Hooley had grabbed another early night and was asleep by 10pm. He woke up the next morning just as dawn was breaking. He’d been out for seven hours straight, not something he usually managed. With a definite spring in his step, he headed for the kitchen to set up the first of what would be at least 10 cups of tea or coffee over the course of the day.
The first thing he saw was Roper, in black pyjamas, and performing some sort of exercise. He was bent at the waist, with his hands stretched out in front of him and his palms on the floor to give his body a sort of V-shape.
“Been there long?” He kept his tone nonchalant.
“It’s the downward dog. A brilliant stretch technique. It’s wonderful for your back and helps me to think. I’ve been awake most of the night and getting nowhere. I’ve been doing some yoga exercise for the last half-an-hour and I think I have finally come up with something. Or when I say me, I mean my Rainbow Spectrum.”
He said. “You’ve got my full attention.”
With his head down near the floor Roper said. “What if someone was making things happen because they wanted to attract my attention?”
The DCI thought about this for a moment, then thought about it for a lot longer.
“Tell you what. Let me get the kettle on, maybe have some toast and you can have a shower. There’s no way I’m thinking about the implications of that until I’ve had a cup of tea and something to eat.”
Roper held his yoga position: he was impressively still. “You think I am going to say something complicated. I can tell by the way you frown, then stop yourself. But your face is so wrinkly that frowns sort of disappear.”
Hooley was determined not to let anything spoil his day, like thinking about his face being full of wrinkles. He pointed at himself. “See this? This is my ‘I’m off to make tea’ face.”
The smell of the toast filled the flat, finally luring Roper from his stretches. He polished off four slices, liberally spread with Marmite: with his mouth full he told Roper he couldn’t understand why anyone could dislike it. Hooley watched him virtually inhaling the final piece of toast and thought “I can.”
Within thirty minutes they were walking towards GCHQ. The DCI attempted to set what he felt was a brisk pace, but his companion showed a disappointing lack of effort as he trotted along.
“I’m ready to go. Tell me about this latest breakthrough. You’ve got one of those looks that says it’s important.”
Roper replied. “My yoga session let me see that the three situations we have been looking at are connected by something I hadn’t thought about before. Someone was pushing my attention towards them. If the reports I saw were manipulated to attract my attention that would explain a lot.
“If I am right about that, and I think it is at least fifty percent I am, there is a lot more I need to consider. What if it is someone who knows about the Rainbow Spectrum and understands the way I think about things; could they be able to influence what I am doing?”
Hooley slowed down and turned to his companion, his face severe. “Are you suggesting that there might be someone who knows all about you, possibly one of the team at GCHQ? Not only that, you think you might be being targeted in some way? That would be very serious indeed.” He looked around searching for words. “This is the home of British intelligence gathering. Are you saying that the centre is compromised?”
Feeling an intense sense of anxiety, he gave Roper a searching look.
Roper nodded. “I am a lot more than fifty percent certain; I think it is ninety per cent. The reason I can’t be one hundred per cent is there is a slight chance it could be an outsider: someone in MI5 or MI6, they both know I’m working here. Or it could be the Americans, the French, the Australians or the Canadians. We share a lot of intelligence with lots of people.”
Hooley knew the moment he flagged this up it was going to cause an almighty rumpus. He’d been involved in this sort of thing in the past and it often turned into a witch-hunt: colleagues under suspicion and everyone feeling the strain as checks were made.
A problem like this couldn’t be sorted out with a couple of phone calls. It needed careful investigation and he could only guess at what sort of disruption an organisation the size of GCHQ that was going to experience. He didn’t know how things were set up, but he hoped that some departments could be ruled out through having no contact with Roper.
An unpleasant thought struck him. If he was in charge, one of the people whom he would be looking at very closely would be Brian Hooley - recently called in because he was said to have influence over Jonathan Roper. He wondered if they did brandy to go with the coffee he was having when they arrived.
Chapter 21
After the debacle which led to him throwing the young woman into the Thames, he was determined to do things differently. That was why he was studying the clear liquid that filled the one hundred millilitre bottle almost to the top. It would be more than enough for what he had in mind. The mix of Rohypnol and ketamine, would do the job. It had taken a moment’s research online to work out that it was freely available.
Last night he’d visited a nightclub to get what he needed. He was confident that the raw material was the proper stuff: despite wanting to keep a low profile he couldn’t resist letting the dealer know that Mr. Roberts would be back, and not in a good way, if it turned out he was selling fake gear. He felt good to go, mentally refreshed and back on track. So long as he ignored the nagging doubts as to why he had grabbed the pair.
Whatever! He was on his way to put things right. He’d left them handcuffed to the beds for ten hours now so they would be more than grateful for a drink. This one would send them off into a deep sleep. Probably a sleep they wouldn’t wake up from.
