by Rob Wyllie
Chapter 10
It was going to be a good day. Frank's mood was sunny and optimistic as he carefully peeled back the wrapper of his Mars Bar and took a healthy bite. He wasn't generally in favour of early starts, but the call with Interpol was scheduled for seven-thirty and he would have gladly come in at two in the morning for that had it been necessary. The chocolate bar wouldn't last long but it didn't matter, because there smiling up at him from the meeting room table was a second one. Total calories, six hundred and forty, more than enough to power him through the rest of the morning, and what's more, he'd finally got his revenge on Atlee House's frigging vending machine. In had gone a two-pound coin and out had come two bars, even though he had only selected one. Then after a short symphony of whirrs and clunks, his two-pound coin had been returned to him. The tepid coffee still tasted like it had been dredged straight from the Thames, but that wasn't enough to dampen his spirits. Yes, it was going to be a good day. No doubt about it.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Eleanor Campbell. Her expression was thunderous, signalling that she had either just ended or was about to start a conversation with her sort-of boyfriend Lloyd. He gave what he hoped was a sympathetic smile.
'There's a wee breakfast Mars Bar here for you Eleanor if you're feeling peckish.' He knew she wouldn't want it. She was vegan, and from the militant wing.
'They're completely disgusting,' she replied. 'And I've told you about rennet a million times.'
This time he was prepared. Extremely well prepared. 'Oh aye, rennet. It comes from the stomach of wee calves, doesn't it? So any product containing it is not suitable for vegans or vegetarians.'
'Very good Frank. Have you been swallowing Wikipedia or something?'
'No, no,' he lied. 'I've known from birth that rennet is a chemical sourced from calves' stomachs used in the production of whey. One of the first things I was taught on my mammy's knee.'
She laughed. 'So like, how long did it take you to memorise that?'
The laugh was a good sign. Because he had something he needed to quickly bring up with her before the phone call, and he sensed it might be difficult.
'Eleanor, I've got a wee thing I'd like you to take a look at. To do with this Operation Shark thing. You know, if you can fit it in to your busy schedule.'
'Case number?'
Eleanor would do anything you asked, within reason, as long as you had a bloody case number. He assumed that even Lloyd had to produce one when he wanted to make love to her.
'Absolutely,' Frank lied, but in an authoritative tone. 'I have one. All signed and sealed by DCI Smart.'
'I'll check.'
'I know you will. Quite right to. I'd do the same,' he lied again.
'Ok, what is it you want?'
'I remember you told me about some cool new software you'd got from GCHQ?'
She gave him a guarded look.
'We get lots of cool new software from them. Like everything they send us is way cool. But I assume you're talking about the verbal style recognition processor that Zak was working with.'
'Who's Zak?'
'Well, he's Zak,' she replied, as if it needed no further explanation. 'I don't know his job title or anything but he's got admin rights to all GCHQ's beta software.' Clearly, that was all that mattered.
'Aye, well I think that would be it. Is that the one that uses that A-I stuff?'
What A-I was, he could not say, but he wasn't going to admit that to Eleanor. But he should have known that she wasn't going to let a golden opportunity like this slip by without comment.
'That A-I stuff? You've no idea what A-I is, do you Frank?'
'No,' he admitted, giving a wry grin, 'except that it's way cool.'
She gave him a derisive look. 'Well it's artificial intelligence, and trying to explain what that means would take like longer than we've got on this planet. Especially trying to explain it to you.'
He shrugged. 'You're not wrong there Eleanor. But Charles Grant, the boy's father, has been getting what you young people call trolled on his social media accounts. Obviously privacy laws mean the publishers don't reveal who is behind these postings, but I thought that maybe this...' He was about to say A-I stuff but checked himself. .'. this cool software might be able to reveal his or her identity.'
'And what's this got to do with Operation Shark?' she said suspiciously.
God, thought Frank, you'd think she was spending her own bloody money. Admirable in a public servant of course but a complete pain in the backside nonetheless. But this time he was able to tell the truth.
