by M. W. Craven
Poe grunted in annoyance. He frequently butted heads with people intent on taking the path of least resistance. If he didn’t already live in Cumbria, he’d have been sent there years ago. Cumbria was the Badlands of the UK.
‘I met with Stuart,’ Melody Lee continued. ‘He’s a sweet kid. Made a bad choice but he swears blind he didn’t kill anyone and that he’s being set up as a patsy. And his girlfriend, who’d sworn she was with him the night of the homicide, had backed off when the DA threatened her with joint venture. Made him look as though he’d tried to construct an alibi. His parents are taking civil action against her but it doesn’t matter; the damage is done. He was found guilty of second-degree murder. The DA asked for a deterrent sentence and the judge came through. He’s currently looking at another ten years before he can be released. I doubt he’ll make it.’
Poe said nothing for several moments. ‘What was the game called?’ he said eventually.
‘White Elephant.’
‘Challenge?’
‘Yes! The White Elephant Challenge. How the hell could you know that?’
Poe breathed out slowly. They were way past the point where the coincidences could be ignored.
‘Sergeant Poe,’ she urged. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
‘Our game is called the Black Swan Challenge,’ Poe said.
‘So that’s what the BSC stood for!’ Melody Lee yelled. ‘I goddamned knew it was the same thing!’
‘The similarities are remarkable,’ Poe admitted.
‘And look, this asshole can’t help fucking with everyone when he names these goddamned games. Always puts in some double-entendre shit.’
‘Explain.’
‘Do you know what a white elephant is, Sergeant Poe?’
‘It’s an unwanted gift. One you don’t feel you can throw away.’ Poe had Bradshaw’s pasta maker firmly in mind when he said this.
‘It’s been appropriated to mean that, yes, but the original meaning goes back to the days of the Siamese kings, way before Siam was renamed Thailand. Apparently, if an underling or rival angered the king, they might be presented with a white elephant as a gift. Ostensibly a reward, because of their tremendous housing and feeding costs, they were actually a shrewd form of punishment. More often than not, caring for a white elephant drove the beneficiary to financial ruin.’
‘You think the killer was telling everyone that the game was actually a punishment?’
‘I do. Also it was probably a way to let the person who’d hired him know that the victim dying was down to him and not just some crazy coincidence.’
‘What’s that have to do with a black swan, though? I’ve not heard of that term relating to anything other than the Australian bird.’
‘It’s a metaphor for high-profile, hard-to-foresee events that, nevertheless, after the fact are rationalised to have been predictable and therefore preventable: nine eleven is a classic example. No way could anyone have figured out we’d be attacked like that, but afterwards there were hearings and shit and good people lost their jobs.’
‘So, if your game was a punishment, ours is … what, some sort of completely unpredictable seismic-sized event?’
‘I dunno, Sergeant Poe, but I think at the very least you need to be looking past what you think you have, and consider that everything that’s happened so far has been carefully choreographed.’
Poe sighed. He wasn’t convinced but neither was he ready to dismiss it.
‘Why don’t I tell you what’s going on over here, Special Agent Lee?’ he said.
Poe spent fifteen minutes summarising the events leading to the discovery of the Black Swan Challenge.
He finished with, ‘One victim was left in situ, the other two are still unaccounted for. Two fingers were taken from each victim, one ante-mortem and one post-mortem. The two missing victims had both been anaesthetised.’
‘Anaesthetised? That’s some fucked-up shit you’ve got going on over there, Sergeant Poe.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘And you think this asshole’s not operating remotely?’
‘We know he’s been here as the single-board computers were all placed locally. When is up for debate. My IT specialist says they could have been there for months, years even.’
‘Do you have anyone for the murders yet?’
‘A brother and sister.’
‘And let me guess. They both copped to things you hadn’t even known about but vehemently deny murdering anyone.’
‘Pretty much,’ Poe admitted.
‘How’d you identify them?’
Poe was about to say ‘good police work’ but managed to stop himself.
‘There was … evidence,’ he said carefully.
‘Solid?’
‘Yes.’
‘But not easily found?’
‘No. We had to work for it.’ I had to climb a bloody tree, he almost added.
‘So you were more likely to have faith in it.’
Poe said nothing. The thought had crossed his mind a couple of times. Human nature meant that evidence you worked for tended to be trusted more than evidence that came easily.
‘What did you have?’
‘A kite we traced back to the brother was found in a tree overlooking one victim’s house and a piece of paper found in his bin matched documents left at the deposition sites.’
‘Careless of him.’
‘It was.’
‘Maybe too careless.’
‘As I said, there are similarities,’ Poe said.
Melody Lee sighed. ‘Sergeant Poe, I think it’s about time I told you about a man who calls himself the Curator …’
Chapter 48
‘It didn’t even start as a rumour,’ Melody Lee said. ‘More like the rumour of a rumour. I’d picked up this guy outta Boston on a racketeering charge and he tried to sweeten the DA’s deal with some bullshit story about a fixer for hire. Calls himself the Curator because of the way he goes about his business. All long-arm. Never gets involved directly so he can’t be caught via traditional law enforcement methods. He supposedly uses online tools to manipulate vulnerable kids into doing what needs to be done.’
