Death Of a Temptress

by P. F. Ford

  Slater looked across at Norman, but he continued to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead and refused to make eye contact.

  “I’m guessing you’ve got access to some sort of tame computer hacker,” guessed Slater. “But if you’ve spent all your life in London, how would you know one just a few minutes from Tinton?”

  “I know,” agreed Norman, clearly enjoying himself hugely. “It’s yet another mystery, isn’t it?”

  “No one likes a smart-arse,” Slater said, smiling. “Just remember that.”

  “I’m the new boy in the area,” explained Norman. “Of course I don’t know anyone down here. But I do know people in London, and some of them owe me favours. The guy you’re going to meet is one of them, ok?”

  “We’re not going up to London in this old heap, are we?”

  “Hey! Don’t talk about my car like that.” said Norman, sounding dismayed. “This car may not be the trendiest in town, but it does the job. And it’s never let me down.”

  “Norm,” Slater said, sighing. “It lets you down all the time. Just by admitting you own it, it lets you down.”

  “You’re a philistine, Slater. This car is a tribute to style and design.”

  Slater took a look around the battered, well-worn, inside of the car.

  “I think you’re probably right. It is a tribute,” he paused before delivering his punch line. “It’s a tribute to bad style and poor design.”

  This time Norman did take his eyes off the road long enough to glance disdainfully at Slater.

  “Heathen,” was all he said.

  Then he indicated left and turned off the road into the rather grand entrance to The Old House hotel. Back in its heyday, it was an old Manor house with an adjoining coach house, stables and numerous outbuildings. Now it was a luxurious, and rather exclusive, hotel.

  “I hope you’re not expecting to charge this to expenses,” said Slater in alarm. “Bob Murray will have a fit.”

  “Stop worrying,” Norman assured him. “It’s not costing us a penny.”

  He pulled into a space at the far end of the car park and switched off the engine.

  “Right,” he turned to Slater. “There are some ground rules.”

  “What?”

  “I would imagine the guy you’re about to meet is a little different from anyone you’ve ever met before. In my opinion, he’s a genius. You won’t think that when you first meet him, but trust me, he is. I get on with him, because he likes me and he knows me. He doesn’t know you and he won’t trust you just because I say he should. He’ll decide for himself in his own time, so let me do the talking. Is that ok?”

  “Sure,” agreed Slater. “He’s your man, you know how to deal with him. That’s fine by me.”

  “Ok, let’s go,” said Norman, swinging his door open and easing himself from the car.

  The reception area of the hotel was every bit as opulent as Slater had imagined it would be, and the well-groomed, immaculately made-up young lady who greeted them blended perfectly into her surroundings.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” she purred, her beaming smile almost dazzling them. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re here to see Mr Korda,” Norman told her.

  “Ah, yes.” She looked down at her desk. “He said you would be calling. He’s in number eight. Just take the lift to the first floor and follow the passage to your left when you exit.”

  “Thank you.” Norman smiled at her.

  He led the way over to the lift and pressed the button. Slater took a look around as he waited. He felt distinctly under-dressed in jeans, but it was too late to do anything about it now. There was a gentle ping and the lift doors slid quietly open.

  Number eight seemed to be all on its own, and the door seemed to be a long way down the hall. Slater figured it had to be more than just a room. It had to be a whole suite. He whistled quietly to himself and wondered just how much it must have cost to hire a whole suite in this hotel. He figured it had to be thousands.

  Norman knocked.

  A few seconds later, the door swung slowly open.

  “Mister Norm! Long time no see. How you doin’, guy?”

  The voice came from a colourfully, and expensively, dressed black guy. Slater guessed he was in his early 30s. His powder blue silk shirt would have cost more than Slater and Norman’s clothes put together.

  “How are you, Vinnie?” greeted Norman, extending his hand.

  They shook hands, but then the black guy decided to ditch formality, stepped forward and gave Norman a hug. He stepped back and looked Norman up and down.

  “I heard life had been a bitch to you, Mister Norm. Now I see it’s true. You carryin’ some weight there, guy, an’ you look sorta smashed up, you know what I mean?”

