by Mari Hannah
‘And …?’
‘And nothing.’
‘Guilt by association, eh? How long have you been in this unit?’
‘Six months.’
‘Six months,’ O’Neil said. ‘Impressive. And where were you before that?’
‘Foot patrol in Byker—’
‘Well, get ready to go back there. Let me put you straight on a few things. The very nature of being a detective – particularly in Special Branch – means that you associate with prigs on a daily basis, in pubs, at the match, anywhere you can. Most times it’s a mutual piss-taking exercise. But even so, it’s how you find things out. Is that clear?’
The DC said nothing.
‘If I had a quid for every time I’d spoken to an offender in a bar I’d be minted,’ O’Neil said. ‘It’s called intelligence gathering, you idiot. The fact that Fenwick spoke to your target means nothing. It proves nothing. If you’d bothered to read his record you’d know that he was way too clever to shit in his own nest. Even you must’ve heard of the cliché “keep your friends close”.’ She paused for breath. ‘Where are you in your investigation?’
‘Nowhere. We lost them. We shut it down.’
Her expression held a message: That’s a downright lie. ‘You were tailing Ryan yesterday.’
‘Maybe you should ask him then, guv. Or Fenwick. I heard you picked him up.’
‘He’s dead, you prick!’
O’Neil walked out. Organized Crime hadn’t heard the last of this. Not by a long chalk.
34
The Centurion pub was one of Ryan’s favourite haunts in the city centre. Built as a first-class waiting room for Victorian passengers at Newcastle Central Station, the Grade I property was once used as cells by British Transport Police, much of its interior design covered up by unsympathetic decoration. As someone once said, it was tantamount to slapping a fresh coat of paint over Leonardo da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. Fortunately, the building had since been restored to its former glory.
Newman entered first, Ryan close behind.
The idea of bringing someone else into the mix was less palatable now than when first proposed, Ryan thought, as he approached the long bar. But Jack’s death had changed everything. Considering Northumbria’s Murder Investigation Team weren’t yet treating it as homicide, what other choice was there but to work under the radar and resurrect a murder room so he could investigate the matter himself? Still, he felt his nerve going slightly as he scanned the tables, unable to ID anyone who might be waiting for them.
His agreement to meet with Newman’s wires man now felt like a bad move. Try as he might to push that worrying thought to the back of his mind, it continued to niggle him, reminding him that such a devious plan might end his career as swiftly as a knife had ended his father’s a quarter of a century ago. Garry Snaith, whoever he was, had asked no questions before agreeing to meet. His keenness to get involved, without due consideration of what Newman was planning, bordered on the suicidal. That, or he had more faith in the spook than Ryan could presently muster.
Ordering a pint for himself and one for Newman, Ryan turned his back to the counter, his eyes once more scanning the busy room, the buzz of conversation drowning out his anxieties.
‘No show, eh?’ He almost relaxed.
‘He’ll be here,’ Newman said.
Ryan didn’t doubt the spook’s ability to assess a tricky situation and pick an associate to sort it out, but he felt compelled to point out the seriousness of what they were about to embark upon. ‘Setting up a satellite station is one thing. Hacking into HOLMES and the PNC is something else.’ On the off chance that he’d forgotten, he reminded Newman that breaching Data Protection and Telecommunications Acts – and that was just for starters – could send them both down for a very long time.
‘Grace, too,’ he added. ‘If your man squeals, we’re done for.’
‘He won’t.’ Newman was the epitome of cool.
‘You trust him with something this big?’ Ryan asked.
‘There’s only one person in the world I trust,’ Newman answered drily. ‘Garry comes a close second.’
‘OK, he’s as good as gold. So where is he? Is Garry even his real name?’
Newman glanced sideways. ‘Drink your beer.’
Ryan took a mouthful. ‘And if he can’t do the job?’
