Snared

by Ed James

  “I’m just getting onto that.”

  “Was it Anita Skinner?”

  “Definitely not. I installed some friendly malware on her laptop. If she so much as goes near the dark net or the files she got sent, I’ll know about it.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “It’s not strictly illegal.”

  “I’m getting more impressed with you by the day.” Vicky craned round to look at Considine, massaging down the knot in her neck, now reduced to a dull ache. “Tell Forrester about this, please.”

  “Me?”

  “Please.” Vicky crouched alongside Zoë. “What was the second thing?”

  “Right. Well, I’ve been doing some more digging into the user names on xbeast. It’s the first step in trying to prove who’s posted that video.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve got another user who posted some comments in support of the actions. They were posted last night so I didn’t spot them till now.”

  “Show me.”

  “Here.” Zoë flipped to another screen and turned her laptop to show a page of indented text. “For the video, they’ve posted ‘why are the police looking into us? we’ve not committed a crime. dog breeding is a crime.’ ”

  “They said ‘us’.”

  “I spotted that, too.” Zoë switched to another document. “For that battery hen farm attack, they’ve posted ‘we should have firebombed it with them inside.’ ”

  “Is this someone taking credit for it?”

  “Doesn’t really look like it to me.” Zoë shrugged.

  Vicky nodded. “I’d expect them to be more overt. Publishing somewhere a bit more public.”

  “Could be like in football.” Considine lifted up his coffee mug, dark grey with orange lines, the black Dundee United lion rampant in front of an orange and white harlequin diamond. “When I’m talking about watching United, I’d say ‘we played well today’, even though I’m nowhere near the pitch. The royal ‘we’.”

  Vicky shook her head. “The royal ‘we’ means referring to a single person as a plural, like the Queen does. It’s shorthand for ‘God and I’. The divine right of kings and all that. I did it at uni.”

  “And to think I had to pick you up on the correct use of ‘fewer’.” Considine smirked. “Whatever. You still get my point, though, right?”

  Vicky tugged at her ponytail — it made sense. “Anything else?”

  Zoë stared at the screen. “I’ve been through their post history. The same user posted in October, when that cat bin woman got done — ‘shame she got found’.”

  “Who is it?”

  Zoë shrugged. “I’ll be a couple of hours getting an IP address, if we’re lucky.”

  “Is it Brian Morton?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Vicky stood up, knees creaking. “This is your highest priority.”

  “Understood.” Zoë nodded. “Oh, Mac was looking for you. Wanted you to help interview someone.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  We have no connections to that group.” Muirhead let his arms go, his cufflinks rattling off the interview room table. “I do wish you’d stop hounding my wife and me.”

  “And I wish you’d stop posting things on parts of the internet we’re monitoring for terrorist activity.” MacDonald left the room, storming off down the corridor.

  Vicky had to jog to catch up, weaving between a couple of uniforms coming the other way. “Did you get what you wanted, Euan?”

  “Maybe.” MacDonald shrugged. “Thanks for stepping in, by the way. DC Woods got called home.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t heard. Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Son was coughing. Got sent home from nursery.”

  Vicky grimaced — Bella better not have caught anything from Cameron at the weekend. “Do you think the Muirheads are involved?”

  “An hour each with them and we’ve got nothing. Deny, deny, deny.” MacDonald stopped by the door to their office space, his blue eyes darting about. “Whether they’re involved? Not sure. Sandy Muirhead fits the profile of the male perpetrator.”

  “Isn’t he a bit short?”

  “Maybe, but we’ve got really flaky descriptions. They could be anyone.”

  “His hands are quite small. Nobody’s mentioned that.”

  “They’ve not seen the hands, as far as I can tell. They’ve been wearing gloves. Easy to pad out.”

  “Did you get anything from the interview with his wife before?”

  “Nothing. Again it was just denial.” MacDonald drummed his fingers on the doorframe. “How did it go with Brian Morton?”

  “We got nowhere. He was going ballistic at Considine. Looked like he was going to have a heart attack.”

  “Where have you left it?”

  “His brother’s going to have a word with him.”

  “You think he’s trustworthy?”

  Vicky gave a half-smile. “I have problems with trust at the best of times.”

  “And at the worst?”

  “Let’s just wait and see what he comes back with.”

  MacDonald frowned, leaning against the door. “What’s that Brian boy’s story, anyway? He’s huge.”

  “He’s morbidly obese. He just lives off frozen desserts.”

  “Christ.”

  “I honestly don’t know where he fits in.” Vicky nibbled at her lip before stepping forward to avoid an officer hurtling down the corridor, getting within a foot of MacDonald. “Did you get anywhere with the Wildlife guys?”

  MacDonald shook his head. “Called them between interviews. Going to be tomorrow before the lad on the inside speaks to his handler to confirm the tale.”

  “Right. I’ll wait till he gets back to you, then.”

