Owen turned to look at Cyril, his natural colour returning. “I’m under control, Sir, sorry.”
Everyone seemed to either nod or wave away his apology; he was not alone, they all felt his anger. Liz had gained the respect of all the team and everyone was shocked by what they had just witnessed.
An officer dashed in and spoke quietly in Cyril’s ear. He nodded.
“Everyone discuss what you have just witnessed, particularly the role played by Atkins. Rerun it over and look for any clues. Go through the files. What we can’t afford at this stage is to be distracted from finding the murderer, but now, more importantly, we need to find one of our own who’s clearly in harm’s way. She needs your policing skills and your professionalism now more than at any other time and we mustn’t let her down.” Cyril stood. “The Chief Constable needs to speak with me. Everyone please remain, I’ll not be long.” Cyril was clearly in control as he spoke slowly and quietly. He rested his hand on Owen’s shoulder as he spoke. Owen felt Cyril’s grip close reassuringly and he knew that if anyone could find Liz, then Cyril would.
Owen responded immediately. “Well what are we waiting for?”
There was a sudden, frenetic burst of voices as if someone had turned up the volume. Cyril turned to leave the room. He paused at the door. “Shakti, chase up Liz’s phone records now and see if you can get a trace on the last call that was made from it and also to it.”
She immediately left the room to initiate Cyril’s request before Cyril followed.
Shakti thought that her number would probably be the last recorded as she had tried to contact Liz several times before the meeting.
Once in his office, Cyril relaxed a little. The images he had just witnessed replayed in his mind and he felt nauseous. For a brief moment, he could let his façade slip and in the privacy of his room, he gave way to his emotions until the expected call came. Cyril listened and made the occasional comment but finished the conversation with a flurry of sentences; they were short and sharp. He explained the news regarding the bicycle spoke discovered in the Stray Agency window. He also made sure that he expressed his anger at the tardy police liaison, strongly pointing out that the information had taken a full forty-eight hours to be processed. He emphasised that the Agency was the last place that Liz had visited on Friday afternoon. It was also obvious that the video had been recorded and sent to the laptop whilst it was in the care of the Digital Forensic Team. He did not want to accept the possible explanation regarding cloud storage that his superior had proffered; to be honest, at this moment, he neither wished to know nor cared, he simply wanted to get on with his mission to find Liz.
The call over, he dialled the National Crime Agency, having been given the instruction to contact a DCI Ged McArdle, the on-call officer working within the Anti Kidnap and Extortion Unit. The conversation was brief, but Cyril was assured that one of the NCA team would be in Harrogate by the following day. Cyril had mixed feelings, but he was prepared to share the stage with the cast from the film Gandhi if it would help Liz. What he knew for sure was that Owen was to remain firmly at his side.
On returning to the Incident Room, he was pleased to observe the frenetic activity. He tapped his cigarette on the white board. “What do we have?”
Shakti stood. “Phone records.” She pointed to the large computer screen. “Last voice call was to my mobile at 15:21 on Friday afternoon. Liz sounded over the moon that the meeting with Grant couldn’t take place. He was late back from London, some kind of rail delay. We’re checking now. She said she was going back to the flat. Owen was here with me and heard her. She sounded really excited and upbeat. However, she sent a text to a guy called Jim, with whom she had communicated regularly over the preceding days. The last one was sent on Friday at 15:50.” She turned to the screen and Cyril read the text.
‘Jim, something serious has cropped up at work and I can’t make it this weekend. Sooooo sorry. I’ll make it up to you. It’ll be worth the wait, believe me! Don’t call me before Monday. You know the work I do. Just think about what’s waiting. When you get this show, you love me and understand by sending just a kiss. Pook xxxx.’
“I want Jim found and in here and I want a full analysis of the text message. Sent it to the scribblers at Scientific Support. Ask them to check if the same person sent them all.
She looked enquiringly at Cyril.
“Ever sent a text on a friend’s phone and signed it from them?”
