by Sibel Hodge
Two hours later, Paula and Grant’s alibis had been checked out and the court confirmed their attendance times. Grant’s uncle also confirmed he’d already done a bank transfer to pay off their debt.
I watched my best two potential suspects go up in smoke. There was no opportunity, and now the motive was flimsy at best if there was no immediate threat of them being turfed out of their house. Yes, Grant and Paula could still have wanted the Jamesons’ inheritance money, but thousands of people were in debt and they didn’t resort to murder. Although she’d lied in the beginning, I couldn’t see Paula as a cold-blooded killer, and I didn’t think she was lying about this.
So now I was back to square one.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 21
I walked a tearful Laura to her car parked outside on the street and said goodbye as she started the engine.
When she’d driven away I stood, looking up and down the quiet street. Bert was still in place at his window, watching the comings and goings of everyone. The typical nosey neighbour.
I thought about what I’d do if I wanted to find a target and silence them. I’d gather as much intelligence as I could. In this case, I was guessing whoever had taken Toni had discovered her online identity somehow, which in turn revealed her home address. Then I’d spend time observing, following, watching. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Someone had to have followed Toni from her house that day and snatched her when she walked through the cutting. If no one else was around, it would’ve been easy to bundle her in a vehicle and disappear.
But no one had seen anything suspicious and there were no CCTV cameras in the surrounding area, so I had no clue how to find the person or people responsible yet.
I grabbed my daysack full of clothes from my pick-up truck, along with Maya’s rucksack. It was obvious we were spending the night at Corinne’s.
When I walked back in the house, I found Corinne in the kitchen, crying. Maya had an arm around her shoulder, tears in her own eyes. This must’ve been bringing back all the horror Maya had recently gone through, too. I regretted bringing her along with me. It wasn’t fair on her. But it was too late for that.
Our eyes met over Corinne’s head. A silent question in Maya’s. What can we do next?
I didn’t know. I ran my hands over my shaved head and let out a frustrated sigh. I had nothing to go on other than what Laura had said. But I just had to trust Lee could outwit any anonymous online system and find an e-crumb for me to follow.
I picked up the notebook I’d found in Toni’s room. From what she’d written down, it was obvious she was meticulous in her research, and if she was studying the chat rooms and people’s behaviour, I bet she would’ve written down the initial webpages she visited in her search of the dark web for future reference or to cite as an example.
I sat at the table, turning the pages until I reached the last one.
I stared at the words Into the darkness. The dark web.
I brought the notebook closer to my eyes, studying the page that would have been underneath the one Toni had torn out.
‘What are you looking for?’ Corinne sat up.
‘Hang on.’ There were indentations on the paper, captured on the sheet below from where Toni had indeed written something down. I adjusted the book under the light, trying to make out what it said, but it was too hard to read. If I’d had the time and resources, maybe I could’ve arranged for someone to do some forensic tests on it to enhance the words. But I had no time or resources, so I’d have to make do with the old-fashioned, quick method. ‘Do you have a pencil?’ I asked Corinne.
‘Yes. Somewhere.’ She leaped to her feet, eager to be doing something useful, and rummaged around in a kitchen drawer, finally retrieving one and handing it to me.
I placed the notepad flat on the table and rubbed the soft lead over the page, the indentations highlighting in relief as Corinne and Maya crowded round me.
There was one line of writing, comprised of letters and numbers, at the end of which was .onion. A Tor network page on the dark web.
There was no point typing it into Google because it was on a hidden page. I needed to get Lee’s eyes on this and see what he could find. I took a photo of the page and was just about to email it to him, when he called me.
‘OK, first off, Toni’s social media consisted of Facebook and Snapchat, but she hasn’t been active on them for nine months. There were no personal messages that related to her meeting someone, either. I checked the IP activity from the house and I have some bad news,’ Lee said. ‘I had a hunch what Toni found might’ve been on the dark web, and it looks like I was right. Toni was using an anonymous program called Phantom. Do you know what that is?’