  “All we can do.” MacDonald led them back to their desks.

  “Ma’am.” Zoë pulled out an earphone. “I’ve got an IP address back on that new profile.”

  “Who is it?”

  Zoë held up her notepad. “Woman called Marianne Smith?”

  Vicky gritted her teeth. “The gardener at the James Hutton Institute.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  MacDonald pulled his BMW into the car park to the James Hutton Institute, slotting in behind a panda car. “This the place?”

  Vicky nodded. “It is, aye.”

  “How do you want to play this, Vicky?”

  “Let’s just get her to come voluntarily. We need to watch when we caution her.”

  “Clock starts ticking, right?”

  “Right. Did you and Forrester speak to the Wildlife guys about using terror powers?”

  “Didn’t really discuss it. David was going to chat to their DCI today.”

  “Given how hard it is to get any evidence, we’ll need every second with her.”

  MacDonald rubbed his chin. “Not happy cautioning her without Forrester’s say-so.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s the DI’s case, Vicky. He’s SIO.”

  “True.” Vicky watched the two uniformed officers approach. “Come on, then. I’ll lead.”

  “No problems with that.”

  Vicky got out of the car and nodded recognition at the two uniforms, her grin lingering on Colin Woods. “Afternoon, Colin. I heard Cameron’s not well?”

  “Aye.” Woods nodded. “Nightmare. Parenthood affects even police officers.”

  Vicky patted MacDonald on the arm. “This is Karen’s sergeant, DS Euan MacDonald. Euan, this is PC Colin Woods.”

  MacDonald smiled at him. “I’m not as bad as your wife will tell you.”

  “We’ll see.” Woods laughed. “What’s the play here, Vicks?”

  “Hopefully, there won’t be one. We just need to speak to her. You’re here to help us out.”

  “In case you fuck it
up?”

  “In case we fuck it up.” Vicky shrugged before nodding at the front of the building. “Come on, then.”

  As they approached the Living Garden, Vicky could see Marianne Smith giving a talk to a group of schoolchildren — teenagers by the looks of things. “Great. That’s all we need.”

  Marianne stopped talking as they neared, putting on a smile for her audience. “Can you all take a five-minute break?” She checked her watch. “Back here at three thirty?”

  The group dispersed, three of the kids nearest retrieving smartphones from their bags, faces lit up by the screens.

  Marianne nodded at Vicky, clenching her jaw as she looked at the flanking uniformed officers. “How can I help today?”

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions, Ms Smith.”

  “I’m in the middle of something.” Marianne folded her arms, looking at the children. “As you’ll have no doubt heard, you’ve got five minutes.”

  “We’ll need longer than that, I’m afraid.”

  Marianne settled her gaze on Vicky. “What’s this about?”

  “We found some messages posted on the internet in support of certain actions perpetrated over the last few days. We’ve tracked them back to your internet account.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Vicky showed her a print. “Do you deny you posted these messages?”

  “Of course I deny it.” Marianne shook her head. “You can see I’m in the middle of giving a talk. Perhaps you can come back later?”

  “Ms Smith, can you please accompany us to the station?”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll arrest you.”

  Marianne remained silent as her gaze bounced between the two uniformed officers.

  Woods stepped forward. “Ms Smith, can you accompany us to the station, please?”

  Marianne took a deep breath. “I’ll need to arrange for a colleague to finish the talk.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Forrester loosened off his tie and put his feet up on the desk. “Think she’s the criminal genius behind all this?”

  “Maybe.” Vicky flicked back through her notebook, glancing at MacDonald as he tapped his pen off his own. “Rachel Hay’s dogs wrecked the garden she runs.”

  “I remember. Think that’s a motive?”

  “I do.”

  Forrester frowned. “See this Cupar case — think Smith could be the woman Irene Henderson saw?”

  Vicky shrugged. “It’d be worthwhile getting a photo of Marianne Smith to her.”

  “Mac — thoughts?”

  MacDonald clasped his hands behind his head. “Got three people directly involved in these cases. Marianne fits the very loose description we’ve got for one of the assailants, in that she’s a woman.”

  “Wasn’t there another woman?”

  “Descriptions are ambiguous at best, sir. Won’t stand up anywhere.”

  “Right, right. So, could it be her?”

  Vicky nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “Have we got any suspects?”

  “The Muirheads.” MacDonald rocked forward in his chair. “Sandy caused a right hullabaloo when we picked him up from his work this morning.”

  “Doesn’t imply guilt.”

  “Pretty much all we’ve got, sir.”

  Vicky pointed her pen at Forrester. “Did you speak to the Domestic Extremism guys about using terror laws against these people?”

  “I have done, aye.”

  “Do you want us to use them?”

  “If you need to.”

  Considine rapped on the door. “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but DS MacDonald asked me to do some background checks on Marianne Smith.”

  Forrester beckoned him in. “Go on.”