She nodded. “We all have our own way of texting… it’s worth a look.
“Then you and Nixon contact Forensics and get down to Liz’s flat. The usual, no one enters until everything is set. Full report back here as soon as.”
Cyril set his team in motion with specific instructions, before contacting the technical officer who had established the live link. He requested a thorough trawl and detailed reports of everything found on the laptop. However, a startling piece of information just confirmed by Forensics, shook him. After scrutiny of the DNA taken from Colin Coulson’s personal computer recovered from his apartment, a match had been found on Dan Rowney’s laptop and in his car. It took a while for the information to equate.
“You’d be amazed at the shit that’s splattered all over computers, dirtier than the average domestic bog. Just think of how many times people sneeze or cough whilst typing. Hairs accumulate within the key gaps. I could go on. Thought you should know now. That’s why we were certain that Atkins had never touched the laptop that was allegedly hers.”
Cyril hung up, stared at the phone and then the laptop. That bastard is linked with both murders, as cool as a cucumber, he offers critical evidence that implicates him up to his bloody oxsters, he thought to himself .
He immediately put out a national alert for Dan Rowney. Within an hour, Rowney’s image would be in the hands of the press and the national media. Police had also checked the inventory of the computer equipment held by Rowney’s employer, alongside a full search of the premises.
***
Charles sat opposite Dan. Neither spoke, they simply looked at each other. To the observers it was like watching chess without the board or the pieces but it still seemed to be a game of skill if not cunning. Neither wanted to make the first move. Dan smiled and was the first to speak.
“All the info, or should I say, the info you want them to see should be in their hands.”
Karen walked in and placed two mugs of coffee on the table.
“What progress on Valerie’s computer?” Dan sipped his coffee and smiled at Karen, mouthing the word, thanks.
Charles did not move, he just stared at Dan, before answering. The pause was palpable. “Fuck all. If we don’t locate it, this place closes within three days. Reverts to tomatoes for Christ’s sake, fucking tomatoes. From green to red.” He too turned to Karen. “Like bloody traffic signals.”
He then took a swig from the mug before leaning across the table. He tapped the surface with his finger, a foot from Dan’s hands, as if making a phantom ‘check’ move.
“You’re all over the Internet as we speak. The North Yorkshire Police web page has your mug shot. Pretty, I’ve got to admit! So, my friend, you leave like our young people enter.” He slipped his hand into his shirt pocket and removed a box of Quells. Heard on the vine that you don’t like boats.”
Dan remained quiet for a moment, sipped more coffee then replied. “And if you find the laptop who’s going to get into it?” Dan followed suit, stretched across and tapped the table. “If I’m gone, you…?” His lips broke into an arrogant smile. “Firstly, I’m not getting on any flimsy, blow up, seaside boat and quite frankly, you…” He tapped the table a second time. “Know fuck all about comp…”
For a big man Charles could move quickly and Dan only caught a glimpse of the fist milliseconds before his nose exploded. He literally saw stars as the intense pain shot from between his eyes, quickly followed by myriad flashing lights that seemed to penetrate his every nerve cell. His chair tipped backwards but his knees
caught the underside of the table, springing him back in Charles’s direction. Blood spattered a broad area of the table’s surface as the force of his moving head flung the warm fluid in a crimson arc. Charles was eagerly waiting to make a second, more devastating strike. This time, he stood and took hold of the back of Dan’s head before ramming it onto the ceramic mug rim that was still at arm’s length in front of him. It cracked. The sharp edge of the breaking mug was swift in slicing eye and flesh in an almost perfect circle. Dan’s face met the table surface with the force generated by Charles’s full strength. The crashing remnants of the mug clattered onto the floor, to be swiftly followed by the dull thud of Dan’s head making contact with the wood and pottery pieces. Blood and coffee mixed rapidly and the mud-red stream ran and dripped before pooling on the floor. Charles simply uttered the words “Check fucking mate you arsehole.”
