I nodded to suggest I really had remembered all that. In front of us was a blank browser window, waiting patiently for our submergence into the illicit tunnels of the internet.
“So is everything on the dark web illegal?”
“In theory, no. Some people use it for privacy or to get around censorship but I think they’re in the minority. I can honestly say I have never had any need to install this software before and I will be getting rid of it as soon as we’re done.” He clicked on the address bar and typed in a link. “Okay, now I’m going to show you how easy it is to buy stuff.”
A page called CrystalCage popped up on the screen. It looked just like any high street shop’s website but, instead of selling clothes and homeware, there were listings for psychedelics, stimulants and opioids.
“All you have to do is choose your poison – in this case pretty much literally – then decide how much you want and they’ll send it to any address you give them.”
Picking through the Italian salad Mum had made me, I tossed a carrot baton in my mouth. “What about local deliveries? Can you get it brought round so that you don’t have to wait?”
“I thought about that and had a look on some forums, but I couldn’t find anything. I came across an exclusively British site…” He stopped speaking to type r78rtdjs92core58fg.onion into the browser and a few seconds later, a website called High Albion popped up. “On here, everything is coming to you from within the UK. The whole point of using the dark web, instead of selling in the street, is that it’s anonymous. It’s safer for the dealer and safer for the buyer. I imagine there’s a way to have courier deliveries, but it would be more expensive and far riskier.”
Ramesh sounded completely different when he was focussed on his job. His flamboyance and eccentricities were smoothed out by the technicality of the world he worked in.
It was a little bit scary looking at this stuff. The closest I’d come to illegal drugs was smoking a joint with Danny when we were sixteen. It turned out he’d been sold dried basil in place of marijuana and, anyway, I didn’t inhale.
I figured we could go a bit further without getting into any trouble. “Click on the cocaine link. Show me how Bob would have done it.”
“Okay, but we’re not ordering anything.” Ramesh’s voice spiked louder. “Cocaine. Choose a variety. One gram. Enter address. Pay with bitcoin. Payment details. That’s all it takes.”
Still getting my head around the alarming simplicity of everything we’d done, a little bell finally went off in my brain. “Wait, press the browser’s home button a second.”
Ramesh did as instructed and a welcome message with a picture of an onion popped up on the screen as I’d been expecting.
“I’ve seen that before.” I pointed at the icon.
“Instead of .com or .co.uk, the pages on the dark web all finish with the suffix .onion. I guess you have to peel the layers away to get to them.”
“No, I mean, I’ve seen that specific page before. It was open on Bob’s computer when I found him dead.”
“Hardly surprising.” Ramesh wasn’t impressed. “We already figured that Bob was getting his stuff online. It doesn’t help us work out who killed him.”
“Let me finish.” I imagine I sounded pretty smug saying that. “I saw it on Bob’s screen but I also noticed that one of Jack’s most used apps was a browser I’d never heard of before. A browser with a little onion logo.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jack Campbell: Divorced. Mid to late fifties. Security guard at Porter & Porter for longer than I’d been on the planet and potential murderer.
The fact that two men in the office had installed the same piece of software for anonymously accessing unlawful services didn’t mean that one of them was a killer but it certainly added some colour to our dull little company. If the gossip that Bob had unearthed was that Jack had been buying drugs, like him, I don’t see why it would have led to a fight. If anything, they could have recommended each other websites and exchanged druggy anecdotes. No, it had to be something more.
The dark web isn’t just for buying drugs. Jack could have been after weapons or credit card numbers or paying to have his ex-wife hacked. And there’s nastier stuff on there too. Stuff that I didn’t want to read or hear or even think about.
Back at my desk after lunch, I decided to text Ramesh my idea.
So, here’s my new theory: Jack did something disgusting online that even Bob was appalled by. Bob tried to blackmail him over it, Jack gave in after their fight and for a while everything was okay. Eventually, Bob got greedy so Jack did away with him. Then, when we started looking into Bob’s murder, Jack realised and put the hit out on me.