  Slater watched this exchange with interest. He thought Vinnie had summed Norman up pretty accurately. And then Vinnie seemed to notice him for the first time, and his eyes narrowed.

  “Who’s the stranger, Mister Norm? Is he friend or foe?”

  “He’s ok, Vinnie.” Norman assured him. “This is Dave Slater. Like me, he’s been crapped upon from on high too.”

  Slater held out his hand but Vinnie ignored it.

  “Well, Dave Slater,” he said, “You couldn’t look more like the fuzz if you had it tattooed on your forehead, guy.”

  Slater had never considered whether he looked like a policeman or not, and frankly he didn’t care if he looked like one anyway, but he decided he wasn’t enamoured with Vinnie’s rather direct approach. He was offended that his proffered handshake had been ignored too. He felt he might find this guy difficult to work with.

  “Well, come on in, guys,” said Vinnie leading the way into his suite. “Make yourself at home. I got fresh coffee, but if you want tea I can have some sent up.”

  Coffee was ok, they agreed, and helped themselves.

  “Ok, Mister Norm,” began Vinnie. “I don’t see or hear from you in years, and then suddenly you call me twice out of the blue. I figure this can only mean you is in trouble and need the help of Vinnie the Geek. Am I right, or am I right?”

  “Vinnie the Geek?” repeated Slater.

  A look of alarm flashed across Norman’s face.

  “That’s my alter-ego, guy. You have a problem with that?” snapped Vinnie.

  “I don’t know,” answered Slater, ready for an argument. “Should I have a problem with that?”

  “Only if you have a problem acknowledging genius,” said Vinnie, smugly.

  “You’re very sure of yourself,” said Slater.

  Vinnie turned to Norman.

  “What’s with this guy, Mister Norm? Is he just here to fight, or what?”

  “Now, cool it, please,” pleaded Norman, looking from one to the other. “This is probably my fault. I probably didn’t explain the situation properly to you, Dave, and Vinnie, I should have told you about Dave. I want you two to be friends. No, correct that, I need you two to be friends. Let’s start again can we? Please?”

  Vinnie and Slater glared at each other. Neither one wanted to back down, but Slater knew he needed Vinnie’s help, whether he liked the guy or not, so he was the one to break the ice.

  “I apologise. I was out of order,” he said, stepping forward and offering Vinnie his hand.

  Vinnie looked at the outstretched hand, then he took it and they shook hands.

  “Alright, guy,” Vinnie said. “It takes a big man to admit you’re in the wrong. And if you’re a friend of Mister Norm, I’m prepared to give you a second chance.”

  Slater was suitably unimpressed that Vinnie thought it was all his fault, and was equally pissed at being given “a second chance”, but he chose to keep his opinion to himself. For now, anyway. He supposed anyone as arrogant as Vinnie wouldn’t even begin to understand that his manner just might be a bit provocative.

  Norman looked enquiringly at Vinnie.

  “Is it ok if I tell him?” he asked.

  “If you’re sure he’s on our side,
then yeah, why not?” said Vinnie.

  Norman turned to Slater.

  “You’re probably wondering how I come to know Vinnie. It all started about 15 years ago, when I caught this skinny black kid breaking into a shop. Well, he’d already broken in. I caught him as he was coming out. It was computer stuff he’d nicked, but he only had one of everything, just enough to set himself up at home. Well, anyway, instead of nicking him I persuaded him if he put all the stuff back I would buy him a computer.”

  “Turned my life around, Mister Norm did,” interrupted Vinnie. “I’da been in all sorts of trouble if it wasn’t for him, like.”

  Norman looked suitably embarrassed.

  “Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, blushing. “I just thought you deserved a chance. It didn’t work out too bad did it?”

  He turned to Slater.

  “Vinnie makes a living online now. Selling stuff.”

  “What? You mean like eBay?” asked Slater.

  “Bit better’n that,” said Vinnie. “When you get it sussed and know what you’re doin’ you can make megabucks. How do you think I can afford to stay in a place like this? Five K a night for this suite, guy!”

