Gareth Dawson Series Box Set

by Nathan Burrows

  Ronnie wandered through the streets of Bali, soaking up the atmosphere as he did so. This time tomorrow, all being well, he would either be at his destination or well on his way to it. As he walked, he thought about the photographs of the Philippines that he had been looking at earlier on. Ronnie had been thinking about settling in Manila, but after he’d posted a few questions about the area on one of the forums he visited, he’d decided on a place called Cebu City instead. Looking at real estate agent websites, he would be able to rent a small apartment there for a couple of hundred pounds a month. Most importantly, the area was a hot spot for people like Ronnie with plenty of entertainment available. It also wasn’t particularly well policed which, given what had happened to him in Bali, was very important. Once bitten, twice shy.

  When he got back to his apartment, Ronnie whistled to himself as he packed his suitcase. He didn’t have much to pack into it, so it didn’t take him too long. He lifted it up to check the weight, hoping that he might be able to shave a few pounds off the airfare the next day by not having to put it in the hold.

  Deciding that he could probably get away with it, Ronnie got undressed, carefully folding his clothes to wear them again in the morning. He showered and then, after one last look around his apartment to make sure he’d got everything, he lay down on the bed and tried to sleep.

  73

  “What the hell,” Gareth said, looking at Dave and Laura’s excited faces, “is a ‘deep fake’?”

  “You’ll have to Google it, boss,” Dave replied. “Just put in ‘Daisy Ridley deep fake’ and see what comes up.” Gareth did as instructed and whistled.

  “Oh, my word,” he said. “Is that really her?”

  “No,” Dave replied. “That’s the whole point. A deep fake is where someone’s face is digitally put over the top of someone else’s.”

  “But it looks so real,” Gareth said, peering at his phone.

  “It’s ridiculously real. You need a monstrous computer to be able to do it, but there’s an entire industry based on it.” Dave glanced at Laura for a second. “Mostly for porn.”

  “So the video of Annette?”

  “Isn’t Annette. Just her face superimposed on someone else. They even added the tattoo on her wrist.”

  “Bloody hell, I had no idea you could do that,” Gareth was still watching the video on his phone, “and make it so realistic.”

  “When it’s done well, it’s almost impossible to detect. Indistinguishable to the naked eye, and even to computers. But I’ve written some software that helps.”

  “I’d never heard of it either, Gareth,” Laura said, peering at his phone over his shoulder. “Turn that off, you pervert.”

  Gareth did as instructed and turned to Dave.

  “This software of yours, it discredits the video of Annette?”

  “Completely.”

  “You can actually see the edges of the original images,” Laura said, laughing. “Once Dave’s software did its thing. On Annette’s face and the tattoo.”

  “And Philip?”

  “No,” Laura replied, her smile vanishing in a split-second. “That’s definitely him.”

  “I did run that to be on the safe side, boss,” Dave said. “Just in case.”

  Gareth looked up when he heard his name being called to see Malcolm coming down the steps of the police station. He was grinning broadly as he walked over, and he slapped Dave on the back as he reached them.

  “Well, Dave,” Malcolm said, “I think the very least your boss can do for you is give you a bonus at the end of the month.”

  “I think that’ll be the least of Gareth’s problems, Malcolm,” Laura said, laughing. “His biggest one is going to be stopping Elizabeth from recruiting Dave.”

  “Yes, she’s quite excited, isn’t she?” Malcolm said. “Dave, in all seriousness, you need to have a chat with her about that software you’ve written at some point.”

  “Did you write that on my time, Dave?” Gareth asked. “Because if you did, it belongs to the company, not to you.”

  “I’ll have to speak to my legal advisor about that, Gareth,” Dave said, grinning at Laura, “but I think she’ll be a tough nut to crack.”

  “So, what’s happening with Annette?” Gareth asked Malcolm. “Are you releasing her?”

