database was striped across several block-level storage systems, with a combined storage potential of one hundred and twenty-eight petabytes, in a RAID one plus zero configuration.
LUCY was powered by one high-powered, uninterruptible power supply, with three identical UPS in passive mode. Beyond the UPS power, a backup generator stood ready to kick in.
LUCY's capabilities included the ability for Reg to view and manage multiple pieces of software to provide a single view for satellite imagery. He could then identify the location, speed, height above sea-level and temperature of the digital tracking chips that allowed Reg to monitor the team and suspects.
In addition to the tracking chips, which were just five millimetres square, LUCY had the ability to monitor mobile phones on virtually any network internationally. This allowed Reg to not only hear the conversations but access a live view of a smart phone's interface, which provided access to messages, calendars, contacts and more.
LUCY also managed the comms system the team used on operations. Tiny ear-pieces were worn by the team that linked with the headquarters using various communication methods, including VHF radio. The ear-pieces had a tiny button for push-to-talk, or, if the operative wanted to open the comms, they could keep the button pushed in for two seconds, and the channel would remain open. Anybody else on the encrypted comms system would hear everything.
Through LUCY, Reg could group the tiny chips, and assign a particular group to a particular person. Once assigned, habits were monitored, patterns were analysed, and the information was stored in a database to be called upon faster than manually identifying trends in the individual’s habits. He could even set alerts that identified if a person being tracked deviated from their usual habits. He knew that Melody visited Starbucks every morning without fail. When she didn't get a coffee one morning and drove straight to HQ, Reg asked her if Starbucks had been closed, which freaked her out; and she'd told him so.
“Tenant, show me-“
“Already on it, sir.”
He browsed the groups in the directory tree on the left of the window and expended the view to find Harvey. Harvey had four chips. His phone, his bike, his leather jacket and his wristwatch. The wristwatch had been the hardest to plant, as Harvey only ever took it off when he trained, and even then it was in clear view. If Harvey had caught him, he imagined the consequences to be quite severe to Reg's own health. But he had pulled it off with the help of Frank, who had called Harvey to his office while he was beating the crap out of his punch bag.
LUCY dialled in on Harvey. All four chips were travelling at seventy miles per hour on the A406 North Circular Road. They watched as the speed reduced every now and then as Harvey slowed for the speed cameras. They watched him all the way.
They said nothing, but the tension grew as Harvey drew closer to Pudding Lane. When he was coming through Hainault, Frank said, "Get him on the phone."
Reg used the on-screen digital phone application to dial Harvey's number, he routed the audio through the speakers and mic that he used to communicate with the team through their ear-pieces.
The call rang out, and a woman’s voice told them that the number they had dialled had not responded.
"Again," said Frank.
Reg tried again. On the third attempt, they saw the bike slow and stop in a pub car park at the top of Pudding Lane. The call rang out again, and once more they heard the dull tones of the woman telling them that the number they dialled had not responded.
"One more time," said Frank, "Denver, is that van ready?"
"Wait," said Melody, "he'll call us, on his terms. Just wait."
Reg’s audio system started to play the default ringtone through his speakers.
“You alone?” asked Harvey.
“The whole team is here, you’re on loudspeaker,” Reg replied.
“Donald Cartwright, what’s his location?”
Frank stepped closer to the screens, though he couldn't see a microphone, he spoke loud and clear, "It's not as easy as that, Stone, you don't get to run free and take care of your own personal projects, especially when they compromise the entire case."
Frank turned to Melody who nodded.
“I need to do this,” said Harvey.
“You’re either with us or against us, Stone. There is no half-way point.”
Harvey didn’t reply.
Frank pushed a little harder, "You come back now, and we can work this case together, you might even help us arrest your brother."
“Foster brother,” Harvey reminded him.
"Well, like I said. If you choose to go your own way, you'll be on the ten most wanted list in under an hour, and every cop in the country will be onto you. I can't have rogue agents, Stone. I can't just watch you go after a known suspect. We need the man behind the operation, and that isn't Donny."
Harvey didn’t reply.
Frank pushed again, "Harvey, what d'ya say? Come on back, and let's do this together. We want you in this team."
“I can’t. I need to do this.” He disconnected the call.
“Shall I call back?” asked Reg.
"No," said Melody, "that's enough for now."
Denver had joined the rest of the team at Reg's workstation. "The van will be another hour, I'm halfway through an oil change."
“Okay, finish it fast. The three of you are going on a recce. Mills, surveillance. Tenant, LUCY and comms. Load the van now, you’re out of here as soon as Cox is finished.” Frank turned to walk up the steps.
Reg had a flight case with everything he needed inside. It was ready on the floor by his desk, along with a large sports bag. He continued to watch Harvey.
Harvey seemed to be parked up in a dead end turning passed the entrance to the old farm. Reg hit refresh on the satellite imagery of Donald Cartwright’s phone. Cartwright was still at the location. Then the icon began to move across the screen.
“Wait, Cartwright is on the move.”
Frank turned and joined him again. They watched as Donny drove past Harvey and Harvey began to follow him at a distance. The screen looked like a cheap eighties video game.
