Christmas? Shortly after the TV series broadcast…
It was unthinkable, and Doc decided not to even try to ascertain what the uninvited spy had seen and heard in the nine months since.
‘My Wi-Fi? Is that really necessary?’
‘Your Macbook was hacked through the internet and if we don’t make sure every stage of the connection is clear of malware you could end up in the same situation again.’ A few more taps on the keyboard and he added, ‘Anyway, it’s sorted now. Incidentally, I stored all the files you had on this laptop in the cloud before I cleaned it. We can reinstall everything, but I need to ask a favour first.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s a long story —’
‘Just the highlights will do, Sam.’
‘When I was at college studying computer sciences I had a pal who was shit-hot at programming, but he went off the rails a bit, even before he graduated.’
‘And?’
‘He can help us find out who got into your system, maybe backtrack, possibly even find a way for us to enter the bastard’s own files. I’ve tried, but it’s beyond my skill levels.’
‘You want to hack into the person who broke into my laptop? Seriously? Let’s do it!’
‘The problem is… He’s on the FBI and Interpol most wanted lists for cybercrime. Nothing bad.’
‘Nothing bad? But he’s on the world’s most wanted lists…’
‘Not for fraud or theft or kiddie porn or anything like that. He’s a cross between a Snowden and a McKinnon, with a bit of Kim Dotcom thrown in. Last I heard, he’s in hiding in Ukraine. He owes me. Big time.’
Although curious to know what exactly this apparently upstanding copper had done for his wayward mate, Doc was more intrigued by the prospect of unlocking the secret collector’s own secrets.
‘I’m not entirely sure what that combination of names signifies, so just spit it out, Sam. What do you need from me to get your talented cyberfriend to help us? Money?’
‘No, nothing like that — he’s a mega millionaire. I just need your laptop in its current blank state. Your connection. And plausible deniability. I was never here, and if anyone asks, you were the one contacting him. I’ll lose my job, maybe worse if I get found out. You won’t.’
‘No problem. Just do what you need to do, but make sure my laptop is back to normal when you finish. And what about the USB drives?’
I’ll open those up as soon as I’ve contacted Rupert.’
‘Rupert?’
‘Yeah. He hates that name, prefers his online handle.’ Sam’s fingers were flying across the keyboard as he spoke, his eyes fixated on the screen. ‘The Skorpian, spelt with a k. It’s ’cos he’s always stinging people.’
‘Well let’s hope he can sting whoever’s been inside my life.’
***
‘Rupe’s working on it. Hopefully he’ll get back to us shortly. Could I grab another coffee, Doc? I’ve hardly slept in the last two days. Managed forty winks at the office this afternoon, but that’s all.’
‘Sure. And what about the thumb drives?’
Doc stood beside his coffee machine, making a second brew for them both. He had a feeling this was going to be a very long night.
‘I planned to have a peek earlier but was reassigned by the boss — she thinks Harding’s role and whatever he was tasked to do are largely irrelevant now. Here we go.’
Sam plugged the first memory stick into the USB slot as his weary host placed both coffees on the counter then stood beside him. Doc was mildly confused as there was a thumb drive already in place.
‘Are you opening both of them at the same time?’
Even with his limited technical expertise, Doc assumed this was a risky approach.
‘Nope. This one,’ Sam tapped a finger on it, ‘is my own special creation. I’m guessing there’s some sort of nasty program on Harding’s memory sticks designed to wipe files or replace them, or both. This contains a program that’ll neutralise the contents on them, then enable us to see exactly what they were designed to do.’
‘Will we be able to see the contents of any files on them too? I’m pretty sure Harding was supposed to plant evidence with them.’
‘Should be able to.’ A whole load of gobbledygook flowed down the screen, too fast for Doc to follow, but Sam kept nodding sagely and grunting approval as the code scrolled past his eyes. ‘Brilliant. Let’s see what was on this one.’