He hoped that would be the case. He knew from his research that about fifty mills of the mixture would knock them out, it might even slow down their breathing so much they effectively suffocated. The only thing he didn’t want to happen was for them to be overcome by nausea. That would just make a mess that would need clearing up. Another distraction he didn’t need.
One hour later and he was watching the woman gulp down the water. He left one hand cuffed. He didn’t want any last-minute problems. He was learning that no matter how careful you were, some people could sense when they were about to die. They would make desperate attempts to get away and sometimes their panic could give them phenomenal strength. He wasn’t going to risk that.
He smiled at Sandra Hall as she handed the glass back. She was one of those who thought acting all defeated and grateful would make a difference. He stopped himself sneering, instead patting her hand. She foolishly interpreted it as a good sign, smiling nervously and making eye contact. Mr. Roberts released one hand for Peter Knight. He too greedily bolted what was likely to be his last drink. Minutes later and both were unconscious. In their already weakened state they had succumbed to the effects in the fastest possible time.
He needed to get them out of the flat and into the van. He’d identified a disposal site at some woods near Dulwich, in south-east London. Not that far from his flat and at this time of night it should be a nice easy journey.
With no other residents in his block he didn’t need to be cautious, carrying each victim to the lift and down to the basement car park. He grabbed the woman first and left her lying half-in and half-out of the lift so she could block the door. As they rode down he smirked at the thought of the lift stopping at the ground floor and someone wanting to get in. By 2am he was on his way and hoped to be back within the hour.
He’d checked them both before setting off and their breathing was so slow he was hopeful the drug alone would do it. If not, he had his scalpel with him. A quick incision in an artery and that would be it. They would bleed out, neither of them knowing the slightest thing about it. In the circumstances, he thought he was being as kind as possible.
◆◆◆
“A dog walker found the bodies at about 6.30am this morning. Quite a nasty way to start the day, but he seems to
be holding up OK.”
DI Cleverly nodded towards where a grey-haired man, wearing glasses, jeans and a thick jumper against the morning chill, was talking to one of the detectives from the Special Investigations Unit. His dog lying bored at his feet, disgruntled that his morning walk had been ruined.
“The good news is that he is one of those people who likes to keep a close eye on the news. He recognised Sandra Hall from the stories about her going missing and when he called 999 he identified her to the operator. It means there wasn’t any wasted time in us getting the call.”
This last statement stopped a question from Julie Mayweather who had been about to ask why they had been put on to the case so quickly. Even with an efficient local operation it could take a few hours, or more, for messages to be passed on. She had been called as she was driving into the Victoria office just after 7am.
“Small things; it’s always the small things that make a difference,” she said, almost to herself, unaware she was echoing the words of the man she was hunting.
Although her team had pulled out all the stops, the lack of progress on the case was starting to weigh heavily: she wished it could be otherwise but at least with the bodies they now had something to work on. She had always feared it would end like this. The nature of the killing on the video clip left no doubt to the kind of person they were dealing with. She wasn’t a fanciful woman but there were a few words you could use about such a killer. Evil was one of them.
She studied the two bodies carefully as the scenes of crime investigators went through their painstaking protocols. She thought the two victims looked quite peaceful. At least they hadn’t been brutalised like the first two.
“Anything yet?”
“Not a huge amount. Preliminary says they’ve been dead for a few hours, maybe four or so. But otherwise there are no obvious signs of violence, no obvious signs of what the cause of death is.
“Both have bruising around their wrists and ankles indicating they were restrained, and for some time. That seems to be a thing about our killer, and I am assuming he is responsible for all the deaths: he likes to restrain people. Maybe he gets a kick out of it.
“But the doctor says that, with no physical symptoms, cause of death may be poisoning. At first, she assumed they must have been asphyxiated, but could find nothing to support that idea. She needs to get the bodies into a lab to do a proper check, but preliminary examination hasn’t helped.”
They were standing to one side of an area of rough ground that looked as though it served as an impromptu parking area for people using the woods. The bodies were just lying behind a large oak tree.
Mayweather pointed to the spot. “I take it this is how they were found?”
“That’s right. No attempt to cover them or hide them in any way. If I was to guess I’d say he backed up a vehicle, most likely a van, and pulled the bodies out. He just wanted to make sure he wasn’t seen. If the doc’s right about time of death then it would have been about 3am, give or take, so not likely that anyone would have been here. To be honest it’s a bit spooky here anyway. If I’d been that dog walker this morning I think I might have legged it before calling it in.”
Mayweather couldn’t help but agree. There was something slightly off about the place. It was strange to come across such an apparently wild area in a suburb that was just a few miles from the city and was home to well paid professionals.
“Another reminder, as if we needed one, that the man we’re looking for has an inhuman quality. I should imagine this sort of place would appeal to him.”
Chapter 22
By mid-afternoon the ‘rumpus’ at GCHQ had enveloped Downing Street - something that comfortably exceeded Hooley’s worst fears - and discussions were taking place about informing the Americans. It was times like this that the so-called Special Relationship could be put to the test. US intelligence chiefs never hesitated in putting the boot in when the Brits were having problems. The Cabinet Secretary, Sir Paul Deans, one of a handful of people on a genuine need-to-know, was briefed.