When Donny's phone lost its signal, Harvey continued on for another mile, then stopped at a petrol station.
“What’s he doing, Tenant?” asked Frank.
"Not sure, sir. Did he see Cartwright turn, or was he too far behind?" he set an alert to sound when Harvey's phone was unlocked so he could monitor his phone.
"Harvey wouldn't be too far behind. He's a pro," said Frank admiringly.
Five minutes later, LUCY announced activity on Harvey’s phone. Reg hit the green Voyeur button he had created, and the display on Harvey’s phone appeared on Reg’s screen. They watched Harvey search for Barnaby Brayethwait.
“Barnaby Brayethwait?” said Frank.
"Second name on the list, sir. He messaged the suspect's phone shortly after Donny. I read his name out before Cartwright's, Harvey must have remembered his name and is looking for another way in."
“Mills, get me everything you can on this Barnaby guy. What’s he doing Tenant?”
“Well, sir. The average bloke would just search for the name and the accompanying address, but Harvey-“
“Isn’t the average guy is he?” finished Frank.
They watched Harvey search instead for the local Labour office, and the address of the Epping office came up on Harvey’s phone.
“Barnaby Brayethwait. Fifty-three. Local Labour MP for Redbridge Labour, been voted in three years running. Divorced, two children, one seventeen and one twenty, both girls. The girls both live with his ex-wife in Walthamstow, E17. He lives on his own in Upminster, Essex. Drives a blue BMW M3.”
“What time does he finish work?”
“No time stated, but the office closes at three pm, presumably if he’s been voted in three years running, he’s not the type to cut out early.”
“But he is apparently the type to visit an illegal brothel and murder a prostitute?”
"Just n
ot in working hours, sir," remarked Reg, with a smile that faded as Frank's glare grew.
"Harvey's not hitting him tonight," said Melody.
Frank followed her eyes back to the screens. Harvey was searching for an Airbnb.
"Good. He'll hit him tomorrow morning and you three will be there to make sure nothing goes wrong," said Frank, as he turned to walk up the steps.
5
Even Monsters Cry
Harvey left the Airbnb where he'd stayed early. He'd showered again, and dressed in the same clothes. On the ride from Chigwell to Epping, he took a twenty-minute slow cruise through the lanes. It was a fresh morning, and the sun rose behind a blanket of clouds as he made his way through the winding roads.
The high street was growing busy with the early morning traffic. People walked to the train station with their hands stuffed deep into their pockets, their heads down, and their chins tucked into the neck of their coats or scarves.
Harvey knew the street where the Labour office was; he didn't need to do a recce. It was one of the main roads out of town, so he drove instead to the coffee shop that he and Julios had once used for their meets. The coffee shop was warm inside; he chose a seat by the window with his back to the wall. Old habits.
He didn't recognise the waitress, it had been six months since he was last there. While waiting for his coffee, he went over his plan in his head. He would park up near the Labour office and check the Barnaby guy out when he arrived to work. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was early doors and ideas were brewing.
His original plan had been to wait for Barnaby to finish work and follow him home, then Harvey would have more time to extract the information he was looking for. But time wasn't on his side, the team would be following his every move. So Harvey made the evening option plan B and moved onto the morning option, plan A, which was more brutal and would be more effective.
At seven thirty am, he made his way to the offices, looking for somewhere inconspicuous to park his bike. Finding a discreet spot on the pavement, Harvey tucked his helmet into the motorbike's back box, locked it and strode off on foot towards the Labour office car park. He found a suitable place to stand and wait, mimicking a man waiting for a ride to work.
Barnaby was the MP for the area; he would wear a suit to work and probably drive a nice car. A Mini pulled into the car park. Not him, too small. A man of Brayethwait's stature would drive a large four-door, less than three years old.
Several more cars arrived, only one of which was a possibility but was driven by an Asian man. Harvey was patient. He didn't question his plan.
The entrance to the car park was a small alleyway between the office and the next building. There were no gates that would close and lock, only a parking metre. Presumably, the workers would have some sort of method to get discounted parking. Harvey wasn't sure. He'd never had a real job. His work with Frank was his first real job, and it wasn't really a job. The unit didn't pay him directly. He didn't have a National Insurance number and hadn't been seen by any authorities before. Frank was able to move money located to the unit's consumable requirements to pay Harvey, and he was lucky to get that. He could be earning five pounds a week mopping the floor in Pentonville.
Harvey stood at the front of the building on the main road. He watched the traffic drive past; buses full of school kids and minivans driven by tired mums. Men walked briskly along, most people didn't even notice Harvey. People were often like that. They don't see what they aren't looking for. Harvey was the opposite. He saw what he wasn't looking for. So when the blue BMW pulled off the main road into the car park, not only did Harvey catch the face of Barnaby Brayethwait, but he caught the shape of the VW Transporter that had pulled over two hundred yards away. He pushed off the wall and followed the BMW into the car park. Before Barnaby had a chance to open his driver's door, Harvey casually opened the passenger’s side and climbed in.
“Drive.”
“What the-”
“No questions, drive, you’re in danger.”
“Who are you?”