'His son you may remember was abducted two years ago. That is Operation Shark.'
Eleanor nodded, seemingly satisfied by the explanation. 'Well then I suppose I'll need to go over to Maida Vale and talk to Zak. I think it takes like ages to run these web-crawls but I'm not sure. As I said, I need to talk to Zak. '
He had no idea what a web-crawl was, and though vaguely interested, decided against asking her about it for now. Instead he said,
'Well that sounds great. So you'd better get over there after our call.'
She grimaced. 'But the traffic's a nightmare at this time in the morning.'
He shook his head in mock sympathy. 'I know, it's really awful. Look, I can get someone else to do it if you're too busy.' He expected that would do the trick, it always did. And he wasn't disappointed.
'No no, no,' she replied hastily. 'It's fine, I'll get over there as soon as we're done. Have you got any details you can give me?'
'Da Vinci.'
'What?'
'Da Vinci. That's the name of the troller or trollist. I don't know what you call them, but that's the name he uses.'
'His handle you mean. And that's all you've got?'
'More or less. But I thought this stuff used artificial intelligence? It should be able to work everything else out, shouldn't it?'
She shook her head in disgust. 'You owe me one mate. Big time.'
Frank smiled at her. 'I always do. Anyway, are we all set up for the conference call?'
He had asked her to join him for two reasons. Partly, it was because he was concerned that the Lyon guys might only speak French and he needed the polymath forensic officer to be his interpreter. But mainly it was because he didn't know how to operate the meeting room's speaker-phone.
'All set up?' she replied. 'You mean am I like all set up to press that big button labelled 'answer' when it rings? Yeah, I think I'm good for that. I've been on the training course.' She wasn't being sarcastic, she had been.
As he gave her a thumbs-up, the phone rang. Right on schedule. Eleanor lent over to answer. 'Good morning, this is the Metropolitan Police, Detective Inspector Frank Stewart and Forensic Officer Eleanor Campbell.'
'Bonjour. This is Inspector Marie Laurent from the Interpol international liaison section. I hope I find you both well this morning.'
She sounds lovely, thought Frank. It was the French accent of course, designed to seduce. A bit of a contrast with his rough Glaswegian. But you never know, maybe French women found Scottish accents equally enticing. He doubted it.
'We're both very well Inspector Laurent. All right if I call you Marie?' Quite a smooth chat-up line, considering that he didn't do chat-up lines, smooth or otherwise.
'Of course Frank. And hello Eleanor.'
'Sweet,' Eleanor replied.
'That's great,' Frank said, shooting an admonishing glance at his colleague. 'So, thank you for calling me back. I was wondering of course how you've got on with that enquiry I made? Is there any progress to report?' He was conscious that for some reason he had adopted his mother's telephone voice, speaking uncharacteristically slowly and taking extra care with the consonants. It was clearly unnecessary since Inspector Laurent spoke excellent English. With a beautiful accent too.
'Not a great deal at the moment Frank. You see, we don't really have a database that coordinates random individual crimes so I have had to send out special requests to my contacts across Eu
rope. So far I have asked Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Germany and of course here in France. But I think it will take a few weeks to gather their responses. For most forces, it won't be a priority I'm afraid, but I have told everyone that it might be important, and I will call them weekly to remind them.' Her tone was apologetic, and he was grateful for that, for his previous dealings with the International Criminal Police Organisation had left him with a rather jaundiced view of its effectiveness. His optimism in this case was borne out of hope rather than experience.
'No, that's fine, I understand,' he said. 'I suppose I was unrealistic in expecting a breakthrough so soon. But no, I'm really chuffed that you've put so much effort into it already Marie. It's fantastic, it really is.'
'Chuffed did you say? I don't think that's a word I've heard before.'
Frank laughed. 'Yes sorry Marie, I'm not surprised. It means pleased or grateful. So when I say I'm really chuffed, I mean I'm really grateful.'
