No Turning Back

by Sam Blake

  ‘Hey, guys, he’s here.’ The group had hardly raised their eyes. Karim had turned to him. ‘We’re using the bank next door’s Wi-Fi. It’s sweet.’

  ‘What’s everyone working on?’

  Karim had turned to him, his smile slow. ‘Maximum disruption. We’re getting into the mainline station and underground computer systems. The signalling is a closed network but if we can get a worm in we can have some fun. That’s what everyone’s doing at the moment, trying to find a weakness and perfecting the assault code.’

  ‘Like Stuxnet, man!’ Without raising his eyes from the screen, one of the hackers lifted his hand in a victory signal.

  ‘Yeah, if we can get the code we’re developing onto an employee laptop we can get in. If we’re lucky we can use a stick to get the worm in, but the boys are experimenting with email too. If we’re fast enough we can develop an intelligent worm that won’t be recognised by virus protection.’

  He’d known Karim had been working on something interesting, had been teasing him about the size of the project for months, but Karim had wanted to save the big reveal until they could all meet in London. His curiosity piqued, he’d sat down beside the two guys nearest him, both bundled in fur hooded parkas and baseball caps.

  ‘Why not go for something bigger if you’ve got a Stuxnet type worm? Not nuclear power plants like that one maybe, but the power grid, electricity supply companies? Think of the power you’d have then.’

  Karim laughed at the pun, then smiled that slow smile, his thin moustache curving on his top lip.

  ‘We want this worm to self-destruct twenty-four hours after the attack. We’re working on making it responsive so it will send us back as much info as possible so we can develop the next generation, and then . . . Well, the power supply would be a natural escalation. Maximum disruption. Maximum kudos. And a nice big pay packet into the bargain.’

  He’d nodded to himself then; it was perfect. Karim and his mates knew what they were about, and they were wired. He had good stuff going on now, a steady income stream, but it wasn’t exactly exciting. Money didn’t turn him on like this sort of challenge did. He’d agreed straight away to join the crew. They called themselves Unanimous for a reason – they were in total agreement that they were awesome, and they were going to prove it to the world, whatever it took.

  A movement on the screen in front of him drew his eye and his mind left the Unanimous squad in London. He tuned back into the empty cafe and his laptop screen. On the web page he had a perfect image from the camera on the laptop he’d hacked. It looked like it was resting on a gold velour sofa in a modern apartment, floorboards pale, walls white or cream. A large widescreen TV dominated the shot. The angle was a bit off, like it was tilted on a cushion, but someone was moving around in the periphery of the camera’s vision. He almost jumped back as a shape loomed large on the screen, blurred as the camera refocused. A large grey cat settled down in front of the keyboard and began washing its paws. He smiled. The camera shot was clear and crisp. It was only a matter of time before the image became a lot more interesting.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday, 8 p.m.

  Cathy’s house was in darkness when she got home, her windscreen wipers on full on the short drive from the station to the house she shared in Shankill with three other Guards. It had started raining as they’d headed back from Longford, but the roads were clear so they had made good time. Fanning had dropped her off to collect her own car and gone straight to the pub.

  Pulling up outside the neat semi she was half-surprised to see the place empty, but then remembered that Decko was on nights. JP was out with Frank Gallagher, waiting for 007 to join them, and Eamon was on his long weekend. He’d gone home to Galway for a few days with an enormous bag of washing, to be pampered by his mother. Which meant she had the place to herself, and right now she needed it.

  She pipped the central locking on her Mini; the car flashed its indicators to show it had responded, making her smile as she dashed to the shelter of the half roof over the front door, her keys ready in her hand. It was ridiculous but she always felt like the car was talking to her when it flashed, saying good morning and goodnight. But she had a special bond with this car – it had taken a lot for her to get back out on the road after her first gorgeous laser blue Mini had been blown up. The Garda advanced driving course had helped hugely, giving her back her nerve and rebuilding her confidence, teaching her skills that had come in very useful since. She’d taken her time in the showroom choosing another car. She still felt like the compensation she’d received was dirty money somehow and had stashed most of it in the bank for a rainy day, but her new Mini had been her one indulgence and she loved it.

  Pushing the front door closed behind her, hearing the rain hammering on the roof, Cathy switched the hall light on. Despite the rain and the chill outside, the heating was on, and the house was warm and welcoming. She always felt safe here; she had done before the explosion, but now she valued her home even more. When you never knew what each day might bring, having that security was vital.

  Cathy leaned back on the cold glass of the hall door, thoughts of safety taking her straight to Tom Quinn and Lauren O’Reilly. What had really been going on that night?

  Scooping up the post that was scattered on the mat by her feet, Cathy headed for the black granite kitchen, the overhead spots bouncing off the polished surfaces as she switched them on. She threw the pile of letters, bills and circulars onto the gleaming counter and opened the fridge, pulling out a half bottle of white wine. Her training and diet regime was strict but one glass tonight wouldn’t hurt. And with everyone out nobody would know. She smiled to herself as she sloshed the wine into a glass. Some days you just needed something to help you relax.