  “So what are you then?” asked Slater. “Some sort of hacker?”

  Vinnie looked horrified at this suggestion. Norman looked aghast.

  “Hacker?” said Vinnie indignantly. “Hacker? I’ll have you know I’m no hacker, guy. What I do to make a living is perfectly legit. There’s thousands of people doing what I do. It’s just that most of ‘em aren’t as good as me. There’s only a very small few who’s as good. Right?”

  “It’s true, Dave. What he does is perfectly legal,” agreed Norman. “He even tried to teach me, but most of it went straight over my head.”

  “Well, I don’t understand this stuff either,” admitted Slater. “But if you say it’s for real I guess that’s good enough for me. But how does that help us with this?” He fished the memory stick from his pocket.

  “Ah!” cried Vinnie, addressing Norman. “Is this the problem you want me to look at?”

  “Yes. We think whatever’s on there could help us with the case we’re working on, but its password protected and we don’t know where to start. I was hoping you might take a look.”

  “For you Mister Norm, no problem,” announced Vinnie. “Is it something to do with that list I got you the other day?”

  He reached out a hand and Slater passed him the stick. He walked to a door off the room they were in and into the next room.

  Slater looked at Norman.

  “So that’s where you got that list from,” he hissed. “This guy is a hacker!”

  “It’s not quite like that,” said Norman, quietly. “Just trust me. And will you stop winding the guy up. He’s our best hope to solve this and you keep pissing him off. It’s not helping.”

  “I’m geared up in here,” called Vinnie, from the adjoining room.

  Slater and Norman followed into what would normally be a bedroom, but Vinnie had obviously arranged for the furniture to be replaced by two tables. On the first table there sat a solitary laptop. An empty chair awaited the operator. On the second table, immediately behind the first, was a huge music system.

  “Is that it?” asked Slater. “A laptop? We’ve got a laptop you could have used.”

  Vinnie looked pityingly at Slater.

  “This ain’t just ‘a laptop’, guy. This is state of the art equipment, built by yours truly, aka Vinnie the Geek. The software on this machine is also designed by yours truly. There ain’t another one of these on the planet. This is a truly unique machine, trust me.”

  “Ah! So that’s what you do, build laptops,” said Slater, triumphantly. Now he thought he understood what Vinnie did to make his money.

  “I already told you what I do,” snapped Vinnie. “This stuff’s just something to do in my spare time.”

  “Dave,” warned Norman. “Why don’t you give it a rest and let Vinnie do what he does best?”

  “Sorry,” Slater was chastened. “It’s just I’m out of my depth with this stuff and I don’t really understand-”

  “Which is all the more reason to stop interferin’ an’, leave it to the expert, right?” interrupted Vinnie.

  He settled in front of the laptop, inserted the memory stick and pressed a couple of buttons. Looking over his shoulder, Slater could see this was certainly like no laptop he’d ever seen. The laptop buzzed and whirred for a few seconds, and then the screen lit up with a series of commands. Vinnie flexed his fingers and began to type. His fingers were a blur as he responded to questions scrolling across the screen. After a couple of minutes, he stopped typing and sat back.

  “Where’d this come from?” he asked, scratching his head.

  “A receptionist/clerk who works in an office,” said Norman. “It’s nothing special. Is there a problem?”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than I was expectin’, like.” Vinnie said, sighing.

  “Is it too complicated?” asked Slater, part of him hoping it would be.

  “Guy,” said Vinnie arrogantly, “Nothin’s too complicated for Vinnie the Geek. It’ll just take a bit longer that’s all. Leave it with the king, Mister Norm, and I’ll call you when I’ve cracked it.”

  “If you’re sure you don’t mind,” said Norman apologetically.

  “Its fine,” said Vinnie. “I like a challenge. You two get off and do whatever it is you do. I jus’ need more time. An’ music.” He approached the huge sound system. “I need music.” He pressed a button and the system boomed into life, blasting out Bob Marley. Vinnie began to ease into the rhythm, his body seemingly designed specifically to move to the reggae beat.

