IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery

by Ray Clark

  “It never ends, does it? Someone needs to ring the Middlesbrough police in the morning, see what they can tell us about that,” said Gardener. “How the hell did they work all this out?”

  “The things is, Stewart,” said Briggs, “none of this tells us who is responsible for what’s happening now.”

  “I agree, sir, but if we can trace something in their past, it might give us a clue to where they could be now, particularly if we’re trying to find a needle in a haystack like an industrial unit from where they operate.”

  Briggs nodded but he didn’t seem convinced.

  “So how did they go from this relatively small-time stuff to the big one with David Hunter’s bank?” asked Gardener.

  “They’ve been involved in everything,” said Gates. “Stolen cards, fraudsters shop-to-drop. Spy software. At one point they were offering an online service of bank robbers for hire; thieves replacing money mules with prepaid cards. A couple of years back the FBI were investigating theft of $139,000 from Pittsford, New York.”

  “What, and they were involved?” Reilly asked.

  “Seems so,” said Pearson, “but the big one was when someone was sold a lemon in Internet Banking. We finally discovered this was the precursor to the bank scam involving David Hunter.”

  “What happened?” Gardener asked, taking a seat.

  “Be quicker if I just read this out,” said Pearson. “I haven’t had time to study it all. An online bank robbery in which computer crooks stole £50,000 from a Glasgow car dealership illustrated the deftness with which cyber thieves were flouting the meagre security measures protecting commercial accounts at many banks. But it was small fry compared to what James really had in mind.

  “At 7:45 a.m. Monday, 1st November last year, the controller for Auditech, a Glasgow-based Audi dealer, logged into his account at RBS, Glasgow, to check the company’s accounts. Seven hours later, he logged back in and submitted a payroll batch for company employees totalling £40,000. The bank’s authentication system sent him an email to confirm the batch details, and the controller approved it.

  “The controller didn’t know it at the time, but DPA had already compromised his Microsoft Windows PC with a copy of the Octopus Trojan, which allowed James to monitor the controller’s computer and log in to the company’s bank account using his machine. Less than an hour after the bookkeeper approved the payroll batch, bank records show, DPA logged in to Auditech’s account from the same internet address normally used by the dealership, using the controller’s correct username and password.

  “The attackers cased the joint a bit – checking the transaction history, account summary and balance – and then logged out. They waited until 1:04 p.m. the next day to begin creating their own £50,000 payroll batch, by adding four new ‘employees’ to the company’s books. The employees added were in fact money mules recruited through work-at-home job scams to help crooks launder stolen funds.

  “Auditech’s controller never received the confirmation email sent by the bank to verify the second payroll batch initiated by the fraudsters, because the crooks also had control over the controller’s email account.”

  “Is that everything?” asked Gardener.

  “I wish,” said Gates, “you can see the size of this file.”

  Gardener glanced at Briggs. “I agree with the DCI, it is very interesting, and I appreciate everything you’ve done in bringing this to the incident room, but we’re no nearer to finding out who is killing them now.”

  “There’s every possibility we could be even further away than we thought,” said Briggs. “Think about how many people they’ve crossed. All the information we have picked up would require the entire UK’s police forces on it full time to make a breakthrough.”

  Gardener sighed and took a seat. The previous incident room meeting had given them some hope. He didn’t feel the same way now.

  “Does anyone have any good news?” he asked.

  Patrick Edwards raised his hand.

  Chapter Forty-six

  Patrick swivelled his chair around to his computer station, which was once again connected to the overhead projector. He tapped a few keys and the screen came to life.

  “I’ve got some more good CCTV footage from Butts Court, which concerns our friend, Superintendent Palmer. It’s not brilliant because it’s relying on street-lighting.”

  The scene was peaceful enough. A Vauxhall Astra pool car was parked up. Gardener moved in closer, if you peered at it for long enough you could see the two officers on watch. The passenger seat appeared to be reclined and the officer had his hat over his face. The other was reading a book.

  Before Edwards said anything, Sergeant David Williams dropped into the room and took a seat. Chances were he’d finished his shift and was interested enough to see what was developing.

  On the screen that Edwards was operating, the infamous Green Evoque pulled in behind the Astra, making the driver’s side harder to spot because it was lined up with the kerb.

  The door opened and the officer stepped out, dressed in full regalia of uniform and peaked cap. He closed the door of the Evoque and straightened his cap and walked towards the Astra, with his head still down. He appeared to be holding his throat.

  “Stop it there, Patrick,” said Gardener. “Can we enhance that?”

  “Not enough to get a good look at him. I’ve tried.”

  Gardener still requested it. The software gave them a close up but as Patrick Edwards had said, it was grainy. “Anyone recognise him?”

  The officers shook their heads.

  “What about the build?” Gardener asked.

  “He’s not very tall,” said Sharp, “if you look closely he’s about the same height as the Evoque, which doesn’t make him tall.”

  “He looks a bit chunky,” said Reilly.

  “So,” said Gardener, “are we finally looking at Anthony Palmer?”

  “I know who we’re not looking at,” said Bob Anderson.

  Thornton said what Anderson was thinking. “Rosie Henshaw or Zoe Harrison.”