Karen was frozen to the spot and stared at the havoc caused within the blinking of an eye. It had come from nowhere and was over in no time. She timidly glanced at Charles who was studying one of his nails.
“The bastard has chipped the varnish.” His voice, now camp and gentle, sounded as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. He slammed his other clenched fist down onto Dan’s lifeless left temple. He picked up the box of travel sickness tablets.
“He’ll no longer need these.” He tossed them at Karen. “But you most certainly will unless, that is, you have the same plans as your man here.”
The box hit Karen on the chest and fell onto the floor, a smear of blood marked her shirt. As a sign of affirmation she quickly bent and picked them up.
“Good, then we’ll arrange for you to leave tomorrow. You need to pack. He’ll be going too but will only go part way. Did he like fish?”
Charles turned his gaze at the offending, chipped nail before he wagged his fingers as if he were royalty dismissing an annoyance. Karen left quickly.
***
Thankfully, the morning had remained dry. A special constable, standing outside the fluttering police cordon, noticed the tell tale blue flashing strobe lights as Owen approached. He signalled for the car to be parked on the edge of The Stray. As Cyril climbed out he noticed the Scene of Crime Manager and waved.
“Nothing much to be honest. No forced entry, just some damage to that upper window. The eye of God I’ve been informed. The dart has been home cobbled, and the relevant part is it’s a piece of bicycle spoke.” He walked to the open side door of one of the vans and retrieved it; it was bagged and tagged.
“You can see that the two plastic fittings have been damaged by the lead on contact but we know what they are, they’re from a special type of air gun pellet, we see them fairly frequently, used by poachers. I’m aware of the significance of the spoke and we’ll see if it matches the one found and those on the wheel.”
“Where’s Grant and his secretary?”
“They’re inside. Best place for them too. She wonders what all the fuss is over, nothing taken, but he’s bloody furious about the damage to his window and the length of time it’s taken to get real police officers here.”
That was clearly in Cyril’s mind too but he said nothing.
“All in all, they make a happy couple. Before you go in you might like to look at this. We either have a yeti loose in Harrogate or our shooter has a bizarre sense of humour.”
He took Cyril onto The Stray and pointed to a collection of numbered markers. “Footprints, bloody big ones but also the shoes, if you can call them that, obviously oversized cover-ups. Strangely they were worn on the wrong feet. It’s either going to be some tit pratting about or, owing to the spoke, quite sinister.”
Cyril signed and logged the time of his visit before entering, following the designated path. The SOCOs were just finishing. Cyril paused and waved again at the SCM who wandered over.
“Have you done a thorough check of the whole building?” he asked, waving his e-cigarette. “Every room?”
“No, the hallway and outside. Nothing missing.”
“I want the lot doing, every inch of every room, please.”
“You’ll need clearance. Cost! Cyril, cost! We, as a staff, are pretty thin on the ground. The costs are not just here and now, the majority lies in the analysis of everything found, you know that! More than my job’s worth!”
Cyril gently took hold of his coverall and pulled him closer before whispering. “You might not have heard but one of ours is in grave danger. What they’ve inflicted on her.” He emphasised the word ‘her’. “Is quite simply bestial. Full and bloody thorough search today, as this was the last place she visited on Friday afternoon. Emphasise to your team that we don’t want to miss a thing.” Cyril spread a false smile across his face before straightening the ruffled material of the Crime Scene Manager’s body suit. “I’ll get Tweedledum and Tweedledeeout of your hair and taken to the station.”
Owen sidled up to Cyril to help escort Cameron and Grant to a waiting car. “He’s gone a funny colour. What did you say to him?”
“Just brotherly advice, Owen. Sometimes, particularly, first thing on a Monday morning, we can all get a little careless, a little laissez-faire. I just emphasised the need for his full professional application to the job in hand. As I see it, we can afford to make no errors. One other thing…” He looked at his partner. “Failing Liz is not on the option list.”