  And right now she needed to be nice to herself. It had been a very, very long day.

  She’d parked the promotions list firmly in a dark place in her head until now, but she knew she needed to have a really long think about it. Calmly and rationally.

  O’Rourke’s face flashed into her head. There suddenly seemed to be so many uncertainties in her life. She’d been so sure she knew where she was going, what her next move was, but now this. She still couldn’t work out if O’Rourke wanted their relationship to go further. He either wanted to be with her or he didn’t, but she knew it was complicated. She certainly wanted to try, though.

  But she was getting ahead of herself. Again. Way ahead.

  Sometimes she felt that anything between them was something that was going to stay firmly in her head, but then there were times when she’d catch a look, like today in the incident room, or they’d have a moment, and she’d see something in him – something he was trying to hold back. Right before the explosion he’d been about to take her to dinner, and she’d really felt like he cared – was about to step in and be her knight in shining armour. She’d certainly needed one then, with the mess she’d been in.

  Cathy leaned on the counter nursing the cold glass in her hand. She shivered. Christ, what was happening to her? She’d thought she was getting on top of everything, that life had returned to normal. Well, maybe not everyone’s normal, but her normal. She was on fire in the gym, was going to get her title back in April at the national finals, and based on her assessed coursework to date, she was guaranteed to get a first in her Master’s when she handed in her final assignment in May. She’d astounded her tutors in college with the speed she’d flown through the course. It had all been going so well.

  And then that fecking promotions list had come out.

  What else did she have to do to prove she was a damn good officer and should be stepping into the profiler job? She knew she was young, but she’d had more experience than some offi-cers would see in their whole careers. Surely that gave her an edge, and her age gave her insight into younger offenders.

  Cathy took a sip of her wine. One thing she knew about herself was that she always needed a plan, an overall picture of where she was going, to make sure that
she got there. Without one she felt rudderless, insecure. But now her master plan was in the manure pile of political favours that paralysed the country, that meant the best people for the job didn’t always get it.

  Deliberately, she took a deep breath. She was getting cross again. But it was hard not to be cross, to see what was good about not getting the job she wanted. More so, in making the application, Cathy had made the decision in her head that it was time to move on from Dun Laoghaire, that it was time to spread her wings to further her career. She’d started to look forward to new challenges, had begun to see how she could get stale staying in the same station, in the same unit for too long. And O’Rourke wouldn’t be there for ever. That was for sure. She chewed her lip. She needed a change, and she needed it soon.

  There was another option. An option that would get her out of Dun Laoghaire and right into the middle of the action. She’d been half-joking when she’d mentioned joining the Emergency Response Unit before, but it had been in the back of her mind for a long time and it was one she was very curious about. When Sarah Jane had disappeared back in October, she’d seen the ERU in action up close, had been wowed by their technology as well as their firepower.

  Cathy topped up her glass again, taking another sip and savouring it. She so rarely had any alcohol when she was training that she could feel it hitting the mark.

  She needed to keep positive. She needed to hold on to the good. She was going to get a first in her Master’s, she’d got her fitness back and she was holding it together – mainly. And when she wasn’t, nobody could see.

  Was that what had happened to Lauren? Her mind shot back to meeting Lauren’s parents.

  Lauren’s mother’s revelation about her fear of water put a very different slant on things, that was for sure. If Lauren was terrified of water, it made no sense that she would have gone to the cliff edge to jump. Had she been drunk? Had it been too dark for her to see the drop? Or had she not intended to jump at all, but had slipped? Maybe she’d been meeting someone right at the end of the path and had lost her footing and fallen over the edge?

  Or, maybe she’d been pushed.

  Cathy tapped her glass on her teeth. She was sure there were techs who were better at physics than she was and could work out from the photographs the exact angle at which Lauren had gone off the cliff, and how much force was required for her to end up where they found her. But who dived onto rocks?

  Her body had been found facing the sea. Surely if she had jumped, she’d be the other way up. In Cathy’s experience few suicides wanted to see their fate coming at them.

  Cathy had tried O’Rourke several times on the way back from Longford to tell him about Lauren’s fear of water but he’d been constantly engaged, so she’d ended up emailing him. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to see if he’d replied, just as it pipped with a text.

  O’Rourke. There were times when she thought he was psychic.

  Have you eaten?

  She texted back: No.

  The doorbell rang.

  Chapter 17

  Saturday, 8.30 p.m.

  It took Cathy a moment to react to the sound of the doorbell. It took her another moment to get to the front door, opening it wide to a gust of cold air and O’Rourke sheltering under the half roof over the front door, rain falling solidly behind him like a curtain. Backlit by the street lights he looked like something out of a black and white movie.

