by Tim Ellis
It didn't take her long to reach Black's Street. She parked the bike on the pavement next to the entrance of a derelict warehouse, hung her helmet on the handlebars and began walking up the street looking for the shop. Most of the premises were empty, but she saw a bakers' shop that was open.
She went inside and bought a hot Cornish pasty.
'I'm looking for a shop called Beautiful Species that sells microchips,' she said to the unshaven man behind the counter.
'Microchips?'
'Yes.'
'Round here?'
'Yes.'
'What type of microchips?'
'Does it matter?'
'I don't know.'
'Is there a shop with that name then?'
'Did you see it on your way here?'
'No.'
'Nor me. Unless they've opened while I've been earning a crust.'
'Is that a joke?'
'I guess not if you have to ask.'
'Thanks for your help.'
'Billy Bates the baker at your service.'
She left and walked to the end of street where there was an open hairdressers' shop.
A middle-aged woman with green hair was cutting an old aged pensioner's thinning grey hair. 'Won't be long, love.'
'I'm not here for a haircut.'
The woman looked at her hair and pulled a face. 'Are you sure?'
Lucy put her hand up to her hair and stared at herself in one of the mirrors. 'What's wrong with my hair?'
'I didn't say there was anything wrong with it.'
'Your face spoke volumes.'
'Maybe a bit of a trim; some styling; a wash and blow-dry; possibly a few blonde streaks . . . I could make you look real pretty for that special man.'
'I'm good thanks.'
'What about a ten percent discount?'
'Look! I don't need a haircut.'
'If you say so, young man.'
'Very funny.'
'You pick up some tricks of the trade as you go along.'
'I'm looking for a shop called Beautiful Species They sell microchips. Any ideas where I might find it?'
'The other end – number five.'
'Thanks.' She went to leave.
'But they're not there anymore,' the woman said.
'Oh!'
'I own all the premises on this road. The woman paid me a week's rent and said she'd make a decision whether it was going to be a long-term rental based on footfall. Well, I could have told her that we don't get many people along this road, but I wasn't about to do myself out of a week's rent, was I? They closed down and left on Thursday. I didn't give the woman a rebate and she didn't ask.'
'Do you mind if I take a look inside the shop?'
'Are you interested in renting it?'
'No.'
'So, why should I let you look inside?'
'My father bought me a microchip as a birthday present and there's something wrong with it.'
'That's a shame.'
'I was wondering if they'd left a telephone number, return address, or email address, so that I can contact them . . . Unless you have a means of contacting them?'
'No. The woman called herself Carol Carstairs and paid in cash up front.'
'Can I take a look inside then?'
The hairdresser shrugged. 'No skin off my nose, I suppose.' She went through into the back, returned shortly afterwards with a key and held her other hand out. 'Twenty pounds deposit.'
'I'll bring it back.'
'The twenty pounds will make sure you do.'
She patted her motorcycle suit. 'I've got no money on me.'
The woman shook her head and handed her the key. 'Make sure you bring it back.'
'I will.'
'What's your name?'
'Lucy Neilson.'
'I'll remember that.'
'My motorbike is at the end of the road if you want to take down my registration number just in case.'
'Maybe I will.'
Lucy left and walked back up the street to number five. She unlocked the front glass-panelled door and went inside. The place had been stripped clean. She went through into the back, heard movement behind her, felt a terrible pain in the back of her neck that radiated through her body and then blackness enveloped her.
Chapter Fifteen
On her way to New Scotland Yard, she asked Spud to stop off at a chemists on Fulham Broadway where she went in to buy herself the morning after pill – ellaOne. It was actually the morning of the morning pill if they were basing it on the passage of time. However, as an event, it was an after sex in the shower this morning pill. And anyway, advice from the medical people stated that the pill was most effective when taken as soon as possible after unprotected sex. Well, this was as soon as she could possibly buy it, and she hoped it was soon enough. It wasn't that she didn't want another baby, but there was more to life than having Quigg's babies. She slid the pill into her mouth and swallowed it with water from her water bottle.
She tried to engage Spud in conversation, but he wasn't much of a talker. In fact, she felt as though it was more like an interrogation than a conversation.
'Where do you come from, Spud?'
'London.'
'What is your real name?'
'Murphy.'
'Is that your first or last name?'
'Last.'
'Were you in the army like Jack?'
'Yes.'
In the end, she decided that the Communication Director's attempt at communication with her driver was a lost cause and gave up.
Once she reached the office, she sorted her schedule out for the day and then went down to the Operations Room in the basement.
She passed among them, spoke to each investigative pair in turn, complimented and encouraged them, but was conscious of the fact that they were limited in what they could do.
They were busy collecting information on the people they had been allocated and were constructing detailed profiles of those people on the whiteboards and in the central database that Li had developed. However, it was information that was already in the public domain. It failed to tell them anything about their criminal activities. Of course, consolidating it all in one place provided a better picture of who these people were, but it didn't give them the information they needed to bring them to justice.