‘I’ve just had a crash course from an eighteen-year-old.’ I told him what Laura had said.
‘Jesus.’
‘Toni must’ve accidentally stumbled upon a red room down there.’
‘And they found who she was. The Tor network is pretty damn secure from traffic analysis, which makes it a bastard for law enforcement trying to track these sites down. But the Phantom or Tor browsers are just a modified version of Firefox, which are vulnerable to the same kinds of attacks as Firefox on the surface web. And for people who don’t know about Internet security there are plenty of ways to make mistakes and leak your real ID or IP address if you don’t protect yourself. Something might’ve given away Toni’s identity to the server or site she was looking at. Or even to other people using the site. Maybe she didn’t disable her scripts or plug-ins, like Flash or Java, which operate independently and can transmit data about users. And once they get access to your laptop or PC, they can find anything on it – your email address, bank account details, credit cards, phone numbers. All the data on your computers is vulnerable. They can even remotely turn on your webcam and watch and listen to you.
‘When Toni connected to the Internet the day before she went missing, I can tell from her IP provider she connected to the Tor network via Phantom, but whatever she looked at is hidden, so it’s impossible to tell where she might’ve found the red-room website on the dark web or who’s behind it.’
I stared at the sheet of notebook in my hand. ‘I can do one better, though. I’ve found a hidden website address. I think it’s where Toni started from.’
‘OK, let me have it.’
I read it to him.
‘I’ll check it out and see what I can find. But the problem is, it could’ve led her anywhere.’
I blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I know. It’s the only thing I have right now, though.’
‘I’ll call as soon as I discover anything. Oh, and by the way, I checked out the neighbour, Bert Williamson. He worked for a haulage company as a lorry driver for thirty years until an accident damaged his spine five years ago. Never married. No kids. No arrests. He lives off his disability allowance and an early pension. He seems clean so far. I haven’t had time to dig deeper but if you want me to, I can, although it seems pointless now in light of what we’ve found.’
‘No, good call. He’s not related to this. Thanks, Lee.’ I hung up and closed my eyes, feeling useless.
The clock ticking on the kitchen wall reverberated in my head.
THE DETECTIVE
Chapter 22
I was staring at the whiteboard – ooops, notice board – at the photos of the Jamesons’ dead bodies and the crime scene, scratching my head, both literally and figuratively. Greene had arranged a press conference for 5 p.m. and I had nothing to tell him.
Two questions popped into my head. If it wasn’t a burglary, why would the offenders be at the house of a retired couple of farmers who had no known criminal associations and lived in the middle of nowhere? And what was the link between the offenders and the Jamesons, because there had to be some kind of connection? Turpinfield wasn’t the kind of place you just stumbled upon. It was down a warren of country lanes in the middle of a rural area.
I swung around to Becky, who was on the phone, sound
ing excited.
She hung up and grinned at me.
‘Got anything interesting?’ I asked hopefully.
‘I’m still waiting for the Jamesons’ financial and phone records to come through. They’re going to be a while, I’m afraid, but all the background checks I’ve done so far don’t throw up any flags. I’ve been going through the paperwork recovered from the house – bills, mortgage statements and whatnot, and so far, the Jamesons look squeaky clean. But I’ve got something huge and juicy you’re going to want.’ She winked at me.
‘Huge and juicy? That sounds like sexual harassment, young lady. If you’re not careful I’ll report you to Detective Superintendent Greene and you can be diversified.’ I raised an eyebrow.
She laughed. ‘That was the fingerprint department. They’ve got a match to the palm prints found on the outside of the patio door.’
‘Really? Who?’
‘Tracy Stevens. Aged nineteen. She’s got previous for soliciting and drunk and disorderly.’
‘A prostitute?’
‘I’m not sure you can call them that any more. If Greene hears you . . .’ She wagged a finger at me.
‘OK, sex worker, then, or . . . pleasure technician? I can’t say anything these days. It’s like playing that game where you have to describe something without using the actual word.’
