9
Hooley had been surprised when Roper agreed to return to the office without stopping to try and bring the lap top to life. He had expected him to want to dive in without delay but Roper had already decided it would be best to leave it to the office expert Gary Malone. “I’m nowhere near his level. He is the obvious person to open it up.”
Malone was waiting in Hooley’s office when they returned, dressed in his usual t-shirt, jeans and trainers, his long face displaying an expectant expression as they walked in. He greeted Hooley with a respectful “Sir” and Roper with a cheery “Wotcher mate, long time.” The two men got on well. Sometimes they seemed to speak to each other in a short-hand that no one else could follow. The DCI had lost count of the times he had made them repeat something “more slowly and in English please.” This led to the pair treating him like he was an ancient relative born in the steam age, but the mild indignity was worth the results.
Malone brandished a tiny flash-drive. “I’ll copy everything I can on to this first and then you can look around to your heart’s content.” He plugged it in, waited briefly, and then keyed in a series of responses.
“That didn’t take long. Can’t be much in there,” said Roper.
Malone moved his head from side to side and his bottom lip jutted out. “Not sure yet,” he said. “But it’s all yours for now. I’ll place whatever files I’ve copied, along with the emails, on to the air gapped computer. Don’t plug that machine into our system until we know there’s nothing nasty lurking in the background. Some of these new viruses can disguise themselves pretty effectively so I need to be very thorough.”
Roper watched him hurry away then sat back and looked expectantly at his boss.
“Where do you want to start?” He waved his hand over the keyboard.
“Check his email for May 24, the last day anyone saw him.” He watched as Roper’s nimble fingers flickered into action.
“We’ve got something.” Roper tapped away and produced a list of emails.
“There was an exchange with someone called David52. It started at 11.16am and was finished by 11.21am, so it was done pretty quickly.”
Hooley moved behind Roper so he could get a look over his shoulder.
“This first one is sent by Sir James.”
“[email protected]. “I need to speak to you very urgently and it needs to be in person.”
[email protected] “Then come along tonight.”
[email protected] “I have no interest in the “entertainment” you have planned.”
[email protected] “I have to be there then I fly out later tonight. Unless you want to be on the plane you will have to come.”
[email protected] “Under protest, but I will see you there at 9pm.”
Hooley read them again. “That really seems to support your idea that his disappearance was connected to something recent. Is there anything else before that?”
“No,” said Roper. “At least not apparently connected to that. There has been some communication with David52, but the previous one was two weeks before and just thanked him for sending over some documents. I think I’d better go and see Gary to check out David52 and see if we can discover any more about him.”
Twenty minutes later Roper walked back in to find Julie Mayweather sitting at his desk.
“Brian’s just been filling me in on what you’ve been doing. Fantastic work Jonathan. Have you been able to get anymore information?”
Roper shook his head.
“The account for David52 ceased operating the day after Sir James went missing.”
“That’s your tidying up theory right there,” said Hooley.
Mayweather pushed herself to her feet. She looked at the two men in turn. “Let’s try to keep as much of a lid on this as we can. We don’t want to alert someone to where we are at the moment. I have to report this upwards so it will end up in political circles, but for now I will leave out the lap top and the messages. I’ll just mention that secret room you found.”
As she walked out Hooley decided he had to find out more about what Roper had done at Eaton Square. It had been bothering him, so he waited for him to sit down. “Would you mind explaining, in simple terms please, how you found that room by getting me to shout?”
Roper shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure but I think it has something to do with echo location.”
Hooley sat down heavily as he thought about the implications. “You mean like bats do?” There was a long pause while Roper thought about that, then he nodded.
His response brought a rueful grin from Hooley. “I suppose the rest of the team will be calling us the ‘Caped Crusaders’ from now on.”
“What do you mean?” asked Roper.
“You know, Batman and Robin - the Caped Crusaders of Gotham City.”
Roper looked blank for a moment, popular TV culture was not a strength, then realisation dawned.
“Does that mean we will have to start wearing tights and masks?”
Hooley got up and firmly closed the door. Then he stood in front of Roper’s desk. “Under no circumstances are you to ever repeat this conversation outside this room.”
“But…”
Hooley held up a warning finger to silence any more talk.
10
There wasn’t much that Dan Sykes was frightened of, especially people, but he was very careful around Tommy Burton. The man had an extraordinary ability to dig out secrets and then use them to his own advantage. Sykes often wondered how much of his own dirty linen his boss was aware of. He decided it was best to assume he knew it all.
He was mulling this over when his phone rang. It was Burton. He had been told the call was coming and wondered if it was going to be bad news. Without being aware that he was doing it, Sykes stood to attention as he grasped the phone.
“Sir.”
Never use a name and never say more than you have to, even if you are using a state of the art phone using constantly updated real-time encryption.
“New man been brought in. Over to you.”