A few taps on the keyboard and a single folder appeared on the screen, named with a string of characters that also made no sense to Doc. He had an uneasy feeling that Sam may have corrupted the memory stick contents, but the moment the sergeant clicked on the folder Doc’s worried frown dissolved into a happy smile.
‘A suicide note… Supposedly written by Abimbola.’ In his enthusiasm Doc pumped his fist on Sam’s shoulder, none too gently. ‘You genius, Sam!’
‘Steady on, Doc.’
As Doc read then reread the few sentences he could see the truth behind the words:
To my friends and colleagues.
I am so sorry for what I have done. For many decades I have been fighting an evil I could not contain, and I allowed my inner beast to reign.
I know it is only a matter of time before they will come for me too.
I pray to God that you and He will forgive me.
Akachi
‘It’s just as you thought, Doc.’
There was a hint of admiration in Sam’s tone, thoroughly undeserved in Doc’s opinion. It was obvious why Harding had been sent there — tying up loose ends by murdering The Surgeon’s partner, burning the crime scene to the ground to destroy any physical evidence, thereby severing any potential link to the Rawlings investigation. The fire would confuse the authorities, although an autopsy would find evidence of suicide, and this letter on the scorched hard drive would confirm it, if the investigators were suspicious and bothered to salvage it. The evil mentioned in the note could be anything.
It was clever. And totally ruthless. But Fiona had ruined everything for the mastermind Doc was convinced was still at large.
He just grunted as Sam continued.
‘Sort of fingers Harry Butler, though it’s a bit ambiguous. The they will come for me too comment.’
Another non-committal grunt from Doc, then, ‘Is that everything?’ A nod from Sam confirmed it. ‘Let’s have a look at this one.’ Doc picked up the other USB stick, the one marked number two. ‘My guess is that Harding had instructions to plant this on Maddox’s home computer.’
‘No problem.’ Sam swapped the thumb drives and, after a much longer indecipherable screed rolled down the screen, a similar sight greeted them, only this time there were more folders — three in total. With another click, the first folder’s contents were exposed. ‘These sub folders look familiar. Let’s see what we’ve got.’
The folders contained documents mirroring the contents of the notebook found at Harry Butler’s shop, including a Book of Secrets, this time supposedly authored by Maddox.
‘This is fantastic, Sam. It almost proves Harry was being set up too.’
‘Not really, Doc. Soundbite will say Harry and Abimbola planned to use Harding to plant this to frame Maddox for all the murders, then kill him to shut down any further investigation into the crimes. With all this evidence at the professor’s home, well, case solved. But we got them both instead.’
‘And what, Abimbola wanted to die once he found out his partner Harry was caught, thinking he’d be arrested too, so arranged for Harding to create his suicide scenario?’ That made no sense. He groaned as Sam responded by postulating another possible scenario.
‘Harry might have been behind that too. Wanted his partner dead — an unrelated suicide —but didn’t expect to get caught, or have us discover his records, his original Book of Secrets and so on.’
Another long sigh from Doc and a weary shrug as he made his way to the coffee machine for yet another refill, then he said, ‘Any joy from Rupert?’
/> ‘Funny you should ask. He’s just invited me to his secure chat-room. Let’s see what he’s uncovered. And yes, I’d love another espresso, Doc.’
***
Rupert delivered both good and — potentially — very bad news. Although the web wizard had managed to locate the account on the remote server used by the computer that had hacked into Doc’s system, he was confronted with a password that prevented him unlocking the contents.
Access would normally pose little problem for The Skorpian, but he warned Sam that it could take anything from a few minutes to days and even months or years, depending on how effective the account was at fending off the bespoke program now being used to try to crack it.
‘It depends on the nature of the password.’ Sam explained in response to Doc’s impatient muttering as he read Rupert’s chat-room messages. ‘Most people use names, words they can remember, sometimes in combination.’
‘Like me, you mean.’ A sheepish look from Doc received a nod from Sam.