  “I’m just waiting for the nod from the CPS. They’ve got their tech team looking at Dave’s version of the video section. As soon as they’ve confirmed that it’s one of these deep fake neural things, then we’ve got nothing on her.”

  “I knew it,” Gareth said, more to himself than anyone else. “I bloody knew it.”

  “It’ll probably be a few hours, Gareth,” Malcolm said. “I’ll run her home when we’ve released her if you want?”

  “Are you sure?” Gareth asked. “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “None of us do,” Laura added.

  “No, it’s fine. You head on home, and I’ll text you when we’re leaving so you can meet us at her house.”

  The four of them chatted for a while in the car park before Malcolm excused himself. Gareth reached into his pocket, pulled his wallet out, and took out a twenty pound note.

  “Dave,” he said, waving the note at him. “Can you go and grab us three coffees from that van, mate?” Gareth arched his eyebrows at him to make sure he got the message that he wanted a moment with Laura.

  “Oh, yeah. Sure.”

  Dave grabbed the note and walked off. Gareth turned to Laura and enveloped her in a hug.

  “Thank you so much, Laura,” he said in her ear as he held her close to him. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

  “It was more Dave than me, Gareth,” Laura whispered back. “But you’re going to have to put me down.”

  “Why?” Gareth replied. “I could stay like this all day.”

  “Dave’s coming back.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Really?”

  Gareth let go of Laura, grinning when he saw her blushing, and turned to face Dave.

  “That was quick, mate,” Gareth said, “but you don’t appear to have any coffee.”

  “Sorry boss, but there’s a line of about twenty coppers all queuing up at the van.”

  74

  Ronnie walked out of the bank and into the heat of the morning. He had been outside it when it opened, keen to get what was sitting in his bank account. He glanced left and right before crossing the road to the taxi rank.

  “Denpasar Police Station,” Ronnie said to the young man behind the wheel of a battered old Skoda.

  “Sure, sure,” the driver replied, nodding eagerly. He was no doubt already counting his tip from a westerner.

  As he stared out of the window at the city beyond, Ronnie realised that he was going to miss Bali. It had a vibrance about it that he’d not experienced anywhere else. But it was time to move on, that much was certain.

  When he arrived at the police station, Ronnie tipped the driver and walked in. He went through the same rigmarole as before, and a few moments later was sitting in the same interview room that he had been in previously. Ronnie stared at the blinking red light, waiting for it to turn off. Sure enough, after waiting for about twenty minutes, it did.

  “Mr Phelps,” a familiar voice said as the door opened and Sukarba walked in.

  “Officer Sukarba,” Ronnie replied, sullenly. He waited for the door to close behind the policeman before reaching into his pocket and extracting the envelope. It wasn’t as thick as the previous one, but it still irritated Ronnie that he had to hand it over. “Are we done now?”

  Sukarba nodded and looked inside the envelope.

  “Very good.” He turned and Ronnie thought that he was leaving. Instead, when Sukarba reached the door, he tapped on it with his hand before returning to sit down opposite Ronnie. In the corner of the room, the red light on the camera started blinking and a few seconds later, the door opened and two policemen walked in. Ronnie felt the walls of the interview room close in on him. All he wanted t
o do was leave, go back and get his suitcase, and get to the airport.

  “What is this?” Ronnie said, his mouth suddenly dry.

  “Mr Phelps,” Sukarba said. “We put your prints and DNA into the system yesterday.”

  “What?” Ronnie shouted, and the two policemen took a step toward him. Sukarba raised his hand to stop them. “But we had a deal!”

  “A deal, Mr Phelps? Are you trying to bribe me?” The policeman looked at each of his colleagues in turn and laughed. “Now, when your DNA got put into the system, we had a phone call not long afterwards. Turns out that some people in England are ever so keen to speak to you. They have told us exactly who you are.”

  “This is bullshit,” Ronnie said, even though he knew that the game was up. “Let me go!” He leapt to his feet but, a few seconds later, he was back in his seat with a firm hand on each shoulder.