The law was based on the right to a private life, which was enshrined in Article 8 of the Human Rights Act 1998. As an investigative journalist she understood that basic right. She also understood how criminals used that same human right to hide their misdeeds behind. The actor's paradox suggests that everyone wears one of several masks to present to the outside world – the false selves, what Carl Jung called the persona. Criminals were adept at creating false selves, separating the public and private selves. Not just the psychological selves, but all the trappings that go with each persona. The Jekyll and Hyde of the criminal. What the Japanese call omote-ura.
Without access to their private lives, she had no evidence of any misdeeds. To obtain that evidence she would need a warrant, but without any evidence or justification a judge would be unlikely to authorise a warrant, because it would be assumed to be a fishing exercise. She was in a Catch-22 situation. As a consequence, the investigative teams could only construct profiles of people who were pillars of the communities they lived in – the public self.
If she accessed their private lives without a warrant, then not only would she be breaking the law and subject to criminal proceedings, but any evidence she obtained would be inadmissible in a court of law – another Catch-22 situation. In a way, she could understand the frustration of the police and why they had turned. Laws designed to protect the innocent, protected the guilty as well. If you couldn't beat them, join them. Or in this case, become them.
She reached Li. 'Have you given Jack and Lucy access to the database?'
'Yes.'
'And did Lucy contact you?'
'Yes. We had a brief email conversation, and I provided her with a darknet lin
k I found in a partially deleted folder on the Human Engineered Software server owned by Alf Faager in Sweden.'
'That is good, is it not?'
'I thought so, but now I'm not so sure. The folder was called "Vackra Arter". I didn't think to translate it at the time, but now I have. It's Swedish for Beautiful Species.'
'And now there is a problem?'
'I followed the link in the folder and it leads to a scavenger hunt. It looks very much like a recruitment drive for hackers or programmers by the CIA, GCHQ, NSA and so forth, but it's not.'
'What is it then?'
'Take a look at the Beautiful Species website.'
Ruth pulled up a chair, sat down and read what the page stated about human microchip implants fulfilling an end-of-days prophecy from the Book of Revelation 13:16-17:
[16] And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: [17] And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name.
They accused Human Engineered Software of being the antichrist.
'I do not understand,' she said.
'Alf Faager's company Human Engineered Software make microchips for human implant.'
'Yes.'
'They're also behind the scavenger hunt and the Beautiful Species website.'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'I don't know, but I've been trying to get hold of Lucy again to tell her what I've discovered and she's not answering.'
'She could be busy, or asleep. Lucy keeps strange hours.'
'When I couldn't raise her, I hacked into her phone. Take a read of this transcript of a conversation earlier with her father.'
Ruth read the discussion of Jack's birthday present of a microchip that he'd purchased from a shop called Beautiful Species and tried to connect the pieces. 'Lucy has implanted the microchip?'
'Yes.'
'But it came from Alf Faager's company – one of the European Investors?'
'Yes, but Lucy didn't know that. Also, I've been following the money and the German-based Origin, who also make microchips for GreyMatter Technologies, is a subsidiary of Human Engineered Software. It's run by Muradija Ahmed who is one of the Board of Directors. Alf Faager owns all three companies.'
Ruth screwed up her face. 'The microchip that Lucy implanted has come from the enterprise?'
'Yes. I think the scavenger hunt was an elaborate ruse to get Lucy to implant that microchip and gain access to her system.'
'But why?'
Li shrugged. 'I don't know, but I think she went to the shop on Black's Street and now I can't contact her.'
Ruth called Jack.
'Yes?'
'Lucy has gone missing.'
'Just a minute . . . I can locate her now. I've still got a GPS signal for her on Google maps.'
'Where is she?'
'On Black's Street.'
'Then she should be answering her phone, but she is not. The microchip you bought Lucy for her birthday came from Alf Faager's company – Human Engineered Software. Also, we have found that he owns Origin and GreyMatter Technologies as well. In other words, that microchip came from the enterprise.'
'Jesus!'
'You need to go and check Lucy is all right.'
'I'll call you back.'
She ended the call.
'Jack is going to find her, but he says that the microchip is still showing a location for her.'
Li shook her head. 'That's not strictly true. The microchip is showing a location for the microchip. If the chip has been removed from her hand, or the hand removed from the body, then Lucy could be somewhere else entirely.'
Ruth shivered. 'We will not think about that.'
'Not thinking about it, doesn't make it go away. I learnt that in Hong Kong.'
'Find their money, Li. The sooner we take their money away, the sooner we can stop them.'
'If they have Lucy, are we willing to sacrifice her to stop them?'
Ruth's eyes opened wide. 'It surely will not come to that. Jack will save her . . . He must.'
***
After parking the Mercedes over double yellow lines within the boundary of the crime scene tape, he walked to the command centre, opened the door and stepped inside.