  She stood back to let him in, closing the door quickly to keep the heat in. Huge in the narrow hallway, cloaked in cold air, he stood with his back to her and shook his head and shoulders like a dog, raindrops scattering like icy shards of glass.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s wet.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  He turned around, his face serious. ‘Fish and chips all right? There was a queue a mile long in the Chinese.’

  ‘The Boss will kill me.’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re on starvation rations for the rest of the week.’

  Like hell, and he knew fish and chips were her favourite.

  ‘Did you get onion rings?’

  ‘Of course.’

  *

  Five minutes later they were sitting in the kitchen, brown paper bags torn open in the middle of the table. The Boss really was going to kill her. It wasn’t time to increase her calories just yet, but it was one night and it had been as shit a week as she’d had in a long time.

  O’Rourke had thrown his coat over the banister on the way in, dumping the bag on the table, before slipping his suit jacket over the back of the chair. Then he’d gone straight to the fridge to find a beer. He’d been here often enough before to know where everything was.

  He took a long swig. ‘God, I needed that.’

  Not nearly as much as she needed fish and chips. And he’d remembered the salt and vinegar.

  ‘Where is everyone? This house is normally like the Mad Cow at rush hour.’

  He sat down opposite her at the round table and tore a strip off the fresh cod he’d bought for them to share, the flesh breaking away in chunks.

  ‘Decko’s on nights, JP’s out on the batter with 007 and Eamon’s on his long weekend home, will be back Monday night.’

  ‘So you’re all alone?’

  ‘And enjoying every minute of it, thanks.’

  He picked up his beer as she picked up her glass of wine. She’d added some sparkling water and ice to make a spritzer.

  ‘So . . .’ They said it together. O’Rourke grinned. ‘You go first.’

  She picked up a chip, frowning as she spoke. ‘You got my email? Lauren’s mum said there was no way she would have jumped, she was terrified of water. She had a near drowning accident when she was a child.’ She hesitated but before he could say anything, continued: ‘And the way she fell isn’t right for someone who jumped. The way her body landed was all wrong. And like you said, there are much better places to jump, assuming she did.’

  ‘But you don’t think she did?’

  Cathy shook her head emphatically.

  He leaned forward on the table, his shirt rolled back at the cuffs. The battered diver’s watch he always wore looked all wrong with his crisply starched shirt. He reached for another chip.

  ‘I’ve got a team from the technical bureau in the Park looking at how she fell. They’re calculating the angle from the height and the distance. Their early thoughts correlate with yours.’

  Cathy pulled out an onion ring. ‘I think she was pushed. That mark Saunders found on the back of her shoulder – I know he said it wasn’t conclusive. You’d sort of expect to see a bruise on both shoulders if some had pushed her hard, but that would assume they were standing behind her . . .’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Maybe whoever it was, was facing her and twisted her around before they pushed. But the sixty-million-dollar question is: if that’s the case, who pushed her, and why there?’

  Cathy screwed up her face, thinking. ‘Because it was close to Tom’s house? Maybe she tried to call in on Tom but was too late? Or maybe she saw who hit him and challenged them? We don’t know that he wasn’t hit first. Perhaps she was in the car?’

  ‘Or maybe she was in Dalkey to meet him, and they had a row. If he’d just pushed her off a cliff, you’d expect him to be a bit stressed. Maybe he was so distracted when the vehicle came around the corner that he walked right out?’

  Cathy took a sip of her wine, shaking her head. ‘Skid marks and tyre imprints indicate it was deliberate. The car went up onto the pavement to hit him. Then they reversed so they could finish the job.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps there were three of them meeting and there was a row that ended with Lauren going over the cliff. Then that other person needed to take Tom out of the picture because he’d seen what happened?’

  ‘Definitely possible. I think Frank’s right – putting that note in her pocket into an envelope suggests that she was expecting to give it to someone. Forensics are still looking at it, but it appears t
o be clean, doesn’t even have her prints on it.’

  ‘That’s a bit weird. She’d have no reason to wipe it if she wrote it herself.’

  ‘I thought that.’

  ‘And if she didn’t,’ she picked up a chip, ‘it suggests that someone else did, someone who doesn’t want to be identified, which could lead us to think that she was pushed deliberately and whoever did it knew exactly what they were doing and wanted to make it look like suicide.’

  ‘We’ll know more when we get the full forensics report.’

  She grimaced. ‘We could speculate forever. Will we have their phone records in the morning? I really want to see who called or texted who and where from. See if she was trying to meet Tom.’

  ‘I hope so. Both warrants have been filed, we’re just waiting for the companies to produce them. They’re usually very fast. Reckon Tom was seeing her on the sly?’

  Cathy chewed a chip thoughtfully. ‘Why on the sly, though? He had nothing to hide. She was a friend from college. Perhaps he invited her over to study or something and she met someone on the DART who led her astray?’

  ‘We’ll know more when we can see their phone traffic.’ O’Rourke hesitated. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She looked up at him sharply. So that’s what this is about – the promotions list. She should have guessed.