The line went dead.
Sykes looked at the phone. He knew he had just been told to find out everything he could. He thought it was odd. His boss hadn’t seemed especially concerned when the Special Investigations Unit had first got involved. He’d told Sykes it was only to be expected that the Met would assign an elite team once they had confirmation Sir James was dead. In fact he’d even said he was pleased that the discovery of the body had taken so long as he had only anticipated a two week advantage if they were lucky. The extra time meant they had not just cleared up, they’d even had time to go back and sort out a few niggles. But if Burton was worried about this new player he was going to have to really get on the case.
He sighed and looked out across the port of Dunkirk in Northern France. He preferred using it to Calais or Boulogne. There was a great little restaurant on the front where they did a brilliant Moules et Frites.
Now he was watching one of his men manoeuvre a large suitcase on board. Inside was a young Latvian woman that his team had picked up a few days earlier with the promise of transport to London and a good job. It had been going well but something had alerted the woman’s suspicions as they approached the French coast so they had been forced to give her a sedative shot to keep her quiet.
The suitcase was placed out of sight in the cabin area and within 20 minutes they were underway for Ramsgate in Kent. Sykes could have delegated this job, but every now and then liked to put in an appearance to keep everyone on their toes. With decent weather they should make landfall in about five or six hours. He took the view that getting out of the office from time to time stopped him getting stale.
From his position next to the helmsman he ducked down to talk to the man guarding the suitcase which was placed in the galley area. “As soon as we are out of sight of the coast you can open up and let her out.” The man nodded to show he’d understood.
An hour later he was looking out at
the English Channel and enjoying the surprisingly warm breeze, when he was disturbed by a shout of “Boss, we gotta problem.”
He headed into the cabin to see the young woman laid out of the floor, unmoving. He knew what he was looking at and tapped the body with his foot.
“You’ve checked its pulse I take it?”
The man was unconcerned. “Some of them can’t cope with the tranquilliser we give them.”
Sykes said. “I’ll give you a hand getting her on deck. We’ve got some weights up there.”
Twenty minutes later the body, now bound in tarpaulin and weighed down, was tossed over the side. “Plenty more fish in the sea,” he thought as the body disappeared.
Sykes marched to a beat only he could hear. He thought himself a tough and ferocious opponent, but one who had developed what he liked to call his “code of conduct.” While he would kill without compunction, the target had to be a player in the game, however tangential the connection might be. The young woman who had just been tossed over the side had deserved to die because she had taken such huge risks. Taking risks was something that Sykes tried to avoid, although he would do it if he thought there was gain to be had. It explained why he had lasted so long in such a dangerous job. He had been well rewarded for his work in war zones around the world, and over the last 10 years he had turned down more offers than he had accepted, such was the demand for men like him.
Those outside his very tight circle could easily be deceived by his appearance. He wasn’t physically imposing. He stood about five feet nine inches, and was wiry rather than muscular. He was also blessed with a smile, entirely fake, that made most people think he was kind and gentle. But he was far from being a simple thug. He thought deeply and had long ago realised he needed more than fighting skills to succeed. This led to him carefully cultivating a team of informants who would, for the right money, find out what he needed to know.
It was this controlled approach that had drawn his latest boss’s attention. Burton had approached him one day with an unbelievable offer. The money was so good he hoped he would soon achieve his ambition to run a winery in South America, preferably Chile. He also realised if he wanted to accomplish this aspiration he needed to do his job well and find out who this new player was pronto. His first move was to contact a man who knew how to navigate his way through the top levels of Scotland Yard. Now he would have to wait for the information to come back. But time was at a premium. He didn’t want to be waiting long or he would be getting another phone call.
11
As Roper carefully worked his way through the files Hooley was thinking it was very difficult to think in conventional terms about how the younger man slotted into a big police team. There was no way he could ever be described as a team player; especially since so many members of the team privately described him as “weird”, “spooky or “rude”.
Hooley knew this was unfair. Roper was different, but that was partly because he had such a direct manner which could see him asking people the most intimate questions without realising he was making them uncomfortable. He could also be very abrupt with people who couldn’t keep up with the way he thought about things. But his motives were always focussed on the investigation and never on his own personal advancement.
The problem was that he had multiple ways to rub people up the wrong way; without even realising it. From simple things like being too engrossed in his work to notice other people to making over-personal comments and, one of his more annoying habits, looming up behind colleagues and looking at their computer screens. People hated it, but because Roper wasn’t concerned if someone did the same to him it was pretty much impossible to make him understand why others became agitated. That was the thing about him; you got the whole package or nothing at all.
But Hooley knew that as much as some found Roper difficult, the feeling was reciprocated and it left the younger feeling isolated from the rest of the world. The only one he seemed to be always comfortable with was the DCI. He had decided to ask him directly, trying to be circumspect with Roper was pointless. Roper listened and then stared at him for a while before he replied. “Your body doesn’t shout. Most people are noisy even when they’re not talking. And you don’t ask silly questions like ‘how are you?’”