Hang on a second, Izzy. When you say ‘Jack did something disgusting
online,’ do you mean that he was watching an altogether different
kind of animal video?
Yuck, Ramesh. Don’t be gross.
But actually, yeah. Something like that.
I’m going to keep an eye on him and see what he gets up to.
Maybe there’s another explanation.
Nah. I’m pretty sure you just cracked this case wide open.
Busy now. Bye.
Though I hadn’t finished the completely bogus work that Will had cooked up for me, I spent most of that afternoon watching our new prime suspect.
Ooh, I like that phrase. It makes us sound like Helen Mirren.
Yeah, it does. Only sexier.
Than Helen Mirren? We wish.
When he wasn’t on one of his trice-hourly toilet breaks, Jack spent eighty per cent of his time on his computer but only about a quarter of that laughing. This told me that the animal videos he watched were either a cover for something shady, or he’d become desensitised to the cuteness of a baby elephant on a trampoline or kittens falling off sofas. The very idea of which was laughable.
Jack’s main responsibilities appeared to be signing packages in and out. There was always a receptionist on duty for that sort of thing but, as Jack’s cubbyhole was the first thing anyone saw when they entered the office, such tasks had fallen to him over the years.
A cunning idea exploded into my brain like a firework and I decided to put it to the test. I grabbed my coat and headed towards the exit. As I walked past Jack, I could hear the unmistakeable sound of the Dramatic Chipmunk video clattering out of his tiny, tinny speakers. Instead of getting into the lift as he’d have been expecting, I hid out of sight around the corner and listened to what he was up to. For the next five minutes, no one entered or left the office and there wasn’t a peep from Jack’s computer. I could hear him busily clicking and typing away, but his speakers were silent.
“I hear you bought a dog.” This was my opening gambit when I returned to the office. It was carefully designed to let Jack know that I was on to him without scaring him off.
“That’s right. His name’s Baron.” He pulled his phone out and opened the photos app. I was in no way expecting what came next. “There’s Baron when I first got him. Baron with me in the park. Baron on his own in the park. Baron by the sea. Baron and me by the sea…”
“I thought you hated dogs?” I probably let my surprise come out a tad too clearly in my voice.
“I used to. I once foolishly considered them the lowest of all animals, but that was before I met Baron. He’s lovely, isn’t he?”
I looked at the photo he was holding up. Baron was the biggest, meanest Rottweiler I’d ever seen. I was scared he would bite me through the phone. “Lovely! Have you had him long?”
Jack continued swiping through the pictures. “Only a couple of months, but he’s changed my life.” He paused on a photo of Baron with another dog in his mouth. “Such a joker he is. To be honest, I was a bit lonely until he came along. And now I don’t have to worry about punk kids in the street giving me trouble.”
“I bet you don’t.”
A beatific smile crossed his face. “My grandkids love him.”
“I bet he lo
ves them.” I watched him scroll through the pictures and wondered once more whether he was putting on act. “I also heard that Pippa the intern is your daughter.”
Somehow, his smile grew even wider. “That’s right. She didn’t want me to make a big thing out of it when she was working here, but I helped her get the placement.”
“Ah, that’s nice. How’s she doing these days?”
He put the phone down and sat up in his chair, all proud. “Really well, thanks. The experience she gained here was invaluable. She’s working in the city now at one of the big four.” I watched for some sign that he knew what Bob had done to his daughter but there wasn’t the slightest flicker.
“Make sure you send her my best wishes.”
“Will do.”
I left Jack to get back to whatever he did when he wasn’t pretending to watch animal videos. If his alibi checked out, what did that mean for my whole Jack-as-killer theory?
So much for Helen Mirren.
Oh shut up, brain. No one can hear you and no one would want to listen if they could.