‘Oh, I love that game.’ She chuckled. ‘Anyway, yes, she is. She was arrested in August last year for soliciting. Let off with a caution. Then again in January of this year for soliciting and being drunk in a public place.’
‘Murder seems a high escalation from those offences. Any idea what patch she works?’
‘The arrests were both from London Road in Berrisford. I’ve spoken to the local intelligence officer down there. Stevens is well known to them as a sex worker. She’s also a heroin addict.’
Berrisford was a large town at the other end of the county, fifty-five miles from Turpinfield. ‘Any known associates?’
‘Only one. Another sex worker called Alice Drew. Alice is the listed tenant at 98 Kings Tower. It’s a council flat. That was the last known address for Stevens when she was arrested.’
‘Right.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Ronnie will be back soon. We’ll head up there and see if we can find Stevens. I want you to circulate Tracy’s details on PNC and to other forces.’
Half an hour later, armed with a file containing printouts of everything Becky could find on Tracy Stevens, Ronnie and I headed to my car. I wondered why a prostitute from Berrisford was at the Jamesons’ house. On the one hand, drug addicts were notoriously unpredictable, and would do anything to feed their habit. But if she’d gone there to rob the place, why was nothing taken? It didn’t make sense. Unless there had been an argument, maybe a struggle, and things had got out of hand. Then Tracy and her accomplice had panicked and shot Mike and Jan before doing a runner. But I very much doubted someone callous enough to bring a gun with them to commit a crime and then shoot two elderly people with it would have hesitated to pick up Mrs Jameson’s handbag on the lounge floor at the very least before they left.
‘You can drive while I read through this intel.’ I threw the car keys at Ronnie. ‘And I need to stop at a drive-through somewhere and get something to eat.’
Ronnie pulled a face. ‘That fast food’s too greasy. My intestines are delicate.’
‘Well, you can have a gherkin or something.’
I slid in the passenger side and opened the folder as Ronnie started the car. There were several photos of Tracy Stevens, taken at her arrests. In one of them she wore a vest top and jeans. She was skinny to the point of emaciation, her collar and shoulder bones jutting through the skin. Her blue eyes were sunken with dark hollows around them. Her forehead and chin were covered in bright red spots. She had a tattoo of a leopard on her right shoulder. Long black hair.
And she was five foot and one inch tall.
THE VIGILANTE
Chapter 23
It was just gone midnight when Lee rang back. I was sitting at the kitchen table in darkness, watching the silent street through the net curtains, anger and frustration churning inside. Corinne had gone to lie down, although I didn’t think she’d spend much time sleeping. Maya was on the sofa in the lounge, trying to rest. Her leg had been playing up, her limp getting more pronounced whenever she was tired or stressed, and I was concerned that I’d asked too much of her.
‘That URL led to a chat room in the dark web called Vice Box,’ Lee said. ‘You have to set up a username and password before you can view anything, which I did. I’ve had a quick look around in there and it’s an unmoderated site where pretty much anything goes. Like the name suggests, the discussion topics cover any vice you can think of, and range from the tame, harmless stuff, to paedophilia, torture, snuff films and red rooms. I don’t know if Toni actually posted anything on there or whether she was just lurking, but even to look she must’ve set up an account. Do you have any idea of what her username and password could’ve been?’
‘Actually, I might.’ I switched on the light and turned to the front page of Toni’s notebook. ‘Try SuperGurrrl991 as the username.’ I spelled it out. ‘And psychos101 as the password.’
I heard typing on the other end of the line and held my breath.
‘No. That’s not it.’
I searched down the page. There were four different passwords but Toni’s username seemed to always be the same. ‘Try SuperGurrrl991 and IHatePasswords991.’
More typing. Another negative hit.
‘SuperGurrrl991 and chunkybuttons0809.’