‘He’s a contract killer?’ Poe said.
‘He didn’t think so. He claimed that this guy was more of a problem solver. For the right price he offers bespoke solutions to whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Manipulates a hacker into planting kiddie porn on the computer of the man who dumped you, fixes a DUI by getting some kid to burn down the lab storing the blood sample. That type of thing. Even if the person is caught, there’s no link back to him. And therefore absolutely no way back to the person who hired him.’
‘Murders?’
‘I only know of my happy-slapping case but, if he does exist, I doubt it’s the first time he’s fixed a problem that way.’
Poe said nothing. As implausible as it sounded, why couldn’t there be someone like that out there? An evil Jim’ll Fix It as it were. He rephrased that in his mind: Another evil Jim’ll Fix It.
‘Anyhow, this racketeering asshole said he’d tried to get in touch with him regarding his own problems but hadn’t been able to. The DA didn’t buy it and he ended up flipping to make sure he didn’t die in jail. But what he told me stuck. I think it was the lack of specifics that caught my attention.’
‘You thought that your businessman might have hired him?’ Poe said. ‘Started digging?’
‘Not officially. But yes, I started digging.’
‘And?’
‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘I did find corroborating anecdotal evidence but no one had details.’
Poe paused a beat. It sounded a bit far-fetched. He said as much to Melody Lee.
‘That’s what I thought,’ she replied. ‘But the stories were consistent. And eventually a theme emerged. This guy can’t be contacted. This guy contacts you. That’s why I think he’s managed to stay under the radar. I think he monitors the sites where these things are discussed and t
hen does his own research into potential clients. He’s very selective, very discreet. Everything’s done remotely and the two parties never meet. All payments are in untraceable cryptocurrency; all communications are encrypted and on disposable devices.’
‘You think he’s the puppet master. Identifies the target then manipulates vulnerable or impressionable kids to murder for him?’
‘I think he does get the kids to do some nasty shit but, for the bigger jobs, all he’s really doing is setting up a patsy.’
‘And he does the actual hit himself?’
‘I’m convinced of it. He identifies the one he likes for it then plants the evidence. It explains how the blood was only on the sole of Stuart Wilson’s sneakers. I figure he collected some from the murder scene and put it somewhere he knew Stuart Wilson would come into contact with it. His stoop, probably.’
‘Stoop?’
‘What you guys call the steps in front of your houses, I guess. Stuart Wilson must have stood in it.’
‘And even if you found traces of it on the stoop you’d assume the forensic exchange was shoe to stoop, not stoop to shoe.’
‘Exactly.’
Poe considered what she’d told him. Although it sounded a bit conspiracy theory-ish, a fixer for hire did explain some of the doubts he was beginning to have about the Cowells as serial killers.
There was one major flaw, though.
‘None of our victims are linked, Special Agent Lee,’ he said.
‘You’re sure?’
‘We are.’
‘Is it possible he’s hiding the real motive for one murder in the chaos of a serial killer investigation?’
One of Nightingale’s cops had already floated that theory. Poe didn’t think so and explained why.
‘I can’t see any of our victims being the target of a hitman. One was a young girl working in a shop, one was a recluse and one held a minor position with the MoD.’
‘How minor?’
‘She was a contracts manager. Probably all I can say. I’m told she didn’t have access to any sensitive information.’
‘Damn,’ Melody Lee said.
Her sense of disappointment was palpable.
‘Can I ask why you didn’t tell any of this to my senior investigating officer?’ Poe said.
She didn’t respond.
‘You tried, didn’t you? And either no one would listen or someone called afterwards and discredited you.’
‘I haven’t spoken to anyone actually. I wanted to, of course. Even raised it with my SAC.’
‘SAC?’
‘Special agent in charge. He forbade me from contacting the British police. Said I’m no longer considered … credible.’
‘So …?’
‘So why did I contact you?’
‘Yes.’
‘My understanding is that you’re a fed, not local police. Sanctimonious prick shoulda been more specific.’
Poe grinned. The ability to misinterpret clear instructions was a much-underrated skill in his opinion.
‘I’m going to have to pass this on to my SIO, though,’ he said. ‘If it helps, I’ll say that I contacted you.’
‘Appreciate that, Sergeant Poe.’
A thought occurred to him.
‘How’d you get hold of my phone number?’
‘Your name’s flagged on one of our databases.’
‘It is?’
‘Actually, it’s your father who’s flagged but, as you’re law enforcement, you are too.’
‘What’s my dad done?’
‘He was recently asking about a diplomatic party his wife attended in the seventies. Upset a few people.’
Poe came over all cold. He hadn’t heard from his dad since the end of the Jared Keaton case. They’d discussed his parentage, how his biological father had raped his mother while she was attending a party in the British Embassy. How he’d raised him as his own because Poe’s mother hadn’t wanted to be around when he started looking like the man who’d raped her. He’d told Poe he’d see what he could find.
Clearly he’d meant it.
‘We about done, Special Agent Lee?’ he said. ‘I need to ring the boss.’
‘I think so,’ she replied. ‘You have my number. Call it any time.’