Hooley thought this was a fascinating insight and was reminded of it a couple of weeks later when he had an argument with his wife. She had accused him of being far too passive and he wondered if this was the effect Roper had been talking about.
He dragged himself out of his reverie; he needed to follow up a call to a friend in HR; someone who owed him a favour that was big enough to make sure he could see the notes that had been drawn up after Roper had been forced onto the various courses and be assessed by the psychologist.
He didn’t like the feeling he was going behind Roper’s back but rationalised it by persuading himself the insights would allow him to support the younger man more effectively. He’d been told he would have to come into the Scotland Yard building itself since there was no chance his mate would email copies of confidential documentation. Now he needed to fix a time to do it.
He was looking at his diary when someone walked past the office door carrying a tray of steaming mugs of tea and coffee. The aroma reminded Hooley that he was neglecting his caffeine addiction. Glancing up at the wall-clock he saw it was time for a break and that Roper had been totally immersed in work for nearly two hours. Through trial and error he had reached the conclusion that this was about as long as he should be left when he was working so intensively.
“Coffee, then an update?” he asked loudly.
Roper looked up, seemingly confused to find himself in an office, and then shook his head before jumping up. “Good idea. I’ll go. I like short walks. They help me to think.”
With that rapid fire statement he was out of the door. Hooley paused in calling out. He actually wanted a tea but then shrugged. Roper was on a mission to get coffee so the hassle wasn’t worth it. They’d end up in a circular discussion about why he had said one thing when he wanted another. That was the kind of conversation he used to have with his wife.
Twenty minutes later Roper returned armed with drinks and food.
“It’s nearly lunch-time,” he observed, dumping a smoked salmon in front of his boss and then producing four chocolate muffins, three of which he lined up on his desk making sure they were the same distance apart. He waved the extra muffin at Hooley.
“Would you like this?”
Hooley gave him a quizzical look.
“I think not. After all, you pointed out I was putting on weight.”
“Good thinking,” said a totally unabashed Roper, the extra muffin joined the line-up on the desk. “I don’t mind eating all of them. I never seem to put on weight and sugar helps me to concentrate, it seems to work as fuel for the brain.”
“Lucky you,” said Hooley in a sarcastic tone which he knew would be wasted. He concentrated on his sandwich aware that Roper had already devoured the first muffin. They ate in silence and then Hooley took a sip of his coffee; it was still too hot and he wondered, not for the first time, how some places made coffee so hot it could practically melt the cup while others produced a tepid drink. He blew the surface of his drink to little effect then asked Roper what he had discovered. The younger man did a rapid eye blink before responding.
“There’s not a massive amount of stuff and no obvious ‘smoking gun’ in there. But he has an amazing amount of personal photographs. Mostly of him and his wife and it looks like they go right back to before they got married. I’ve counted 204 pictures so far. Is that normal?”
As far as Hooley knew Roper only had two photos. One of his parents and one of his grandmother, but nothing from his school or university days. He also shared Hooley’s aversion to the idea of selfies.
The DCI took his time with responding, he knew this was one of those questions Roper came up with that had an underlying meaning: can you help me understand more about people. After t
aking another moment he said. “Well some people do have happy marriages you know. Not everyone I grant you, but in any relationship there are the good bits.” He realised this sounded a bit lame; perhaps he wasn’t the best person to ask. He decided to push things on with a question of his own. “Apart from the pictures is there anything else?”
Roper shook his head. “The only recent stuff, and I am talking about four weeks before his death, are documents relating to bio-tech companies looking into cancer treatments and other experimental stuff about extending the human life span.”
“You mean living forever?”
“Not forever, but by the end of this century scientists are talking about people routinely living to 150 years old, although they also say that as we cure current diseases new ones will emerge. But this stuff seems very cutting edge, at least from what I can make of it.”
Hooley rubbed the back of his neck; he could feel the first signs of a headache. Definitely no stopping at the pub tonight.
“I suppose after his wife’s death he was always going to follow that sort of information. Have you come across any mention of money?
“Nothing I’ve seen so far. But I thought we had all his financial information anyway.”
Hooley made a face. “The previous team compiled a lot of information but it’s very complex and I couldn’t begin to tell you if it includes everything he had.”
Roper nodded.
“I’ll keep digging away at what I’ve found and Gary can have a look at the emails properly.”
The day petered out with a sense of anti-climax. The burst of activity had promised far more than it eventually delivered and Hooley decided to call it a day before they both became frustrated. He wanted to make a very early start at the warehouse. He’d heard the forensic team was almost finished at the site so it would be all theirs.
Going Underground (Jonathan Roper Investigates Book 1) Page 4