‘It can’t be done.’ Newman just looked at him. ‘Relax. He’s the best in the business. I’ve used him many times. What he doesn’t know about wires and what goes down them isn’t worth knowing. O’Neil left you dead in the water. What alternative do you have but to accept my word for it? You promised Jack’s widow you’d hunt his killers down—’
‘And that’s exactly what I plan to do.’
‘But?’
‘It’s the rules that differentiate us from the shite we’re hunting, Frank.’
‘Ordinarily, I’d agree. But without my man you don’t have a hope in hell of finding them.’
Ryan took another long pull on his pint. He was changing, not necessarily for the better. Newman was right, though. This was no time to lose his nerve.
The pub door opened.
A man walked in and made a beeline towards them, extending a hand to Newman, a big smile on his face. Garry Snaith was a friendly fifty-four-year-old with a dry sense of humour and a twinkle in his eye; a quiet, self-effacing man.
Ryan didn’t stand on ceremony. ‘Mind telling me why you’re no longer working for the government?’ he asked.
Snaith grinned. ‘I didn’t run away with the Crown Jewels, if that’s what you mean.’
Ryan’s eyes found Newman’s.
The spook had a smile on his face. ‘My description of Garry as a wires man was accurate but understated. He knows his wires but he’s really a genius.’
‘Get out of here.’ Snaith was almost blushing.
Newman looked at him. ‘Credit where it’s due, mate. Don’t be shy.’ He nodded towards Ryan. ‘You can tell him. He’s Special Branch. An old friend has vouched for him. He’s trustworthy.’
Ryan bristled. Just who was being assessed here?
‘Then he’ll know all about the Security Service’s need to be able to crack encryption to keep us safe in our beds.’ Snaith lowered his voice a touch. ‘Let’s say that part of my role went up for grabs to a private company who reckoned they could do it a damned sight cheaper than me. They could – only not as well. Contractors have a habit of shaving off corners in order to undercut the competition. How secure do you think that is? I couldn’t live with it and said so.’
‘Loudly,’ Newman added.
‘When I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut, I was fired,’ Snaith explained. ‘These days I’m a free agent. I work for people who rate quality and are prepared to pay the going rate for my expertise.’ He thumbed in Newman’s direction. ‘Except when he calls. Then my services are complimentary.’
Ryan looked at him, his reservations melting away.
There would be a story there somewhere.
Snaith turned to Newman. ‘What’s the deal?’
Newman pulled his chair closer. ‘We have an old police house hardwired to run a major incident. When it was sold, the gubbins were never disconnected. It’s not been used for years. We need you to rig it up again … like yesterday.’
Ryan was half-hoping Snaith would say no.
‘Can you handle it?’ he asked.
‘Child’s play.’
‘Will you?’ Newman asked.
Snaith couldn’t wait to get started.
Ryan relaxed. No wonder the spook liked him.
35
Within minutes of arriving at the house, Newman’s new best friend was dressed in full forensic suit, including mask and gloves, ready to resurrect what Grace was calling the ‘silent room’ from under the floorboards, protective equipment his safeguard against shedding DNA. He wanted to help but had no wish to implicate himself should the police discover their treachery further down the line.
Ryan shudd
ered at the thought.
According to Snaith, technology had moved on at a rate of knots since the original hardware had been installed. He was kneeling on the floor assessing the equipment required to run a major incident from the comfort of the dining table in Grace’s living room. The woman herself was uncharacteristically quiet, standing by, watching events unfold. Although severely shaken by Jack’s death and incapable of hiding her sorrow, her tough persona hadn’t deserted her entirely. Determined to find his killer – unruffled by the engagement of a third party – at Snaith’s behest she was noting down a list of paraphernalia required to finish the job. Following an inspection of what lay beneath the floorboards, he took the list from her and left the house.