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Eleanor was clearly taking the piss out of him, her hand mimicking a phone handset with her little finger and thumb. He furrowed his brow and stared at her, which only succeeded in making her laugh out loud. With an expression that said I'm going to kill you later, he returned to his phone call, but this time, he dialled down the telephone voice.
'Yes, so Marie, maybe we can touch base every two weeks or so. I like to get a work in progress rather than wait until all the forces have made their reports, if that's all right. But as I said, I'm so grateful for your help.'
There was a pause before she replied.
'That's ok Frank. But I should tell you that I have the personal interest in this too, so I won't let it go, believe me.'
Her words made his pulse quicken. Quietly he said, 'What do you mean Marie?'
'It was about eighteen months ago, when I was a detective sergeant in the Gendarmerie. That's where I worked before I transferred to Interpol here in Lyon. At that time I was based in Bordeaux and we had a case that was very similar to the one that you described to me. I wasn't in charge of the case of course, I was just one of the team, but it was still very hard for me. For all of us.'
Frank indicated to Eleanor that she should take notes. She smiled and pointed to her phone, which was in record mode.
'I know how hard it can be, believe me. So what was the background on your case, if you don't mind me asking?' He was trying not to sound too excited.
'Well in our case, it was a little girl and she was just four years old. Her name was Kitty Lawrence, and of course it is easy for me to remember because her surname is very like mine. It was in May and she was at a kindergarten club where the boys and the girls too played outdoor games. Afterwards, her mother came to collect her at around four-thirty and then as they walked home, a car drew up and they were attacked by two men. The little girl was pushed into the car, leaving her mother very badly injured by the roadside.'
He could feel his heart beginning to pound. 'Marie, that is just so similar to our case here in London. But did you say her name was Kitty Lawrence? That sounds English.'
'New Zealand in fact. You see her father is a well known-figure. Harry Lawrence. He was a rugby player, but now he is a coach. You know the game is very popular in the South West region. He played for the local professional club and also for his country, before he took up his current position.'
'Marie, did you say he played for his country? So he was an All- Black?' He gave Eleanor a raised-eyebrows look, who returned it with a blank stare.
'Yes, I think that's what you call it. I don't know much about the game, but I know he was a very good player.'
'And did you think that was significant?' Frank asked. 'That he was in the public eye I mean.'
'Do you mean was he targeted? Yes we believe so. Because there was of course a ransom demand.'
'And don't tell me. It was paid, but the kid wasn't returned.'
There was silence on the line, before Marie finally answered.
'Yes. It was a mistake on our part. A big mistake.'
He nodded. 'Aye, we made the same mistake over here.' And his mate Pete was still struggling to come to terms with the consequences. 'But do you have any leads as to who might have done this.'
'No, not really,' she said. 'We could find no witnesses other than the girl's mother and her recollection was of course not so good because of her trauma. Little Kitty just vanished without the trace, as you would say. Every lead we followed led to the dead end. The case was our priority for over a year, but there was nothing. So then our commanders were so embarrassed by it that they pushed it into the cold-cases locker and disbanded the team. It was not for all of us a great thing for our careers. For me perhaps not so bad because I was only a sergeant, but it was very bad news for my chief inspector.'
Frank thought again of what the Jamie Grant case had done to poor Pete Burnside.
'Yes, I know how terrible it can be when a case goes like that. It hurts, it really does.'
'But there was one thing Frank. We did not get much from Mrs Lawrence but she thought she remembered her attackers speaking to each other.'
By the way she said it, he knew what was coming next. Intuition or experience, call it what you will, but please, please let it be true.
'And the interesting thing was, she was sure they were speaking in English.'
Frank was silent for a moment as his brain furiously processed what she had just told him. It was the same MO, exactly the same, and the father, like Charles Grant, was someone in the public eye. And now he'd learned that maybe the abductors were Brits. Surely it was just too much of a coincidence?
'Tell me Marie, do you know if this Harry Lawrence guy was especially active on social media?'
'On social media? I'm not sure if that came up in our enquiry. But I guess you must have a reason for asking?'