  Considine shut the door behind him. “This is just preliminary stuff, sir, but she’s known to be a bit of an agitator. Been moved on from protesting down the Murraygate on a Saturday afternoon a couple of times. Handing out flyers, collecting signatures, shouting on a megaphone.” He held up a sheet of paper. “Plus, she lives in Cupar.”

  “Where this Henderson woman was chucked in a bin?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Forrester tapped his desk for a few seconds. “Mac, can you speak to your contacts at the NCA and see if they’ve got her on file? From what young Considine says, she’s got to be known to them.”

  “Will do.”

  “Vicky, get her under caution and bring a lawyer in. You know better than me which sections of the laws to use. See what she knows.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Kelly Nelson-Caird sat back in her chair, a hand moving in front of Marianne Smith. “My client has answered the question.”

  Vicky cleared her throat and glanced at Considine, who was sitting next to her, writing everything in his grey notebook. “I need to ask again, Ms Smith. We found some messages in support of three crimes we’re currently investigating. Do you deny posting them?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Vicky pushed a sheet across the desk, visible to both Marianne and Nelson-Caird. “This is a message posted by the user tree_lady on the Animal Rites thread on the xbeast forum.” She pushed a second sheet over. “This is the output of some software we have. It traces a user on that forum through to an IP address, which led us to a Virgin Media account.” She gave them another sheet. “Can you confirm this is your address?”

  Marianne swallowed. “Yes, it is.”

  Vicky pushed another two sheets over. “These are other messages posted by the user. They were traced to the same IP address and the same user at Virgin Media. This was you, wasn’t it?”

  “No comment.”

  Vicky leaned back in her chair. “Ms Smith, can you confirm your movements on Sunday the thirtieth of March?”

  “What times?”

  “The whole day.”

  Marianne glanced at Nelson-Caird, who motioned for her to continue. She scratched at the desk with a fingernail, her breathing fast. “It was raining, so I just stayed in.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I read a book, I think.”

  “Can anyone confirm this?”

  Marianne shook her head. “I live alone.”

  “What about the fifteenth of November last year?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “It was a Friday.”

  “I’ll have been at work, most probably.”

  “We need to know for sure. Can anyone else confirm your whereabouts?”

  “My manager at the Hutton Institute would be able to.”

  Vicky nodded to Considine, who scribbled it down. She turned back to Marianne. “Was there a lot of work to do in a garden in Dundee in the middle of November?”

  “It’s one of the busiest times, believe it or not. We’re preparing the soil for the next season. We’ve a tight schedule, so when it comes round to planting in late February, everything must be ready.”

  “And in the evening?”

  Marianne laughed, eyes burning. “You’re asking me to recall what I did on a Friday night in November?”

  Vicky nodded. “We are.”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  Nelson-Caird bobbed forward on her chair, elbow clattering off the table. “Sergeant, I don’t appreciate your insinuation. My client’s been more than helpful.”

  “Then please confirm what you did on the fifteenth of November.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Vicky pointed to the sheets in front of them. “Do you deny making those comments?”

  “No comment.”

  Vicky took a deep breath before checking the Post-It she’d stuck to her notebook. “Marianne Smith, I’m arresting you under sections
one and two of the Terrorist Act 2006, namely ‘Encouragement of terrorism’ and ‘Disseminating terrorist publications’. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted down and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?”

  Marianne shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Ms Smith, do you understand the fact you’re being cautioned?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have anything to say?”

  Marianne slumped in her chair. “I made those comments.”

  “Why?”

  Marianne shrugged. “I’m involved in animal rights groups. So what? It’s not a crime.”

  “People have been harmed in the execution of these acts.”

  “Are these people innocent?”

  “Did Rachel Hay being a dog breeder have anything to do with it?”

  Marianne licked her lips. “They’re infernal dogs but, believe me, I had absolutely nothing to do with what happened to her.”

  “You’re denying your involvement in the abduction of Rachel Hay?”

  “My client is.”

  Vicky kept her gaze locked on Marianne. “And at Hunter’s Farm?”

  “Where?”

  “It’s near Barry in Angus.”

  “I have no idea where that is.”

  “Do you have any connections to the Phorever Love commune near Redford in Angus?”

  “No.”

  “Do you deny being involved in the abduction and entrapment of Irene Henderson in Cupar, Fife on the fifteenth of November last year?”

  “No comment.”

  Vicky sat back and fiddled with her pen — lots of denials but only one ‘no comment’. “Do you deny involvement in Ms Henderson’s abduction?”

  “No comment.”

  Vicky dropped the pen — two now.

  Nelson-Caird puckered her lips. “Sergeant, as you yourself stated, my client has the right to remain silent.”

  Vicky leaned across to the recorder. “Interview terminated at five thirty p.m.” She got up and led Considine out into the corridor.

  Forrester held open the door to the observation suite, next door to the interview room. “In here.”

  Vicky followed him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Stephen.”