  “Still doesn’t mean one or both are not involved in this,” said Briggs. “They might need the man for the heavy work.”

  “The build suggests it’s the same person we saw in the chemical suit,” said Rawson.

  “I’ll second that,” said Gardener. “Okay, Patrick, start it up again.”

  The man in the uniform walked toward the Astra, alerting the two officers to his presence as he tapped on the passenger window of the car. Once the window was opened he leaned in and spoke to the officers.

  “He’s very confident,” said Paul Benson, “look at him, he’s leaning into the car so he was obviously close enough to be recognised.”

  Gardener jumped on it. “Have we spoken to those two? Surely we have a description.”

  Colin Sharp consulted his notes, reading through what was said. “I’m afraid not. According to what they were saying his cap was very low down on his head and he was wearing a scarf. The lighting behind him made it hard to see his features clearly.”

  “A scarf?”

  “Yes, apparently he complained about how cold it was and the scarf was covering most of his face because he had a cold and he didn’t want to breathe all over those two.”

  “Brilliant,” said Briggs. “He really has thought of everything.”

  As the scene unfolded, the two constables were laughing and smiling with Superintendent Palmer. Finally, the constable leaned back, the car was started, and they pulled off.

  The officer waited before opening the tailgate and removing the bundle. He placed it exactly where they had found James Henshaw. As he walked away there was no movement from that bundle. He glanced at the camera and nodded before jumping into the vehicle, turning it round and pulling off, out of picture.

  “He knew the CCTV wouldn’t identify him,” said Gardener.

  “Where did the vehicle go from there?” Reilly asked.

  “Pretty much the same route as last time,�
�� said Edwards, “but interestingly enough, the Evoque has pinged a camera today.”

  “What time?”

  “Around twelve thirty.”

  “Where?”

  “The A658, Harrogate Road.”

  “Going into Harrogate, or coming out?” asked Reilly.

  “In.”

  “Interesting,” said Gardener, “the vehicle is on long-term hire to an address in Harrogate that doesn’t exist. The chances are that is exactly where our man is – Harrogate.”

  Gardener turned to Gates and Longstaff. “Did either of you find out where and how the vehicle was paid for?”

  “I spoke to Hertz. It was paid upfront, the Evoque is long term, a one-year lease.”

  “One year?”

  “Yes, it was paid BACS from a bank account that is now closed. In fact, it was closed shortly afterwards.”

  “I accept that,” said Gardener. “I know how careful these people are, but is it possible to keep hounding Hertz and see if they can dig a little further, find something that might point us in another direction? Find out which bank it was and then pursue them and see what they can tell you.”

  “What about the house clearances?” Thornton asked. “He must have used something big for those. Do Hertz have a large white van on hire anywhere in that area?”

  “Maybe using the same account?” added Anderson.

  That point brought the team to a halt. Gardener realised it was something that had been overlooked so he seized the opportunity. “I want someone on that first thing in the morning. And while I’m thinking about it, Patrick, when you’ve finished here go to the press office and get them to put out an appeal for that green Evoque. If anyone thinks they have spotted it they are to give us a call.”

  Gardener quickly changed topics. “What about industrial units, have we gained any ground?”

  The response was negative again. They had very obviously been busy with all the online stuff, but now the spa town of Harrogate had come into the equation more than once.

  “My gut feeling tells me that we might need to concentrate on units on industrial estates in Harrogate.”

  Gardener turned and updated the whiteboards. When he’d finished he addressed the team.

  “Keep digging into these vehicles. Now we need to concentrate on the industrial units in Harrogate. That place could be the key to everything here.”

  He glanced at Colin Sharp. “Anything on their personal vehicles?”

  “Zoe Harrison’s car stood out like a sore thumb. It was a Ferrari Diablo.”

  “Oh my God,” said Bob Anderson, “crime certainly does pay.”

  Sharp nodded. “CCTV shows it leaving the airport on February 15th, around midday. I fed the information into the system but there haven’t been any pings since that day. Anthony Palmer had a 7-series BMW. This is interesting, CCTV shows it being driven away on Sunday of this week, also around midday, which was, of course, the day before he landed back in the country.”

  “Meaning it was stolen,” said Reilly. “Why didn’t he report it?”

  “Good question,” said Rawson, “obviously had plenty to hide and didn’t want us lot sniffing around.”

  “So how did he get home?” asked Gardener.

  “Had to be a taxi,” said Benson.

  “Maybe,” said Gardener. “Job for you, Paul. Find the taxi driver or the bus driver that took him home. We know for a fact that he is still at large, so he wasn’t abducted and taken to wherever the others are, still making him a possible suspect, or victim. What about Michael Foreman’s car?”

  “He had an Audi TT. According to the caretaker of his apartment block it was parked there for a few days and then it pretty much disappeared after he moved out.”

  Gardener bristled. “He never told us that before, did he? Check the system for pings. One of these cars may have been seen somewhere.”

  “If we go with your gut feeling, boss,” said Reilly, “that somewhere could be Harrogate.”

  Gardener nodded. “Colin, I believe you were also checking the pay-as-you-go phone that Anthony Palmer had in Beckett’s Park.”