'Aye, in the case we're looking at in the UK, we think it might be a factor. Maybe if you don't mind, you can take another look at yours and let me know?'
'Of course Frank, I will get the Bordeaux police to look at it. And I'll e-mail a photograph of Kitty over to you.'
'To Eleanor please,' he said hurriedly.
He heard her laugh. 'Very well Frank and I will let you know if anything else comes up. Speak to you soon. Au Revoir.'
Of course, it was only one incident. It might mean nothing, nothing at all. But Frank didn't believe that, not for a minute. As far as he was concerned, Operation Shark was now up and running, and he could allow himself a smile of satisfaction. Correction, a smile of smug satisfaction. Because when he thought about it, his two amateur pals just didn't have the advantages he had. They couldn't make phone calls to lovely French Interpol officers for a start, and they didn't have access to super-smart forensic scientists who would, more or less, do anything asked of them. Naturally it wasn't a competition, but if anyone was going to be first to find out what had happened to wee Jamie Grant, one thing was for sure.
It wasn't going to be them.
Chapter 11
Like Frank, Jimmy had been forced to make an unwelcome early start that morning. In the army, you were up at every ungodly hour under the sun or moon but it didn't matter how long you served, you never really got used to it. Especially since the things you had to get up for were usually unsavoury. He reckoned that's why so many squaddies found jobs in nightclub security after their demob. It wasn't because they were hard-men, it was because in that line of work they didn't have to get out of bed until noon.
As he left the tube station he glanced at his watch, squinting to focus through sleep-deprived eyes. Six-forty-five, the sun already beaming through wispy clouds on this early-summer morning. Luckily, the Met boys liked their lie-ins too and he didn't expect there to be anyone turning up for duty until eight at the earliest, even if it was the scene of a murder. As if he was ever going to forget that, having found the body. The mission briefing from Maggie was as detailed as many he had been given as a soldier. 'Pop round there and see what you
can find.' Since their little pre-nup project had hit a road-block with the unfortunate death of the headline star, it was all they could think of. Pop round there and see what you can find. Brilliant.
From the outside, it was impossible to tell that the house had been witness to such horrors only a few days earlier. The scene-of-crime mobile laboratories had gone from outside and even the 'do not cross' tapes had been taken down. Parsons Green was a genteel neighbourhood and he supposed that the residents had lobbied to ensure that disruption to their genteel lives, and to their rising house prices, had been kept to a minimum.
There were a lot of advantages to owning an end-of-terrace property, but enhanced security wasn't one of them. With a furtive glance behind him, Jimmy crept up the narrow gap formed between the end wall of the house and the couple's Range Rover. It was still only half-light and in his black jeans, black puffer jacket and black beanie hat he knew he would be difficult to pick out. He paused at the end of the wall to survey the outlook from the rear of the property, specifically weighing up if the house was overlooked or not by neighbouring properties. The garden was of a good length, probably thirty metres or more, and was bordered at the rear by a row of leylandii which did an excellent job of screening the house from the rear of the properties on the parallel road. Cautiously, he peered round the edge of the wall. Good, next door's property had also been extended and in fact their kitchen protruded a couple of metres further into their garden than this one. So that was one potential sight-line he didn't have to be concerned about. He could still just about be seen from one of the neighbour's upstairs windows but as long as he kept tight against the bi-fold doors that stretched the entire width of the Ross property, the angle would make observation difficult.
The doors were secured by an elaborate triple-deadlock system which the manufacturers claimed had repelled every attempt to break in to in the ten years they had been on the market. But that didn't worry Jimmy, because he had the keys, having on his last visit found a spare set hanging on a hook just inside the entrance to the basement. Now that had been a smart idea, pocketing them. He had had a vague hunch they might come in handy, and now here was the proof. He checked the handle but as expected it was locked. In normal circumstances, a burgling villain would have to worry about the alarm, but he was fairly certain that today it wouldn't be set. The police wouldn't have bothered because of all the hassle it would cause going in and out of the place, and in any case, with the death of both residents, there was a pretty good chance that the four-digit code had died with them.