  “Mr Ronald Phelps, I am arresting you on suspicion of child abuse and blackmail. Our colleagues in England will have to wait some time to speak with you, I’m afraid.”

  “You’re arresting me for blackmail?” Ronnie shouted. “That’s a bit fucking rich, coming from you.” He struggled, but all this did was increase the pressure on his shoulders.

  “I think I will add having false documents to that list.”

  “Add what you want.”

  “I would tell my colleagues to handcuff you, but there wouldn’t be much point.” Sukarba’s eyes drifted toward Ronnie’s left hand. To the prosthetic limb where the real one should have been. “Is there, Philip McGuire?”

  75

  Annette stepped out into the sunlight and took a deep breath. Thank God, she thought. She’d spent the last few days in absolute bits, not sure whether the only glimpse of sunshine she was going to see would be from an exercise yard. She stood on the steps of the police station and waited for a moment until Malcolm pulled up in an unmarked Mondeo. When he drew to a halt, he leapt out of the driver’s side and rushed round to open the door for her.

  “So what’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?” Malcolm a moment later asked Annette as she put her seatbelt on.

  “Oh, that one’s easy,” Annette replied, grinning broadly. “I’m going to have a bloody great big glass of wine. I think there’s still a bottle in the fridge from when I was interrupted drinking the last one.”

  “Sorry about that,” Malcolm replied. Annette glanced over at him, unsure if he was being facetious, but he looked genuinely apologetic.

  “Don’t be daft,” Annette said. “You’re doing your job, I get that.”

  Annette sat back as Malcolm pulled out of the car park and headed toward the A11.

  “What a strange day it’s been,” he said.

  “You’re telling me,” Annette replied with a laugh. “I can’t believe the bastard’s still alive.”

  “That was a surprise,” Malcolm said. “I was sure he would wash up somewhere. We took some DNA samples from the hand and uploaded them before putting out an Interpol alert. Then when the DNA popped up in Bali, the alert went ‘ding’ to let us know.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did,” Annette said.

  “Bodies quite often wash up in other countries, and identifying them’s a nightmare. A few years ago one of ours managed to get all the way to Holland.”

  “So what’s going to happen to him now?”

  “I think your husband is in for a bit of a rough ride, to be honest,” Malcolm said with a grim expression. “We could try to extradite him, but I doubt the NCA, sorry, the National Crime Agency, will bother. I spoke to a mate of mine down there.”

  “He can rot in Hell for all I care,” Annette replied.

  “In fact, it was my mate who was involved in busting open that dodgy clinic in Ipswich. According to the tapes the Indonesians sent over of Philip’s interview, that’s where he had his hand taken off.”

  “It’s a bit bloody extreme,” Annette replied. “If he’d wanted a divorce, all he had to do was ask.”

  “You’d be surprised the lengths some people go to, Annette,” Malcolm said with a chuckle. “He’d been planning the whole thing for months. Very elaborate, even down to the blackmail. He’s coughed to a whole load of other stuff as well as the paedophilia.”

  “What stuff?”

  “There’s a message board somewhere on the dark net where people can buy details of people to blackmail. That’s how he was trying to make some more money.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s desperate.”

  “Yep, but now that we know about it, we can do something about it,” Malcolm said. “The NCA are all over it. Listening to the tapes, Philip’s wriggling like a fish to get his charges reduced.” Annette started giggling at Malcolm’s choice of words. When he realised what he had said, he started laughing too. “Sorry, I meant singing like a canary.”

  “I prefer wriggling like a fish,” Annette replied.

  She stared out of the car window at the fields rushing past. It was a beautiful day. Blue skies and not a cloud in the sky. Annette was day-dreaming about sitting in the garden with her glass of wine when she suddenly thought of something.