A few seconds later, he said, ‘That’s it.’ I heard frantic clattering. ‘I’m checking her chat room account history, but she didn’t post anything. She didn’t have any personal messages, either. But there’s a facility to create a flag on her dashboard so she could watch certain threads.’
‘And what were they?’
‘There are two. One’s titled “Pain4Fun” and the other is “Broken Britney”. I’ll go through them and see if I can find a reference to any missing girl or a red room. I’ll call you back.’
The titles conjured up images that made my stomach clench with fear for Toni. I hung up as Corinne wandered into the room, dressed in the same clothes, which were now rumpled, and wrapped in a blanket. A half-expectant, half-worried look pinched her face. ‘I heard you on the phone. Is there any news?’
‘Nothing good, I’m afraid.’ I told her what I’d found.
‘So, these red rooms are actually real? It’s just unbelievable that . . .’ Corinne trailed off, blinking back more tears, and sat opposite me, resting her feet on the edge of the chair and wrapping her arms around her, cocooned in the blanket. ‘It’s not always been easy, bringing her up on my own.’ She stared at a spot on the table. ‘When Tony died I was a mess. I was scared and grieving and angry.’
The guilt twisted a knife painfully behind my sternum. ‘After Tony, you didn’t want to speak to me, and I never got to say how sorry and—’
‘No.’ She cut me off and shook her head. ‘I did blame you. Of course I did. For a long time I hated you.’
‘I blamed myself. I still do.’
‘Tony was going to leave the Regiment.’
‘What?’ My heart stopped for a second. ‘He never said.’
‘He’d only just decided. It was because he knew about the baby. I told him just before he left for West Africa. We’d been trying for a long time and she was our precious little miracle. I mean, I knew what he did when I married him, of course. But I didn’t like it. Knew that things could go badly wrong. There was always a chance that he might not come back from some deployment. And when I told him . . .’ She choked back a sob. ‘When I told him about Toni, he agreed it was time to leave. He was going to sort it all out when he got back from the job with you. Put things in motion so we could be a real family together.’
I felt myself choking up, a punch to my heart. A shiver ran over my skin. ‘But he never came back.’ I rested
my head in my hands. ‘Jesus, Corinne.’
‘You know I mentioned I’d argued with Toni in the past? Well, it was usually about you.’
My head jerked up. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, it was the only thing we ever really disagreed about. She wanted to meet you. She’d seen all the photos of you and Tony together and she wanted to hear what happened to him that day from you. She said there were always two sides to a story.’ She tipped her head to the ceiling, anguish on her face. ‘She pleaded with me to let her meet you but I wouldn’t let her. I wasn’t ready to hear your side of the story then. I couldn’t. I heard the official version, of course. And . . .’ She looked at me. ‘But . . . if Toni was here now . . .’ She stopped. Sniffed. ‘If she was here, she’d want to ask you about it. She’d want to know. So . . . I’m ready now. I need to finally hear it.’
‘Are you sure?’ I blinked away the moisture filming my eyes.
‘Yes.’
I exhaled hard, pushed the wave of sadness down as I fought for the words I’d held in so long. ‘After the well-drilling team were kidnapped with the army protective detail, the British high commission in the capital got a call from someone representing a notorious group of armed rebels, the leader of which was a complete psychopath. Proof of life was requested and given, and then they made their demands. They wanted ten million dollars in exchange for everyone held captive.’ I paused, my eyes searching hers, a silent question asking if she wanted me to continue.
She nodded.
‘We were on standby squadron back in Hereford at the time, kit packed ready to go. By the time we got into the country and set up the Forward Operating Base, the security services had acquired satellite images of the area they thought the hostages were in and had pinpointed their camp. When we were close to the enemy, up the river, we covertly dropped off a recce team, who infiltrated near to the target, set up an observation point and were relaying vital information back to us in the FOB. The usual stuff, how many enemy there were, what weapons and comms equipment they had, any vehicles and escape routes, and of course trying to get further confirmation of life of the hostages and where they were being held in the stronghold.