Snaith was back within the hour carrying a large cardboard box full of electrical equipment. Grace couldn’t wait to get started. Like a nurse in an operating theatre, she laid the items out on the floor while the surgeon gowned up to make the patient well. The manual labour was a cinch, a question of using the right gear to splice old wires to their more up-to-date counterparts. Working with lightning speed and forensic attention to detail, it took him less than three hours to get the electrics sorted. He then turned his attention to the more difficult task of bringing the incident room to life: setting up a proxy and routing traffic through it, the idea being that it would mask Grace’s IP address, hiding the trail of Internet activity so any searches undertaken didn’t lead the authorities to her – and ultimately to Newman.
Ryan had the distinct impression that he was way down the list of people to protect. Even so, he couldn’t fail to be impressed. On the face of it, Snaith was nothing more than a glorified electrician. However, it soon became apparent that he was a computer mastermind with the knowledge to hack his way into the most secure systems at will. Ryan’s warrant card would give them access to police systems, but he was in no doubt that Newman’s man could infiltrate HOLMES without it.
Snaith picked up his tools. ‘Any final questions before I leave?’
‘I have one,’ Ryan said. ‘How will we know if we’re being monitored?’
‘If it all goes blank, you’ve been rumbled. I’ve set up a series of safeguards. If anyone tries to find you, the system will crash and you need to get rid of the evidence. Loosen up, man. That won’t happen.’ Snaith held out his hand. ‘Nice meeting you, Ryan. You too, Grace.’ He gave them each a firm handshake, high-fived Newman and let himself out.
36
Ryan nipped home, took a quick shower and packed a bag of clean clothes. He put his computer in the back of the car so he could link it up to Grace’s, arriving back at her place after dark. She’d worked wonders while he was out.
The silent room was almost ready.
At the forefront of HOLMES 2 when it was first introduced, Grace knew how the system worked and how to get the best from it. Hell, she’d helped design some of its key features back in the day. As qualified as anyone who currently worked on Northumbria’s Murder Investigation Team, the strategy was that she would monitor the computers and feed any progress to the other two. From now on, they were off the grid.
Newman had been busy too. Producing from his pockets three clean smartphones programmed with each other’s numbers, he handed them out.
Ryan took one and turned to Grace. ‘O’Neil told me that Jack’s death will be a linked incident with the abduction. Will all the information we’re likely to need be there?’
Grace was nodding. ‘Be warned, though: your warrant card doesn’t yet have MIR security clearance. I’ll have to update your authorization. So don’t go putting it in there until I’m done or we’ll be sunk before we start.’
Ryan understood. He’d never had Major Incident Room status. The system was password-protected, an authorized warrant card the only way in. In the future he expected it to be fingerprint recognition, but the force was way behind the private sector with a specification well below that required of the average iPhone. Once his approval was activated, his administrator status would give them full access. Bearing in mind the fact that he’d never had a HOLMES course, that was pretty impressive. They were ready to rock ‘n’ roll.
Grace put Ryan in one of three guest bedrooms, the room next to hers at the front of the house. Newman took one at the rear. Ryan figured she couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping in the same house as her former lover with just a few inches of plasterboard separating them. While the two men unpacked, she went downstairs to test the computer.
A few minutes later, Ryan followed her down, a lingering doubt in his mind that they could pull off her daring plan without getting caught red-handed and slung in jail. ‘Tell me the system is working perfectly,’ he said as he walked up behind her.
‘Seems to be.’ Grace didn’t look up from her monitor. ‘Everything appears to be responding exactly as it should. No glitches I can identify.’
‘Outstanding!’ Newman had arrived by their side. He glanced at Ryan. ‘Told you Garry knew his stuff. What’s up? Still not convinced?’
‘I’m on board, aren’t I?’
‘So why the face?’
‘I was thinking about the last-minute change of judge at Jack’s bail hearing. You think it was a deliberate ploy to keep him in custody?’
Newman shrugged. ‘It would be difficult to prove.’
‘And could equally have been just one of those things,’ Ryan said. ‘Grace? Any thoughts?’
‘For what it’s worth, I reckon it was the latter. To believe anything else is taking a conspiracy theory too far.’
On that worrying note, they broke off for a drink and something to eat.