‘Yup! Using something like Judith, as you did, Rupert would gain entry in no time, but for a security conscious user with, say, a fifteen character password mixing numbers, symbols and upper and lower case letters… Well that could take years. Sorry, Doc. We just have to wait and hope for the best. You’d be surprised how many sophisticated users choose passwords that are easy to remember rather than a string of random characters.’
For the next hour they went through everything on the second thumb drive hoping to find something to confirm The Surgeon’s true identity, but without success. Nothing they found conclusively exonerated Butler either, merely suggested some ambiguity about his involvement, leaving Doc frustrated. Then the screen vibrated and Rupert’s chat-room came to life.
‘He’s done it!’
Sam let go a little whoop of joy and held up his hand for a high five, but Doc was already busy reading the latest message from the Ukraine.
‘We’re getting all the files held in the cloud? This is fantastic, Sam!’
Moments later the Macbook started to receive dozens of folders, with one estimating two hours to download as the contents contained such large files.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Doc?’ Sam rolled the cursor over the folder and a pop up confirmed it was populating with lengthy video files. ‘These.’
‘Uh-huh. The CCTV footage of his victims. As soon as the first has completed downloading let’s open it. Meanwhile we should check the rest of this treasure trove. There looks to be a lot more than just ten names though.’
There were twenty-two files but only eleven with names they both recognised, including one marked ‘Judith Finch’. Doc’s heart did a momentary backflip at the sight of it, but the contents merely confirmed Sam’s reassurance — there was just a handful of surveillance photos and a couple of pages of notes. It seemed to Doc that Judy had made a lucky escape by choosing to head overseas at the beginning of the year.
Thankfully.
Doc glanced at the kitchen clock. Already three thirty in the morning, but he felt thoroughly refreshed at the prospect of finally unmasking the evil mind behind the crimes.
***
‘Although we can’t visually identify him from the video, I’m pretty sure I recognise his voice, Sam.’
The Surgeon had not said much before eerie chanting and clicking noises dominated the audio, sounding thin and tinny through the Macbook speakers as Doc and Sam observed Rawlings on the operating table. A man dressed in green surgical scrubs, face mask and hat, was leaning over him, scalpel in hand. The camera angle was from overhead and to the side, its focus on the victim, though they could tell Abimbola was present too. The big man danced in and out of view during the ‘operation’ dressed in traditional costume while waving a staff decorated with bones, shells and feathers. Doc assumed the performance was for a muti customer, unseen by the camera, as Abimbola was clearly the source of the strange noises they could now hear.
‘If only I could get this stuff to the office for proper analysis, but…’
‘It’s inadmissible evidence, obtained illegally. I know… Can Rupert post it to you at the Met, anonymously?’
‘No way, Doc! As far as he’s concerned this stuff’s for my eyes only, and he wouldn’t send this to anyone else in case it ever gets compromised, backtracked. If Rupe knew someone else was with me right now, he would be gone and I’d lose him forever. He’s taking a huge risk just accessing this account, sending the files like this… He trusts me, and I’ve got to respect that.’
‘I was wondering how we’d get round this ever since you said your Skorpian pal was on the most wanted lists, Sam.’
‘Well, even though we can’t use this material in any official way, at least we now know who The Surgeon is. That’s something.
‘Something, but it’s not enough, Sam.’
‘True, but I do have the password from Rupe. If we could get a search warrant using some legitimate reason, then I could access the killer’s computers, connect to his cloud server to gather this evidence officially. I could claim I cracked his security using my own tools — no one would be any the wiser. But I can’t do any of that without a warrant…’
‘That’s all we need?’
‘Yup. But we’ll never get one. Soundbite won’t listen to us, especially as she’s already told the world she’s got the killer locked up and his partner’s dead. She’d go ballistic if she knew I was doing this, contacting a known felon, commissioning a criminal act from him. And I’m not even supposed to be talking to you… We’re stuck with a load of incriminating files we can’t use, Doc.’
‘There has to be a way…’ After another cup of coffee and several laps pacing his kitchen, Doc said, ‘Got it! I have an idea.’