Owen simply nodded before tapping the roof of the car, allowing it to move away. He wondered about the word laissez-faire but didn’t want to ask at this particular juncture.
***
Shakti and DC Nixon had arrived to find an identical scenario; blue and white tape stretched across the entrance to Liz’s apartments, a rather unimaginative block that looked more prefabricated than built. The only saving grace was the view they offered the residents.
“Second floor, I believe,” Nixon said as he checked again the number and the sheet.
“See why you’re a detective, detective!” She smiled at him. “I’ve been here a couple of times. Liz invited me when I started, she sort of took me under her wing. It’s now we need to get her back and wrap her in ours.”
“Good to see the sense of humour is still in evidence… You’re right, I must be a detective, detective!”
They both smiled gaining strength from each other. Nixon held up his warrant card to the officer standing outside of the tape and introduced himself and Shakti. The officer lifted it slightly and they both ducked under.
“CSM is by the entrance. This area’s been cleared.”
“Morning,” Shakti said with a slight smile. “Anything?”
“No forced entry but then we expected that. Everything as it should be.” He handed her a small iPad. “Images are on there.”
Shakti turned the screen to gain some shade, allowing a clearer view of the images. She flicked through them.
“Keys, phone and mail were on the side table in the hall as well as a coat and overnight case. That’s not all, there was an envelope in the coat pocket. It contained some kind of master password and instructions. If you move on the images there’s a picture.”
Shakti looked at Nixon. She knew exactly what it was. “That shouldn’t have been with her.”
“It doesn’t look like the person who entered went anywhere other than the hall. We’ve just checked all the post boxes and if you flick on you’ll see what was discovered in DS Graydon’s.”
Shakti carefully studied each image as she flicked through, Nixon looked over her shoulder.
“There!” Nixon’s finger pointed to the item.
She touched the screen and spread her fingers, enlarging the image.
“Piece of metal. I’m assuming it to be a bicycle spoke or similar, the tag’s interesting… KכNI-MAN DAI, KכNI-MAN BεR AM. I Googled it but you try finding the letters on your keypad! Thinking outside the box, I just put an‘o’ for the second letter and it came up with a reference to an Anansi story from Sierra Leone. The sentence roughly means, ‘If you perceive yourself to be
clever, and smart, there will be someone waiting to outsmart you.’ It’s written in a Krio language, the language of Sierra Leone.”
Nixon scratched his head looking at Shakti quizzically. “Makes absolutely no sense, all we now know is that whoever has Liz considers himself to be a smart arse!”
“Finger prints, DNA?”
“It’s all been sent as a priority, trust me.”
“Are all these images back at…” she didn’t finish her sentence.
“By the wonders of modern technology. Makes our life that little bit easier.” He smiled. “Shall I sign you out now?” His patience was somewhat strained, she knew the procedures so why waste his time with banal questions. He held his hand out for the pad before checking his watch.
***
As Owen brought the car to a halt in front of the security gate, Cyril inhaled before releasing two streams of mint-smelling vapour through his nostrils. He stared as the gate lifted.
“Before we do anything else I need coffee. Grant and Co. can bloody well wait.”
Driving into the car park, Owen sensed that it was going to be a long day.
Owen ensured that Grant and Cameron were both comfortable in the Reception area before grabbing a couple of coffees. It was decided that they would interview them separately. Cyril could see no possible reason for inflicting Grant’s arrogant grumblings and rants on his secretary. If Cooper were right, then she had enough to put up with. Owen would interview Christina Cameron. He read through the interview with John Cooper regarding his assumption that Grant had wandering hands. He was determined to discover whether that were the case. He also wanted to find out about the previous incumbent.
Grant was nursing a coffee when Cyril entered the interview room.
“Sorry for the delay, Mr Grant, you’d be amazed how much police time these simple acts of vandalism consume.” The not so subtle point flew over his head.“I believe you were due to meet one of my colleagues on Friday afternoon but your train was delayed. Is that correct?”
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