“So, tell me again about this analyst,” said Sir Paul. A fit-looking man in his mid-fifties, he favoured well-cut, pin-striped suits. Today this was paired with a blue shirt and pink tie and pocket handkerchief combination. It suited his dark colouring. Despite wielding significant power, he was known for his relaxed manner and courteous behaviour towards colleagues. Now he had pushed his gold rimmed spectacles down his nose and was studying GCHQ deputy director Reginald Green very closely.
Green looked like the sort of nerdy school teacher who appeared in films. His hair was messy, his glasses never sat properly and he had a natural enthusiasm that he couldn’t contain. In many respects he resembled a large, boisterous puppy. He was well aware of the impression he gave people and often wished he looked tougher, like Arnold Schwarzenegger. With Sir Paul’s bright green eyes fixed on him, he was wishing he could indeed channel the Terminator.
“He’s been with us for six months and was transferred from Scotland Yard. We have a lot of unusual people at GCHQ; it’s one of the reasons we’re so good at what we do, and I think it’s fair to say that Mr. Roper fits into that category.
“Admittedly he does have a different approach - some would say unique - so he is not operating according to conventional protocols. He has the freedom to sit above the day to day needs and has been given his head to dip in and out as he sees fit. We also direct his attention to items of interest. We feel this enhances our ability to see the world through a diversity of people.”
Even as he spoke he was reflecting that sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith. On paper, what he was talking about, didn’t sound hugely promising. Perhaps he could arrange a site visit for Sir Paul, to help reassure him.
As countless politicians could confirm, the Cabinet Secretary was not a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, so could be difficult to read. Not on this occasion: a flash of anger alerted the GCHQ boss that he was not happy with what he had just heard.
“I try not to judge people I have never met,” said Sir Paul. “But there is something in the way you described this man that gives me pause for thought, especially when we are on the very cusp of alerting the PM that something has gone wrong with our national security operation.
“It is not inconceivable that the President of the United States will have to be informed. Once that happens we will be instantly cut-off from any new intelligence material and it won’t take long for the rest of the world to find out that we have a problem.”
He stopped and breathed in hard through his nose before continuing. “Is there anything else you need to tell me about Mr. Roper before we escalate this to the very top?”
While Green was nervous at being in Downing Street, he was far from being overawed. Rather than responding immediately he took a second to really consider his response. In one way, the honest answer to the question was, ‘yes and no.’ But he knew this was not a moment to hide behind semantics. The man he was talking to had a tough decision to make and he needed a solid response.
He said. “It is fair to say that Roper is not the easiest of people to get on with, but that has never been a serious issue when it comes to the quality of his work. In many ways, he is an enigmatic man who has developed an extraordinarily esoteric way of looking at intelligence gathering.”
Sir Paul raised an eyebrow. “Is this the man who came up with the concept of a Rainbow Spectrum? I gather it has created quite a stir.”
That question gave Green pause for thought. As usual the Cabinet Secretary was remarkably well informed. The GCHQ man knew he needed to provide a straight answer.
“That is the case. Other analysts at GCHQ are trying to copy his approach, with little luck so far. The point is that he is a genuinely innovative thinker, something that is very rare to find, and his methods have a track record of working. I’m not sure I can explain how, but they do.”
Sir Paul’s eyes flared slightly. “Do I detect a but?”
Green
sighed. The man was a mind-reader. “You may do. Up until a couple of months ago he was doing fine but then he seemed to lose his way. Funnily enough we had anticipated he might have problems and had come up with an option of reintroducing him to a senior Scotland Yard officer who, for want of a better description, has been something of a mentor to him. That happened recently and he does appear to be getting back on track. It is part of that very process that has resulted in you and I having this meeting.
“Mr. Roper was the first to come up with signs that something wasn’t right, then he seemed less certain; now he seems more certain. While I have no doubts about his overall capabilities, I suppose that if we were looking at this entirely in the moment, then maybe there is a slight shading of doubt.”
Sir Paul walked around behind an ornate office desk and sat down. His fingers drummed gently on the polished wood. He said. “For the time being we keep things as they are. You carry on your checks and I will delay talking to the PM. If you gather new evidence then let me know straight away and I will alert him. But my experience is that these things are best done under the radar, if at all possible.
“Having said that, if nothing has changed in the next forty-eight hours, I think I have no choice but to alert our masters. In the meantime, I leave everything with you. If there is any question over resources tell me now and I will fix it.”
Green shook his head. “We have all we need. I wouldn’t have brought this to your attention unless I felt there was a significance to it. But I also understand the reasons for your decision.”
Moments later the GCHQ man departed for Gloucestershire. He didn’t need to be there for this stage of the investigation, but it felt a lot more comfortable to be properly hands on.
(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 31