  “Where was he between having his hand taken off and disappearing to Bali?” she asked Malcolm. “His hand would have to have healed up before he could go diving again to put it in that pot.”

  “Not sure about that just yet,” Malcolm replied. “He probably holed up somewhere while it healed. He did say he kept it in a freezer, though.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, both considering this. Eventually, Annette broke the silence.

  “I’ll tell you something, Malcolm,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not having fish fingers for a while.”

  76

  As Malcolm walked through the main office of the police station, he was greeted with a round of applause from the policemen and women sitting in it. He waved at one or two of them, embarrassed, and made his way to his desk. On top of his computer keyboard was a printed menu from one of the local restaurants on the North Norfolk coast. The Lobster Pot. Grinning, he screwed up the menu and launched it at the wastepaper bin.

  “Afternoon, sir,” Kate said as she walked over to join him. As she passed the bin, she stooped to pick up the ball of paper and put it in the basket. “The ACC wants to see us both now that you’re back.”

  “Oh dear,” Malcolm replied. “Do you think we’re in trouble?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kate said with a smile. “He probably wants to make sure he’s got his ten grand back.”

  “Come in, come in,” Assistant Chief Constable Williams said. Even though he was more politician than policeman, Malcolm liked the man. He was firm but fair, as he described himself to new arrivals to the force in his welcome speech. Malcolm knew he was more firm than fair, but he’d got to the top the hard way, which made him alright in Malcolm’s eyes. “I just wanted to congratulate you both on a significant result today.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied, “but I have to say that DC Hunter did most of the hard work.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a moment,” the ACC said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at Kate. “But well done, the pair of you.” Kate thanked him as well, and they sat down as the ACC’s assistant brought them in tea.

  “Sir, I do have one favour to ask you?” Malcolm said when they were settled.

  “You can always ask, Malcolm,” the ACC replied.

  “Mrs McGuire, the wife, is concerned about her job. Do you know anyone high up at the council?”

  “Where in the council?”

  “Children’s services.” Malcolm watched as the ACC thought for a moment.

  “Yes, I know the head there. Lovely chap, awful golfer. I’m playing a four ball with him and a couple of people from the board this weekend, in fact.”

  “Could you have a word on her behalf, perhaps?”

  “Do I have to let him beat me?”

  “That’s completely up to you, sir,” Ma
lcolm replied, grinning.

  “Leave it with me, Malcolm,” the ACC said. “I’ll speak to him. Tell Mrs McGuire not to worry.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Malcolm replied.

  “Now, there’s a lot of fallout from this case. The NCA are very happy indeed, but Suffolk Police less so.”

  “How come, sir?” Kate asked.

  “This clinic of theirs. There’s a big difference between giving out dodgy Botox and cutting people’s limbs off for money.” A smile spread across the ACC’s face. “And to be told about it by Norfolk Police hasn’t gone down particularly well.”

  “I can imagine,” Malcolm said, also smiling. The rivalry between the two counties wasn’t confined to their respective football clubs.

  “I think we’ll get some excellent publicity out of this. Kate, are you media trained?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Excellent. You’ll be doing the press conference, then. Malcolm, you can sit next to her but for God’s sake don’t say anything. Let Kate do the talking.”

  “What do you think will happen to McGuire next, sir?” Malcolm asked, grinning at having his leg pulled by the senior officer. Malcolm had done a press conference years ago and got stage fright—his blank, open-mouthed face staring at the cameras had been printed out and put all round the station for weeks afterward, and he’d never been put forward for a speaking role since.

  “Well, it’ll be up to the Foreign Secretary whether he wants to try to extradite him, but I doubt he will.”

  “Why not, sir?” Kate asked. “He is a British citizen, even if he’s a wrong ‘un.” Malcolm winced at her choice of words, but the ACC didn’t seem to notice.

  “The offences were all committed over there, as far as we can tell. Besides, it’s an important message to anyone thinking about being naughty overseas. We won’t automatically come and get you.”