  Slater liked Bob Marley, but not at this volume. He thought it was no surprise they’d put Vinnie in a suite well away from the other rooms. It seemed Norman was keen to avoid damage to his hearing as well and he led the retreat from Vinnie’s room.

  “Arrogant git, isn’t he?” observed Slater, as they walked across the car park.

  “Yes,” agreed Norman. “He is, but it doesn’t help when you keep sniping at him. He’s also bloody good at what he does.”

  “What? You mean hacking? That’s how he got that list for you wasn’t it?”

  “Alright. So he’s a bit of a hacker. But he’s not a malicious hacker. He doesn’t set out to destroy things. He’s more about righting wrongs.”

  “You can see him as a modern-day Robin Hood if you want,” said Slater grimly. “But if we get caught using him we’re going to be in deep shit, you know that don’t you? And we can’t use anything he finds in court.”

  “Look.” Norman sighed. “Vinnie’s like a secret weapon. He can get in and out and no one ever knows he’s been there. Like I said before, if you want to play by the rules we’ve got no chance. It’ll be like entering the ring with your hands tied behind your back. Now, I don’t know about you, but I reckon if we have an opportunity to level the odds just a little bit we should grab it with both hands, and Vinnie’s the best opportunity we have.”

  “Yeah. But-” began Slater.

  “Sometimes,” interrupted Norman. “The rules get in the way and stop us solving cases. It’s not as if we’re trying to fit someone up, is it? We know these guys are guilty.”

  Slater had to concede Norman had a point. He could think of dozens of cases where the rules had prevented justice being served and someone had got off on a “technicality”. And they had been happy enough to try to push him under a bus…

  “Alright,” Slater decided as they reached Norman’s car. “I’ll stop worrying about using Vinnie. And I’ll stop sniping at him. But I want something in exchange.”

  “What’s that?” asked Norman, unlocking the car.

  “Tell him to stop calling me ‘guy’. It’s bloody annoying!”

  As he slid into his seat, Norman started laughing.

  “Is that it?” he said, chortling. “Ok, guy, whatever you say.”

  Slater glared
at him.

  “Ha, ha. Very funny. Just start this heap and drive us back.”

  “Right.” Norman was clearly trying not to laugh. “Whatever you say, guy.”

  Slater’s mobile phone was ringing.

  “You really want to choose a better ringtone,” said Norman, as Slater’s phone began to burble in his pocket. “Because that really is annoying.”

  “It’s just how the phone came. I didn’t choose it,” said Slater, wriggling around in his seat as he tried to ease the phone from his back pocket.

  “It’s because of the crappy, annoying ringtones these phones come with, the booming ringtone market was born,” said Norman. “It’s easy enough. Just change it. And it would be a lot easier to answer if you weren’t sat on it.”

  “Oh hush,” said Slater, finally managing to rescue his phone.

  He didn’t recognise the number calling him, but he could see it was from another mobile phone.

  “I wonder who this is?”

  “If you press that button and hold the phone to your ear you might find out,” suggested Norman.

  Slater gave him a dirty look.

  “Hello. Dave Slater.”

  “Is that Sergeant Slater?” said a posh, business-like voice. “This is Camilla Heywood from The Magazine.”

  “Oh hi, Ms Heywood. I was going to call you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. There are a couple of things I wanted to go over with you. I was going to ask if I could call in and see you, if that’s convenient.”

  He wondered why she would be using her mobile phone. It was mid-morning. Surely she would be in her office by now.

  “No,” she said hastily, “You can’t do that!”

  He sensed something wasn’t right.

  “Is there something wrong, Ms Heywood?”

  “I can’t talk right now,” she said nervously. “But look, I’m going to a friend’s wedding tomorrow, in Winchester. I’m travelling down later this afternoon and staying overnight at the Langton House Hotel just outside Winchester. Do you know it? You could meet me there.”

  “That’s not far from Starsholt College isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she said, “That’s right. Can you be there at about 8.30? I really need to talk to you.”