Perhaps Jack was paranoid about online security and that’s why he’d downloaded the dark web browser. It would fit with him buying the world’s biggest Rottweiler and the fact he’s a security guard. Maybe the only dirt that Bob had on him was that he’d gone home with Suzie one night or made fun of Wendy’s large selection of skirts. My grand theory suddenly felt a bit small.
I decided to switch off again and think about something other than Jack and his kindly beard. I returned to the work I was supposed to do for Will and tried to make my report sound both professional and insincere. Half an hour in and my mind had already been wandering for about twenty-nine minutes.
It didn’t make sense. Jack was up to something on his computer, I just knew it. There was no way that he could be so innocent. Butter wouldn’t melt, that’s what Bob said and he was right. Jack’s old duffer personality was a costume he put on each morning, along with his black jumper with the epaulettes and his mobile phone holster. No one else was going to work out what he was up to, so it was down to me (and possibly Ramesh).
Fancy doing some real detective work this evening?
You betcha!
Actually, can we go for Tapas too? I have a hankering for patatas bravas.
Unless there was a special meeting or one of the bosses wanted to stay late, Jack normally locked up the office when the cleaners finished at seven every evening. We waited for him down in the street and he appeared ten minutes later, coming out of the underground car park on his particularly old-fashioned shopping bike.
“Wow, he’s good,” I said to Ramesh who was hiding his face behind an extra-large coffee cup. “He’s got bicycle clips on his trousers and everything. No one would ever suspect a man wearing bicycle clips.”
No one except us.
“Let’s go, Iz.” It was probably down to the vat of caffeine he’d imbibed but Ramesh was pumped. “Let’s do this.”
Following Jack wasn’t particularly difficult. He just about pootled along and at one point we had to slow down so that we didn’t get ahead of him. He turned right towards Wellesley Road and the faded glamour of the Whitgift Shopping Centre with its vaguely nautical funnels. Buses and cars beeped and roared past as he, slow and steady, lost the race.
Jack lived in West Croydon – the wrong side of the wrong tracks – and we were soon transported to Broad Green Village, one of the epicentres of the 2011 riots. It had been years since I’d been there. When I was a kid it was… well, not that pretty either but there was a really good shoe shop that Mum used to take me to and then we’d have an ice cream on the high street or go to the Safari cinema for a matinee.
As we padded along behind Jack, pay-day loan sharks shouted at us from their shopfronts and the smell of kebabs and Halal meat filled our hungry nostrils. Eventually, we turned off the high street into a road of identical, two-story houses that looked like they would have once been very pretty. Jack turned in to number seventeen and chained his bike up outside without noticing us.
“Great.” Ramesh had apparently deflated. “So now we have to hang around here for hours on the off chance he comes back out. If I miss Britain’s Got Talent because of this, I’m telling you now, I’ll freak out.”
“Seriously, Ramesh, you can find it online about thirty seconds after. Just relax.”
“You know it’s not the same, Izzy. BGT’s only good when you watch it live.”
I stared at him, unsure if he was serious, or even sane. Before I could find out, Jack had reappeared. He was dressed all in black, had a large rucksack on his back and was being tugged along by a monster on a chain. He and Baron were heading right for us.
We bolted round the corner and stood in the doorway of an abandoned shop. I could see Jack through the window, walking along the other side of the road. When he crossed over, I knew we’d have to take drastic action.
“Quick, pretend we’re making out.”
Ramesh looked shocked. “I have a girlfriend!”
“I said, pretend.” I grabbed hold of him, buried my head in his shoulder and pulled him towards me.
“Ooooohhhhh…” he moaned seductively.
Once Jack had continued on past us, I pushed Ramesh away. “What was that noise?”
“What?”
“The moaning?”
“I was trying to make it authentic. More importantly, why didn’t you tell me that Jack has a pet demon hound? You know that dogs are racist, Izzy. If he sets that thing on us, I won’t stand a chance.”
“Shut up and move, he’s getting away.”
