The Unseen

by James McKenna

  The clapping came again and he threw his baited line. “Capital requirements are rapidly reaching target. Shares in the new PKL will go on a first-come-first-buy basis. Minimum investment, five thousand sterling. DVD games are the future, and PKL is the best. This is your opportunity to join us, to substantially increase your investments. You have everything to gain and nothing to lose. Ladies and gentlemen, transport will now take you to our local pub for lunch.”

  Richard bowed to the applause, gave Zellar the once over and watched her smile in return. For a million he’d give all the attention she wanted. She reminded him a lot of Sarah Finch. Except he figured Zellar was probably laundering for some East European mafia.

  Faulkner came back. “The fat woman in chair eight has a yellow bra on.” He grimaced and handed over a list of chair numbers and names.

  Richard stood. “If our home-induction tapes prompted them to turn up naked, I wonder how many would?”

  Snibbard grinned, Faulkner grimaced again. “We want their money not their flesh.”

  “Let’s give it the hard rub,” Richard said. “Increase the afternoon tapes to a suggestion rate of three per second.”

  “That’s pushing it, Richard.” Faulkner shook his head. “The conscious mind could pick up influence and direct it straight into thought process. The subjects might question the idea’s origins, talk amongst themselves.”

  “Give it full throttle. We need to experiment.”

  Faulkner shrugged and followed after his guests who were heading for the door.

  “He’s right. They could realise,” Snibbard said, scratching his belly.

  “But they could never prove it. I want this wrapped up quickly. Any time someone might realise PKL is crap. We need their money now, Snibbsy. We can’t get away with this forever. Meanwhile I’ll pay attention to Mrs Zellar. She’s worth all these other jokers put together.” Richard looked down to his subordinate who stared across the room, his hooded eyes on Zellar’s honed body. “If you want to fuck a woman like that, Snibbsy, you either got to get rid of that gut or get money.”

  “So what good does that do you?”

  “Watch your mouth.” Richard pointed, then lowered his voice to whisper contempt. “I can take a pill, Snibbsy, but no woman will accept that fat-faced body of yours, unless of course, you rape ’em, like you did Sarah Finch.”

  “Not me. I swear on my mother’s life, Rich. I couldn’t.”

  Richard kept his finger pointing. “You forget I looked after you in Glasgow, Snibbsy. I’ve looked after you ever since. Don’t fuck with me, because I know what lies underneath. This morning I looked at our office hard drive. I was worried about the nun. And guess what? Someone used your terminal number three to send cross-reference e-mails between Zoby and the Colonel. No staff member would have done that and the last time that happened was just before Lizzie.”

  Snibbard’s jaw went slack, his eyes round and wide. “We better tell her, the nun.”

  “Tell her what, because she discovered SPI she’s going to get raped and cut up? A lot of good that would do us. What I want to know is, have you been talking to Faulkner? Did you tell him anything?”

  “No. I promise.”

  Richard pressured his finger against Snibbard’s flabby chest “What if he’s Crystal? What if he controls Zoby? How safe does that make us? You want to end up with that fat gut all over the floor? When we have to skip, I always thought of you and me setting up again, Snibbsy, maybe in America or Tokyo. But if Faulkner is holding something like Sarah over us, that’s going to be very difficult. Think before you open your mouth, Snibbsy. Think what you are saying. You have a masters in computer technology, yet you ain’t got the brains of a dead fish. Now,” he looked across to where Mrs Zellar lingered by the door. “I think we’d better join our guests and just pray your nun stays whole.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Sean worked past 7 p.m., the little office hot and stuffy, his mind clogged with detail. The Poor Girl case file had increased to a point where a weekend with his daughters was rapidly fading. It did not help when Victoria phoned.

  “I’ve been through all my old notes on the Sinclair and Carter enquiries,” she told him. “I’d forgotten some of the conversations I had with their various friends. When computer games were mentioned, all of them referred to the interactive game, Princess Kay-ling. All confirmed both played that particular game above all others, but then they would need to, it runs for thirty hours and demands intense concentration.”

  “Mind blowing. What do you suggest?”

  “We look through them. The fact all three victims put such effort into winning may have a connection. I’ve acquired a complete set, plus a games-console. I suggest you do the same. They retail in most computer shops.”

  “Victoria, how can a DI of the Serious Organised Crime Agency possibly justify thirty hours of police time playing computer games? We have a high-tech branch, they can look.”

  “You going to tell them what for?”

  “I don’t know myself.”

  “Exactly, and if you don’t look now, will you ever? Just thought I’d let you know. Also the office here has a sudden situation. I’ll give Poor Girl what time I can but it’s difficult. The good news is, next week I’m completely free.”