The handover-takeover from the night shift to the day shift was in full swing.
'Good morning, ladies,' he said with a smile.
They stopped talking, stared at him and then laughed.
'What's so funny?'
'You are, Sir,' Sergeant Coveney said.
'Well, I'm glad you think so. Why?'
'We've seen the videos of you being thrown out of Inspector Wright's office earlier.'
He nodded. 'Yes, that was a tad embarrassing. As I said yesterday, I'm her least favourite person and I draw the line at OAPs. If she is pregnant, which I very much doubt, then there's no way that I could be the father of her baby.'
'We all think it was a poor attempt to throw us off the scent,' Hanson said.
'That's a crazy notion, Hanson. Have you ladies got nothing else better to do than peddle conspiracy theories about the sex lives of your superior officers and their secret babies?'
They all shook their heads and said in unison, 'No.'
'Well, maybe we'll have to change that today.'
Once the night-shift, consisting of Sergeant Diane Cheal and Constables Claire Simcox and Amanda Lay had briefed the day-shift and left he said, 'So, tell me what happened last night?'
Sergeant Coveney took the lead. 'The officers guarding each floor were all accounted for and have now left.'
'No body-swapping in the night?'
'Not a one.'
'That's a shame. We might have identified the culprit if there had been.'
'However, they did report some strange noises.'
'Strange noises! What type of strange noises?'
'Faint whooshing noises.'
'And?'
'Well, that's it really – faint whooshing noises.'
'Coming from where?'
'They couldn't pinpoint the location.'
'The underground must run under here somewhere. It'll be the trains coming and going and sucking the air out of the tunnels at Baker Street station.'
'Except there are only whooshing noises at night, but not during the day.'
'That's interesting. So, what are you doing about it?'
'Doing about it?'
'Is there an echo in here, Coveney?'
'What do you want me to do about it, Sir?'
'Do you think the noises might be connected to what we're investigating, potential detective Amies?'
Amies giggled. 'We won't know unless we find out what the noises are and where they're coming from.'
'Exactly, Amies. So, I'd like you to get an expert on whooshing noises here today to identify what they are and where they're coming from.'
'Yes, Sir.'
Coveney continued. 'Doctor Perkins has sent three of his people to re-check all of the exhibits. He said he wants to make sure that they didn't miss the three bodies yesterday.'
'That seems a sensible idea. So, other than three forensic officers, the waxworks is empty?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Okay. Good.' He tapped the board where it described the different chemicals used in short- and long-term embalming. 'As I explained yesterday, instead of formaldehyde, methanol and glutaraldehyde the bodies have been embalmed using industrial alcohol, glycerol and formalin. That difference is a solid lead, ladies. I want you to spend the day finding out where those chemicals came from. And more importantly, who ordered and paid for them, and where they were delivered.'
'What if they were bought on the internet, Sir?' Amies said.
'And your point is, potential detective Amies?'
She giggled.
'Also, find out from the manager – Mrs Berkeley – if the waxworks as an entity, the board, or anyone else associated with the waxwo
rks have any known enemies, received any unpleasant phone calls, anonymous letters, threats and so forth. And then there's the long-term embalming – it's a specialist job. I want a list of the people who have the knowledge and capability to undertake it. Also, it's not just the bodies, but the wax made from the human remains as well. Now, I don't know much about how much wax you'd get from a corpse, but I'm guessing not a lot. Depending on who you ask, a body is mostly made up of either water, oxygen or empty space. Until yesterday, I never heard "wax" mentioned in relation to the human body. What I'm getting at is that it would probably take a lot of bodies to acquire the amount of wax this person is using to create replicas of the figures. Do some research. Where the hell have all these bodies come from?'
'We'll use our initiative and check everything out, Sir,' Coveney said.
'I wouldn't expect anything less, Sergeant. So, my plans for today are to brief the architect on what I want from him when he arrives. Then, I'll be picking up Rummage from the station, because she's currently interviewing our four suspects. We'll then be going to the mortuary to find out how Doctor Solberg and her locums have been wasting public money. I'll then find somewhere to have lunch, and before I have to brief the Chief and the press at the station, I'll pop back here to check you're keeping out of mischief. Any questions?'
Nobody said anything.
Just then, there was a knock at the door and an attractive woman in her mid-thirties stepped inside. She had bleached blonde hair, with dark roots visible along the right-sided parting, that fell to just above her shoulders. Her skin was as white as porcelain and she wore a dark-blue matching skirt and jacket over a satin blue and white striped blouse.
'Inspector Quigg?'
'The one and only.'
'I'm Amy English from Architects – Cannon, Howie and Gibbs, consultants to Mrs Salmon's Waxworks. I understand you would like me to confirm that the building, as it is now, conforms to the original plans for the dental hospital drawn up by Sir John Burnet & Partners in 1888?'
'That's correct.'
'I've now received copies of those plans from the National Archives in Kew.'