After explaining what he planned, initially with much scepticism and resistance from Sam, they agreed to discuss the idea with Jack and only go ahead with his blessing. Sam sent a message thanking Rupert before signing off, and for the next hour they worked on Doc’s plan.
***
‘He’s coming, Doc!’
The detective’s gruff voice echoed in the miniature transceiver ear bud as Doc booted up the computer in the office at the back of the morgue situated in the basement of St George’s Hospital. Jack, though capable of a painful upright shuffle while clutching the wheeled pole supporting the hanging bag of saline attached to his forearm, was sitting in a wheelchair, positioned where Doc had left him some ten minutes earlier, keeping watch on the staff entrance. The pathologist was usually in his office at eight o’clock, rarely a moment before or after, so they knew how much time they had before he would arrive, on this, his final day at work.
Doc’s plan had not taken into account the geriatric health service computer now confronting him. Frustrated, he muttered his impatience at the screen.
‘Come on! Come on!’
It seemed to be taking forever to come to life.
‘Stay calm, mate. He’s about a minute away still.’
The reassuring voice reminded Doc that Jack could hear every word he uttered — the device Sam had fitted was doing exactly as advertised — but his heart still tripped and stuttered with anticipation and fear. He just hoped his plan was foolproof rather than foolhardy. At least Jack was onside despite both his and Sam’s initial doubts.
The welcome screen eventually materialized, but it was not at all welcoming — it demanded a password that Doc did not have. Sam had assured him it would not matter, so Doc went ahead and plugged the thumb drive into the machine, just as Professor Robert Heinrich Koch buzzed himself through the security doors to his place of work.
‘Bob!’
Caught red handed, Doc remained seated behind the pathologist’s desk, a guilt ridden look on his face as his voice echoed through the deserted morgue.
Their eyes locked.
Several emotions made a brief appearance on Koch’s face at the sight of the tableau visible through his office windows and its open door. Initially consternation, followed by
confusion, then, as he took in the empty morgue, determination and finally, triumph. The ME locked the door from the inside, still staring at Doc who appeared frozen, as if a video had been paused, then laughed at the intruder in his domain.
‘Well, well! Colin… It’s so nice to see you. You’re a little early for my retirement party, though.’ Instead of making his way directly to his office, Koch took a short detour to a trolley with a gleaming display of surgical implements laid out on it. With a theatrical flourish he selected a scalpel, held it up to the light, squinting, as if checking it was sharp enough for what he had in mind. ‘I was wondering whether you would ever connect the dots. Fortunately, we have complete privacy in here this morning. I told my assistant not to bother coming in, to take a long weekend while I pack my things.’
Koch stepped into his office as he completed his little speech, and remained standing, peering down at Doc through his horn rimmed glasses, like a headmaster about to deliver a caning to an errant pupil.
‘I — I — I erm…’
‘Goodness! It’s not like you to be speechless. Your verbal diarrhoea on that trashy TV programme you presented was endless. Talk to me, Colin.’ Koch placed the scalpel on the desk, well within his grasp, just centimetres from the fingers of his right hand, but a long stretch for Doc. ‘What are you doing in my office?’ With his left hand, Koch opened the lid of a glossy wooden box situated just behind the computer screen and made a point of selecting an item out of Doc’s line of vision. ‘Is that a USB stick you’ve plugged into my machine? What on earth for?’
Doc snatched the thumb drive from the slot in the computer and palmed it into his pocket, his face red, his voice flustered. ‘It’s nothing… I just… I needed to check on some case files, some post mortem records. It was urgent and you weren’t here so I —’
‘Oh, really? Let me see that.’
The cigar Koch lifted to his nose before taking an exaggerated sniff looked to be about ten inches in length to Doc, something that would take hours to smoke — not that he expected Koch to light it. And it was not the hospital’s anti-smoking policy that would prevent him doing so, had he felt inclined.
Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2) Page 38