  “I look forward to it.” He hung up, wondering if he had spoken words more truthful than he cared to admit. He went back to work. Thirty hours of computer games … he shook his head. Time was valuable. He already had a case for each murder to be reopened in a combined operation. If time or politics prevented SOCA from bringing someone to justice, it would go back to CID; Creech most likely. That dismayed him. Creech had no passion for truth, only personal glory. Sean picked up the phone and dialled CID’s Stoke Newington office. He needed to meet, to find the full facts on Sammy Sinclair’s death. Creech was unavailable. At 7.30 p.m. Sean’s mobile rang.

  “Hi, Dadda, it’s me.”

  “Hi, little sweetheart. How you are settling in?”

  “My bed’s by the window. I share with three other girls. Julie’s next to me. She’s even older than Becky. Becky sends her love and would talk but she’s watching Eastenders.”

  “Is the room nice?”

  “Yes. We have yellow trim on our pillowcases and duvets and Miss Nathan gave us yellow ribbons for our teddies. She’s the housemistress. She’s yellow everything at the moment. Julie has a teddy too and the most amazing computer games. She’s also got a laptop, she’s going to show me.”

  “How about homework?”

  “All done. Have to do it straight after tea. Julie’s good at English, she helped me. She’s got a PKL game console, and guess what? It’s got full Princess Kay-Ling on.”

  Sean sensed the same tinge of unease he had experienced during the briefing. PKL was squeaky clean, Diane said half the kids in England played the game, games sold on every high street. Yet three adult players were dead. Coincidence? That quantity of public exposure would have revealed any dangers long ago. It’s not the games, he thought. So what connects it with murder? He shrugged, money was the great motivator, then sex, then love. “How do you have access to PKL? Does Brad buy it?”

  “No, Julie’s dad has a shop. But you can download samples off the Net. We’re allowed to go on providing we have a prefect in the common room. PKL give loads of free downloads.”

  “Do your teachers know?”

  “Dadda, I’m no longer a baby. Our teachers show us how to do it. Miss Nathan showed me. If you look closely, she’s got a moustache. Do you think I should tell her?”

  “No, sweetheart, say nothing. Listen, this weekend Danielle will be looking after you.” He listened to her long silence. Someone had been talking.

  “Mum said you were taking us to Brighton. She was going to New York and we were going to Brighton. I’ve told everyone.”

  Sean pictured her face, jutting lip, terse eyes. Life was not kind. “It’s work, sweetheart. I’m running an operation almost single-handed.”

&n
bsp; “Are you?” Silence.

  “Sophie, if it were possible, you know I’d go.”

  “Would you?” Again the pause.

  He knew then she had been watching her mother, knew the timing, knew just when to jab the barbs.

  “My new friends were green with envy,” she said. “I told them my Daddy was the best in the whole world because he was taking us to the Morrison Hotel, Brighton. Do you know it has the latest interactive virtual reality games room? And you only get there by special invitation. Kids everywhere want to go.”

  “Do they have Princess Kay-ling?”

  “Dad, she’s the best. Of course they have it, all thirty hours. But now I’ll never be able to see it, never be able to watch over a VR visor with quadraphonic sound.”

  For a moment Sean thought he was listening to his ex-wife, but then he figured one problem might solve another. “Listen, sweetheart. I’m going to make a few calls. See if I can shift some workload, then I can come to Brighton. I’ll text you soon, OK?”

  “OK, as you’re the best Daddy in the world, I’ll trust you.” She hung up.

  Sean dialled down to see if Heidi was still there. “You should have gone home hours ago,” he said to her

  “Who’s going to turn out the lights? What do you need, boss?”

  “I’m researching PKL computer games. Phone Morrison Hotel in Brighton, pretend you’re Mrs Fagan, say the family has a reservation this weekend but due to business only your husband and children will be there. Ask what access guests have to their video room and are all their games suitable for children, including Princess Kay-ling. For your own curiosity, I’m visiting this weekend, researching games linked to Poor Girl. Also taking my kids, but it’s really work.”

  “I believe you, boss. Give me ten minutes.”

  Sean dialled out once more and connected with SOCA’s high-tech unit. Researching PKL was one thing, exposing his family to unknown influences was another. He had to be certain. “Is Steve Rawlings on duty?” he asked, hoping his one-time college chum might help. That man he trusted.

  “His shift starts at 0600 tomorrow.”

  “This is DI Fagan. I need some info. Want all you have on PKL software, anything sinister?”

  “You’re looking at a brand leader. We play it at home. Basics are family stuff. Higher levels are more demanding, it takes an adult. That said, granny could play. Steve might tell you more, phone in the morning. I’m the paedophile officer. We got a new ring trafficking children from Asia.”

  Sean put down the phone. Minutes later Heidi was back on line.

  “They’re really sorry I can’t make it, boss, because Morrison Hotels are truly family hotels. However, Mr Fagan and daughters will be welcome. Because of the popularity of the virtual reality room, depending on how busy they are, each guest is allowed one hour a day. However, if you sign up to join PKL as an agent, you get unlimited access and free games. Everything’s for free.”