‘I will,’ Poe promised.
‘And be careful, Sergeant Poe – if I’m right, the Curator’s death for hire.’
Chapter 49
Poe was back at Carleton Hall. He’d just finished telling Nightingale and Flynn about his conversation with Melody Lee and her theory about a problem solver called the Curator. It was clear Nightingale already knew.
‘She’s a kook, Poe,’ she said. ‘Her supervisor called me after she’d asked him for permission to get in touch. Said that, despite being told not to, she’d probably try anyway. Said she’s an anti-authoritarian discipline case.’
‘You should marry her, Poe,’ Flynn said.
‘She has this whacked-out theory there’s a bogeyman out there, Steph,’ Nightingale continued. ‘But really she just got far too involved in a case. Her supervisor says the perpetrator’s family groomed her to the point she became convinced of their kid’s innocence. Instead of believing the evidence, she went and found an alternate theory that fitted the evidence.’
‘Did they look into her claims, though?’
‘They had to. She’d filled in some form that made it official. They launched a multi-state investigation but found no evidence to support it. They are satisfied that justice was served in the happy-slapping case.’
‘She did have a compelling story,’ Poe said. ‘And the evidence she queried didn’t make sense to me either.’
He didn’t know why but he felt as though someone should stick up for her.
‘You know what they call her over there?’ Nightingale said.
‘Nothing good, I suspect.’
‘Spooky. After Fox Mulder in The X-Files. Sees conspiracies everywhere. She’s on her final chance now but I suspect she’s blown it by contacting you. My advice is that you leave it alone, Poe. There is no bogeyman out there.’
Taking Nightingale’s and the FBI hierarchy’s advice and leaving it alone was undoubtedly the sensible thing to do.
They had physical evidence tying their suspects to the three murders, neither of them had alibis and one of them had already admitted to some serious offences. With the search for the Black Swan administrator taking place in cyberspace, the rational thing to do would have been assisting Nightingale and her team as they built their case against the Cowells.
That would have been the sensible thing to do.
But that was reactive thinking and Poe wasn’t built that way. The possibility that their administrator was Melody Lee’s Curator was now playing on a loop in his mind and he knew from past experience that the only way to get rid of it was to satisfy himself that the claims were baseless.
So, instead of taking Nightingale’s advice, he went and found Bradshaw.
‘Poe, what are you doing?’ Nightingale said.
They were in the small room they’d been assigned while they were going through the contents of the wheelie bin. Poe was re-watching the part of the interview where Robert Cowell had headbutted the table. Jon Lear, his solicitor, had tried to explain it away as a reaction to the situation but Poe didn’t think that was right – Rhona Cowell had reacted when the same bit of evidence had been put before her as well. Not as extremely, but she had reacted.
Bradshaw was checking their computers. The Cowells knew their way around them so would be adept at hiding things, she’d told him. She would find everything but it was going to take time.
‘Just want to be sure, ma’am,’ Poe said.
Nightingale leaned against the doorframe. He didn’t blame her for not coming into the room; it still smelled, which was probably why it had been empty. She didn’t look angry.
‘DI Flynn warned me about this, you know.’
‘About what?’
‘She said that ther
e’d come a point in the investigation where you’d start doubting the evidence and convince yourself you’d got it wrong.’
‘Did she now?’
‘She explained it’s your failsafe and that I’d be well advised to listen to you when it happens. Said that if I leave you alone for a bit you’ll come round eventually.’
‘She have anything to say if I don’t come round?’
Nightingale grinned and nodded. ‘She said, “Fuck him, he’s a sergeant and you’re a superintendent.”’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘You got an angle?’
‘Not really,’ Poe admitted, ‘but this is bugging me. Rhona and Robert both reacted to the same bit of evidence. He smashed his face into the table and she sort of smirked. If you watch it’s almost at exactly the same point. Other than that I don’t have anything to go on.’
‘I can’t spare any personnel but let me know if you need help.’
‘Will do,’ Poe replied. ‘How are the interviews going?’
The duty inspector had already authorised a twelve-hour custody extension and Poe knew Nightingale was working on getting a magistrate to increase it to the maximum of ninety-six hours. As much as PACE allowed, the Cowells were being interviewed around the clock.
‘Robert’s still protesting his innocence and, apart from the “look into my eyes” comment, Rhona’s continuing to say nothing.’
‘“Look into my eyes”? I thought she’d said, “Stare into my soul and see the truth”?’
‘I’ve spoken to the interviewing detective and it was definitely eyes she said, not soul. Why, is that important?’
‘Don’t see how it could be. I’ll take a look anyway.’
‘OK, keep me informed?’
‘Will do.’
Poe clicked the link for the relevant Rhona Cowell interview and scrolled to the place where the evidence about Midnight Mass had been put to her. She definitely reacted at the same time Robert had. He dragged the curser along the progress bar at the bottom of the screen until he’d found the part where she’d spoken.
He turned up the sound.
It was muffled, and in the official transcript would no doubt be recorded as ‘inaudible’. Nightingale had been referring to her detective’s unofficial notes. The ones that would be on HOLMES and the file but not used in any charging decisions.