  “A bit of news on that. It was bought at the O2 shop in Leeds. Receipt made out to Alec Prince.”

  “There we go again,” said Patrick Edwards. “Same initials. Anthony Palmer, Alfie Price, Alec Prince.”

  “Can we get any more on that?”

  “Afraid not. Pay-as-you-go.”

  “No cameras in the shop?” asked Rawson. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “They do have cameras,” replied Sharp, “but they don’t cover all of the shop, and the only shot he was seen in, he had his back to the camera.”

  “I know it’s a tough question, Colin,” said Gardener, “but did he look anything like the man in Butts Court?”

  “Sorry, sir, neither one was clear enough. The only thing I will say is similar build.”

  Gardener updated the boards again.

  “Okay, did anyone have any luck with Porton Down?”

  “Not yet,” said Briggs. “I’ve put the call in and started the ball rolling but I’ve no idea how long it takes. A government establishment like that might take ages to come back to us.”

  “If at all,” added Reilly.

  “They’ll have to come back to us,” said Gardener, “even if they don’t care to admit anything. A place like that could say everything tallies up even if it doesn’t, and then they’ll start their own investigation and we’ll probably never know.”

  Gardener ran his hands through his hair and down his face. “I want to thank you all for what you’ve done here, you’ve pulled a double shift and filled in lots of blanks. For that you can be pleased with yourselves. But we still have one big question remaining, that we have yet to answer. Who is killing people?”

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Gardener was sitting in a car. It was late, dark, cold and desolate, and he had no idea where he was.

  The engine wasn’t running; the lights and the radio were on, but there was no sound emanating from the latter. As he glanced through the windscreen he figured he was in a large car park, or on a piece of wasteland, but there were no buildings nearby. He couldn’t see any trees, or any lights, yet he could still see quite clearly.

  Glancing at the passenger seat, he noticed he was alone. He wondered where Reilly was. If they were investigating a case, he should be close by.

  Within the blink of an eye Gardener was outside of the car. To his left he saw a stretch of river with a narrowboat running along it. The man at the back, steering it, gave him a wave.

  Nothing made sense. Since when did you have a river running through a car park?

  Gardener’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket. Staring at the display he didn’t recognise the number but he answered anyway.

  “Stewart, it’s your mother. What time will you be home?”

  Gardener didn’t answer.

  “Don’t be late, I don’t want you out on your own when it’s dark, there’s a lot of strange people around.”

  “How old do you think I am, Mum?”

  The line disconnected, leaving Gardener staring at the device.

  When he’d replaced the phone in his pocket the landscape had changed completely. He was now in the middle of an industrial estate, with buildings all around, a chain-link fence, and good lighting. A number of cars drove by on the road on the outside of the fence.

  The building he was standing against had an aluminium exterior with a number of windows on the upper level for the offices. In the distance on his right he saw a roller shutter door, and next to that a smaller metal door that was open.

  Standing in front of it was Sarah. He’d recognise the shoulder-length blonde hair anywhere. Not to mention the white leather jacket he had bought her for her birthday. She was also wearing jeans.

  “Come on, we don’t want to be late.” She beckoned him over.

  “On my way,” he shouted. For what, he had no idea.

  Sarah disap
peared through the door and he followed her. The inside of the building was huge but not well lit. There were so many corridors he thought he was in a maze. He could hear music playing from speakers he couldn’t locate. He had no idea what it was. All he knew was how strange it sounded; some lunatic was singing about somewhere in the night, and turning to the right, when something clicks inside of your head. Then there would be trouble ahead.

  “Chris?” shouted Sarah. It was distant, so she must be.

  Gardener took off down one of the corridors, not knowing where he was going or why.

  “Chris?” Sarah shouted again. “Where are you? It’s getting late and we’re supposed to be meeting your father.”

  What the hell was she on about, thought Gardener.

  He took more corridors, which didn’t lead anywhere. Sarah shouted for Chris at least three more times and each one grew successively louder, and scarier. She sounded really worried.

  Desperate, Gardener started to run, feeling unsettled. If he didn’t find her soon, something bad might happen.

  A sudden gunshot and a scream stopped him in his tracks.

  “Sarah,” he bellowed, moving as fast as he could.

  First one corridor, then another. He could hear Sarah’s sobs. She sounded panicky. He really needed to find her, especially if a nutter with a gun was in here.

  Gardener turned right and found himself in the car park again, but his car wasn’t there anymore. Sarah was laid on the ground, holding her stomach.

  He ran over, dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his arms. Blood seeped through the gaps in her fingers.

  Suddenly the fear in her eyes became all too evident.

  Sarah wasn’t frightened for herself because she was staring ahead of him, over his shoulder.

  Gardener turned and saw a man bearing down, his hand in the air. Something glinted as it came down. It could have been a screwdriver, or a knife, or anything. But he had no idea.

  “Stewart, watch out.”

  Too late. The blade buried itself between his shoulder blades.

  Gardener shouted, clutching his shoulder. His elbow slammed into the headboard and he bounced out of bed and onto the floor, knocking over the lamp from the bedside cabinet in the process.