  Sean felt cynical. “Sounds like they want to get you hooked.”

  “Friend of mine went in for it,” Heidi said. “She does OK. The games are really good, I’ve played.”

  “Anything that could harm kids?”

  “Only pride if they can’t reach high levels.”

  “I was thinking of letting my own kids play.”

  “They’ll enjoy it. No worry, boss.”

  When Heidi rung off, Sean sent a text to Sophie. Brighton here we come. Pack bucket and spade.

  Ten minutes later he returned along the motorway listening to Mozart’s Violin Concerto in C major. He did not hear the finish, did not realise he was home until he switched off the car engine. PKL still troubled him. Higher levels were reached only by adults, which left the kids safe but what about young women?

  Sean woke early the following morning and went down to make coffee. Ten minutes later Danielle drifted by, her feet bare, her hair ruffled and her face soft from sleep. For minutes, Sean allowed himself the pleasure of witnessing the diaphanous effect of morning sun through her cotton nightdress. Some complications in his life, he figured, were more pleasant than others.

  On his shuffling drive to London, Camilla phoned. He clipped his mobile to hands free and tried to remain polite in his response. Traffic around him condensed to a solid jam. The woman in the car beside was talking into her mobile with heated animation. He watched her.

  “Are you listening to what I’m saying?” Camilla’s voice rose an octave over his phone.

  “Sure.” The woman in the car seemed oblivious of her surroundings and stayed when other cars shuffled ahead.

  “I’ll pick up the girls from school. You collect them from my house by ten this Saturday morning. That’s the latest for our taxi to the airport. Are you listening?”

  “Sure.” He thought of Danielle’s words from the previous evening. Intense concentration by the young is capable of producing physic obsession.

  “Now, when you go to Brighton, both girls are to dress properly for dinner. No jeans or T-shirts.”

  “Sure.” Pride and the obsession to achieve drives them to higher levels.

  “Don’t let Rebecca sunbathe, she has delicate skin and Sophie must wear her teeth brace at night. Right?”

  “Sure.” Intelligent women spending thousands of hours dedicated to one game.

  “I’ll pick them up again from school the following Friday evening on my return. As usual, I do all the collecting and carrying. Are you listening?”

  “Have to go, Camilla. Woman in the next car just swallowed her mobile.”

  “Don’t let Sophie chew gum. My children are not street kids.”

  “She’s trying to reach it through her ear.”

  “Do you understand what I said?”

  “Sure, Camilla. Have a nice trip.”

  “Remember, Bradley and I will collect the girls from school a week Friday.”

  The phone switched off. The woman in the opposite car kept talking, even though the traffic was well clear in front of her. In his mind he saw Danielle crouched over her game console. A harmless game played by thousands is suddenly an obsession with three women who are later murdered. Why?

  Sean looked with concern as Steve Rawlings’ twenty stone slouched down on his chair with the threat of impending disaster. Scattered over the desk before them lay components from Helen Carter’s and Lizzie Sinclair’s computers, both units stripped to basics and interlinked by a mishmash of cables. If anything lay hidden, Sean knew this man would find it. Save for football and family, the guy lived and breathed computers. All around the room hummed with activity amidst the rattling clatter of terminal keys punctuated by ringing telephones.

  Steve stroked a trim goatee beard as he spoke and Sean could see he had lost none of his shy and nervous disposition.

  “The PKL games on these hard drives are different from those bought on the high street or downloaded from the Net,” he said. “My guess is, the recipients were targeted.”

  “From where?” Sean asked.

  “Can’t tell. What I do know is the games were different insomuch as they were susceptible to a certain virus. The virus went through firewalls so possibly it came from a trusted supplier. Possibly even PKL.”

  “Why would the management put out a virus?” Sean asked. On screen he watched Princess Kay-ling’s lithe and supple figure leap from the claws of a crouching dragon, her sword poised ready to strike. Steve pressed a key which froze her in mid action.

  “Unlikely the management, could be sabotage,” he said. “Possibly a staff member with access to systems. In truth it’s not a virus because the game accepts it during auto-upgrade which overwrites everything before it. Afterwards it sits in the operating system and does not come to life until use of specific programmes. Only then does it take on the mannerism of a virus, even though it remains benign. See,” he pointed at the screen.

  Sean peered at the four words that were concealed within the frozen graphics. Obey Crystal, trust Zoby. “Who the hell are Crystal and Zoby?” />
  “Characters from the game. You’re looking at subliminal psychotic induction. The players of these games were pulsed once every three seconds, that’s twenty times a minute over hundreds of hours play. The suggestions would have become hypnotic.”

  “For what purpose? If subliminally they obey Crystal and trust Zoby, what does it do? Improve their game?” Sean could see a quagmire ahead. Convictions came from hard facts, this did not look like court material.

  “That is one possible use. I suggest another. What if they then received e-mails from Crystal telling them to go to a forest, or a graveyard? And trust Zoby when they met him there.”