We crossed the high street but kept our distance so that Jack wouldn’t spot us as Baron pulled him along another residential road. The dog was even more terrifying in the flesh, it was as if someone had taken a bull and shrunken it down to fit in a maisonette.
“If Jack turns round, he’ll spot you immediately.” My friend was fond of stating the obvious. “Where did you get the idea to be a detective, anyway? You stick out like a peacock at the north pole.”
At least he didn’t say giraffe.
I was about to punch him when I saw that Jack had come to a stop. I pulled Ramesh behind a parked car before Jack noticed us.
Standing on the corner of the street, Jack glanced nervously in our direction and swung his backpack to the floor. Baron was pulling at his lead, straining to escape along the road towards us.
“I think he can smell us, Iz. I swear that creature wants to eat me.”
I held Ramesh’s shoulder to stop him shaking. “I thought you loved dogs.”
“And I thought Jack hated them. Looks like we were both wrong.”
It was a gloomy evening and the streetlights had turned on to lend the scene a Victorian glow. Jack looked terrified and I remembered what he’d said about punk kids on his street. For the next few minutes, he was like a weather vane spinning in the wind. His attention constantly flicked between his phone, his watch and the four streets of the crossroad he was standing at.
“You’re late,” he shouted before we could see who he was talking to. Baron emitted a low growl.
“Yeah, well. That’s the way things go sometimes.” A boy of about sixteen had joined him on the corner. He dropped his bag to the floor and knelt down to stroke the beast under its dribbly jowls. “Who’s a good boy, eh? Who’s the best boy?”
Baron didn’t answer.
“Any problems this week?” Jack was still looking back and forth along the road.
“Yeah. I got a paper cut and we ran out of envelopes.”
“Don’t be a prat.” Jack’s normally uncertain tone was gone. His voice had become blunt, aggressive, threatening even. “You know what I mean.”
The boy wasn’t scared and spoke back just as curtly. “Does it look like I had any problems?”
“Tell your brother I’ll meet him here again on Wednesday. I’ll see you next week. Same time, same place.”
“Guess so.” The boy walked off in the direct
ion he’d come from. “Cya round, boss.”
I was worried that Jack would turn straight back our way but he took a right instead and instantly disappeared from view. I figured he’d either got wind that someone was following him or Baron needed to stretch his legs.
“What just happened?” Ramesh asked when we could stand back up.
“Didn’t you see?” I was happy to have spotted what my friend had evidently failed to.
“See what?”
“Jack has broken bad!”
Ramesh wasn’t amused. “Izzy, you know the only American shows I watch have the words Project, Chef or Race in the title. What just happened?”
“If you’d been paying more attention, you would have noticed that Jack and the boy exchanged bags.”
“And?”
“And now we know what Bob must have discovered.”
He let out a huff – okay, I was probably milking it. “Which is?”
“Jack isn’t buying drugs on the dark web.” Pause for effect. “He’s selling them.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Both Ramesh and I got what we wanted that night. I found out what Jack had been up to and he got to choose the Tapas we ate.
We went to my Mum’s favourite place in South Croydon and ordered (tiny) bowls full of exquisite food. There were Padron peppers, chorizo cooked in cider, Roman-style calamari, jamon, and three big portions of patatas bravas smothered in garlic mayonnaise and nicely spicy tomato sauce.
“So do you get it now?” I tossed a carrot baton in my mouth.
Ramesh nodded. “Yeah… Not quite.”
“Jack buys the drugs, passes them on to a bunch of kids to divide up and send out and keeps most of the profit for himself. Then one day, let’s just imagine, a package comes for Bob. Jack spots it, sees where it’s come from and tells him off for having cocaine sent to the office.
“Only, Bob’s smarter than Jack and realises what’s going on. He says, ‘How do you know what’s in this envelope if I haven’t even opened it?’ Jack’s no improviser. He can’t come up with an answer and so Bob realises that our ever-faithful security guard has been using his job at P&P as a cover for his side enterprise… Or something along those lines anyway.”
A Corpse Called Bob Page 18