When Ryan returned to the living room, Grace was already hard at work on the computer, engrossed in the system, scrolling through recorded actions for the night of Jack’s arrest. He lingered a moment, peering over her shoulder at the monitor. Under the heading ‘Scene Searches’ he noted that only one date and time was registered.
A knot began to form in his stomach.
Something was wrong.
‘Hang on!’ he said. ‘What about the second search?’
‘Second search?’ Taking her fingers from the keyboard, Grace looked up, waiting for an explanation. On his instruction, she hit the keys again, accessing a different screen, one that would show which police officers attended Jack’s home on the day he was arrested, a category specific within the system. ‘There’s no mention of it here. All I have is a firearms team and a dog handler. No second search.’
‘That’s inaccurate,’ Ryan insisted.
Alerted by the sharp tone of his voice, Newman wandered across the room to join them. Sure enough, there were only seven names listed: six firearms officers – one inspector, one sergeant, four PCs – and a K9 officer.
The absence of a second search on a system designed to eliminate error worried Ryan. ‘Hilary definitely said that two detectives arrived shortly after Jack’s arrest and carried out a thorough search. So why isn’t it there?’
Grace shrugged. ‘According to this, there was no CID search.’
‘Maybe she’s mistaken,’ Newman suggested. ‘Let’s face it, the woman’s in hell right now.’
‘She is,’ Grace said. ‘But she’s not stupid.’
‘No, she’s not,’ Ryan agreed. ‘And she doesn’t make things up. The second search involved two detectives, both male.’ He looked at Grace. ‘What’s the delay in an MIR? Is it possible that the information is with O’Neil’s team awaiting input?’
‘No, this isn’t a rape case, an abduction, or a murder with thousands of messages and statements queuing up awaiting a response. Although it’s high-priority, with renewed impetus now Jack is dead, it was a low-key job then. Indexers would be bang up to date. All the information must be there. This was weeks ago, remember. You need to talk to Hilary.’
Ryan sat down in Hilary’s kitchen. He’d called ahead to tell her he was on his way, explaining why he wanted to see her. He hated intruding on her grief so early after Jack’s death, but the missi
ng details needed investigating and he couldn’t afford to hang around ‘til morning. Unable to tell her how he’d come by the discrepancy – grateful that she’d been a copper’s wife for long enough not to ask – he repeated his question: ‘Who exactly came to see you?’
Her face was blank. ‘They were detectives, Ryan. That’s all I know. I was in no mood for social graces. I was still trying to calm the kids.’
Ryan had been trying to work out what was wrong since he’d arrived in the house. Mention of the kids gave him the answer. If music wasn’t playing, then the television was usually on, the youngest two kids fighting or giggling like a couple of lunatics at some secret they were keeping from their parents, the thunder of feet running up and down stairs. Hilary was always on the go too, forever laughing, cooking something or other. But today the house was deathly quiet, no sounds, smells or warmth. It was cold and uninviting – unheard of in the Fenwick household.
He tried again. ‘Do you remember what department they were from?’
‘You want the truth?’ She glared at him. ‘I haven’t got a clue. They had warrant cards, that’s all I know. I let them in … Jack had been arrested. What else was I supposed to do? What does it matter now, anyhow?’
‘I’m not criticizing you—’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘No.’ Ryan changed direction, coming at the problem from a different angle. In order to jog her memory, he began walking her through the exact sequence of events during and after Jack’s arrest. ‘I need you to go back to the very beginning. How many officers were in the firearms team?’ he asked.
‘Five, six—’
‘And a dog man, yes?’
‘Yes.’ She scratched the side of her face, frustrated by his questions. She wanted to be left alone. ‘Why are you asking me if you know already?’
‘And the detectives came later?’
‘Yes—’
‘How many?’
‘Only two … why?’
‘Did they have a warrant?’
‘They didn’t need one. Ryan, I saw the guns with my own eyes.’ Her expression shifted from frustration to fear as she put the pieces together. ‘Oh my God! Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You’re not seriously suggesting they weren’t police?’