“Just drive Mr Brayethwait, I’m an associate of Mr Cartwright.”
“Donny?”
“Just drive, no time for questions now.” Barnaby had just announced his involvement.
“This is most-”
“This is the last time I’m going to tell you, put the car in gear, and drive. Turn right out of the car park.”
Barnaby did as he was told; his hands had begun to shake and he fumbled with the double clutch gear box.
“You’re going to tell me who-”
“You’re right, I am going to explain everything. For now, just drive.”
Barnaby took his phone from his pocket and began to search for a recent number.
Harvey reached across and took the phone from him. He wound the window down and tossed the phone into a refuse truck.
“What the hell are-”
"Shut up, Mr Brayethwait." Harvey raised his voice, and Barnaby was silenced. "You do not call the shots here. You do not ask questions. If you want to live until lunchtime, I suggest you keep your mouth closed. Take the next right."
Barnaby was taken aback but made the turn. It led to a small car park for dog walkers, bird watchers and anyone who enjoyed the nearby forest walks.
“Park over there and get out of the car.”
Barnaby did as he was told.
When the driver's door had closed, Harvey got out and ordered Barnaby to the front of the car.
“Lock it, you can’t trust anyone around here.”
Barnaby locked the car with the key fob.
"Right, walk." Harvey motioned to a footpath that led into the forest. "Give me the keys."
“Now come on, this-”
Harvey made eye contact with him, and Barnaby handed him the keys. Unspoken words.
They walked for fifteen minutes, to a spot where the trees grew thick, and the undergrowth was full. The footpath faded to nothing and merged with the forest floor. Harvey spun the man around several times; Barnaby had to hold onto a tree when he stopped to steady himself.
“Belt.”
“Belt?”
“Off.”
"This is an outrage," said Barnaby as he slid the leather belt from the loops.
“Yeah, yeah. Socks.”
“My socks?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say, Mr Brayethwait? Because it’s going to make what’s left of your life very miserable if you do.”
Barnaby slipped his expensive shoes off and pulled his socks off, offering them to Harvey.
“Throw them over there,” Harvey nodded toward to the ground to his left.
"Okay, now we are ready to talk, but before we start, I think it's only fair that you know a little about me," began Harvey. "Why don't you sit down?"
“I’m just fine sta-”
“Sit down.”
Barnaby sat with his back against the tree.
Harvey took the belt and wrapped it around the tree and Barnaby's neck. He made a new hole with his knife to make sure it was tight.
“That’s not necessary.”
“No, you’re right, it’s not. I am a very dangerous man, Mr Brayethwait. I have done things that would horrify you, give you nightmares. Do you understand? I’ve been doing these things since I was twelve years old, and I’ve got a knack for getting secrets out of people.”
Barnaby's eyes were wide with fear. His hands were on the belt, easing the pressure on his throat, but he couldn't possibly reach the buckle, which was on the far side of the tree. A damp patch appeared on the tan pants Barnaby wore. Harvey looked down at it, then back up to Barnaby.
“That doesn't worry me, they all do that.”
Barnaby began to cry.
Harvey let him cry. He would talk soon.
"It's gone too far. I can't stop them," sobbed Barnaby.
Harvey didn't reply.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this, they were only supposed to offer-”
"Sex,
Mr Brayethwait? They were only supposed to offer sex?"
Barnaby nodded, his eyes were shut tight; he sniffed a run of snot falling from his face.
“Have you, Mr Brayethwait?”
He looked up at Harvey.
“Have I?”
“Yes, Mr Brayethwait. Have you?”
“No, no, I would never-”
“Is that right? So you just go to the farm and what?”
“I funded some of it. That’s all.”
"So you haven't even had sex with the girls? Come on," Harvey reasoned, "a divorced man, high-pressure job. Surely a man-"
“Okay okay, I had sex with one girl. But that’s all.”
“Tell me, Mr Brayethwait, why did you choose her?”
Barnaby looked confused.
“Surely there were many girls to choose from, and you could have had any one of them, you funded it right?”
“Part funded, there were three of us.”
“Right, so, why her?”
“I don't know, she was pretty. She was quiet with nice eyes and a nice body, why do men choose any girls?”
“All different reasons, Mr Brayethwait. Trust me, it takes all sorts. Was she young?”
"Younger than me," he replied stonily.
“Younger than you? How old are you, Mr Brayethwait?”
“I’m fifty-three.”
“And how old is younger than you? Forties? Thirties? Twenties?” Harvey paused and watched Barnaby’s face crumple. “Younger?” Barnaby nodded. His face was screwed up in a tight grimace. “Eighteen?” asked Harvey.
The sobs became audible then, spittle burst from Barnaby's mouth, and he began to pant; he struggled against the restraint around his neck.
“Younger still?”
Barnaby didn't respond, he just sobbed.
“Mr Brayethwait, was this girl younger than sixteen?”
Barnaby was crying uncontrollably, he nodded.
“Say it, say it loud and clear. You’ll feel better. They all do. Confession is a glorious thing.”
"She was…" Barnaby paused. "Fourteen or fifteen."
“And how do you know? Was it because she was developed, Mr Brayethwait? Is that it?”
