“Quite right, greed is a bad thing.” He moved his hand to the back of Snibbard’s head and gently stroked. “You still have only the one set of flash drives, don’t you?”
“In the main safe as agreed. Why do you ask?” Snibbard looked up through hooded eyes, clearly suspicious.
“I just want to make sure Faulkner can’t get a copy,” Richard said as casually as possible. “I don’t want anyone fucking it up. Bad murder, that one in Ireland.”
Snibbard’s eyes went wide. “It’s not me, not us.”
“She reached level ten. I told you, who did you tell?”
“Only Faulkner.”
“Best watch your back, Snibbsy. If Faulkner is using SPI to control another Zoby, then he’s a dangerous man. Especially as we’re about to drop him in the shit.” Richard winked and went to see Patricia, his secretary.
“Any punters today?” he asked her.
“Two A1 investors, Mr and Mrs Fagan from the Brighton hotel. You’re to meet them at Milton Keynes, eleven o’clock. Their contribution could be substantial. They’re lottery winners. After that you have Mrs Zellar again.”
Richard checked his watch. He didn’t want Zellar alone, didn’t want any repetition of what he had performed in her hotel room. The same time her promised millions were within his grasp, he had to keep her eager.
“If she phones, tell her I’m arranging shares and will be in contact.”
The Jaguar was brash, its metallic coating a hideous gold. Richard judged the Fagans suitable material. She was attractive enough to play with, he was all brawn and clearly out of his depth. He doubted Mr and Mrs Fagan had much brain between them.
“Richard Caswell. I’m MD of PKL.” He extended his hand, deliberately glancing over the husband before dismissing him. Only a numbskull wore a union tag in his jacket lapel. He smiled for her. She looked far more interesting, and by her direct eye contact, the one who led, and so ultimately controlled the money.
She smiled back and opened her jacket. He took that as a positive invitation.
“My wife thinks PKL is a top investment,” her husband said.
“And I’m always right.” She took a step forwards, lingering extra seconds on their handshake.
“Confidence is the sign of a knowledgeable investor,” Richard answered, and waved through to reception.
Sean followed behind, this is what they had agreed during the journey. Victoria would take the lead and Caswell’s attention whilst Sean concentrated on staff and the buildings. To authenticate their roles he wore a tie with yellow stripes, while Victoria displayed a yellow-ribboned bra beneath a tight fitted shirt. She had also given him an MI5 goodie; a metal lapel badge with an embossed cogwheel designed to tell any who cared to look that he was a member of the Amalgamated Engineers’ Union. Except that the embossment was in fact the miniature head of a digital camera, its lead pierced through the material of his jacket to a camcorder beneath. Victoria wore a brooch with a similar device pinned to the shirt above her platform bra. He was to play dumb and quiet, she was to play dumb and pushy.
Dangerous, he had told her, but she insisted. Until he was off the suspect list, she wanted Caswell’s undivided attention.
“You get a lot of investors?” Victoria asked.
“All the time. People like yourselves who recognise a good deal. They all come here, play on our machines, investors, distributors, journalists. We like to keep open house, keen to show our product. Seeking private funding from small to medium investors has allowed expansion without bank interference. The results are adventurous and impressive. PKL will revolutionise home entertainment. The games realise a five-fold return for investors.”
Sean nodded and tried to look impressed. Caswell half turned to look back at him while walking close to Victoria.
“I’d like to have a go, try out the product,” Sean said.
“Our viewing room is next door. Perhaps you would try an hour on PKL II? It’s impressive.”
“I’d rather look around.” Victoria smiled at Caswell.
“I’ll look at the games,” Sean said, knowing the sooner they split up the wider their surveillance pattern.
“No problem. While you play with the Princess, I’ll show Mrs Fagan our technical and administrative areas.” Caswell smiled white teeth.
“Call me Vicky,” Victoria said, and touched Caswell’s arm.
Vicky, she hated that name, Sean smiled inwardly. He just hoped Caswell wasn’t connected with Zoby.
In the main exhibition area Sean climbed into one of the twenty automated chairs.
“We’ll be back in an hour,” Caswell said and lowered the visor. Sean was left with the image of Princess Kay-ling striding towards him.
“Now, what can I show you?” He heard Caswell ask Victoria.
“Everything. How you put it all together.”
“My pleasure.”
Their voices faded and the sound of Princess Kay-ling’s battle hymn filled Sean’s ears. After several minutes he lifted the visor. The room was empty. Glancing round he saw no visible CCTV cameras, but that didn’t mean he was not being watched. Careful to maintain the behaviour of someone unaware, he walked up to the control desk, his expression disgruntled, as if he was searching to install a different game. The desk held a half dozen CD ports. He opened the port marked five that matched with his chair number and surreptitiously slid the game DVD inside his jacket pocket. If it contained SPI, he had enough to raid the place and make arrests. From a plastic case on the desktop he slotted a replacement disk into the port he had just emptied. The closed case he shuffled back amongst others. With luck no-one would notice. Still casual, he stood from the controls and went out to the corridor. No one from security turned up to stop him. Time to explore, he thought.
Victoria was conscious she bounced with each step, the movement beneath her blouse keeping Caswell’s close attention. His hand was often at her back when he opened doors and he stood close while they bent over computer screens. He had that confident, public school arrogance which patronised lesser mortals. He did all this with a sickly, white-toothed smile that at best was patronising and at worst, creepy. It created an overwhelming desire for her to knee him in the groin.
“You husband does not seem interested in the production or administration of PKL,” Caswell said.
Victoria flicked dismissively with her hand. “He’s a welder with a welder’s mentality. That’s tits and the sports page. You’d think five million would change his life, but not a chance.” She shook her head.
“Five million?” Caswell echoed, his voice dropping an octave.
“Split between us, of course.”
“And how much were you thinking of investing here, Vicky?” He opened the double doors for her and for once his hand did not touch the back of her bra strap.
Victoria put her head to one side and lifted an eyebrow. “I’m told by insiders you can quadruple my money in one year. On the surface, it’s too good to be true. But it is very tempting, that is, if I am tempted.”
“I have a special portfolio for high investors. Were you thinking much over a half million?”
“Talk right and it could be a million.”
His smile changed, becoming wide and extra toothy. “Just how can I do that, Mrs Fagan?”
“You could explain more about the business prospects, maybe over lunch or dinner?”
“And would Mr Fagan attend also?”
“I’m sure he’ll be too busy reading page three.”
“I’ll make arrangements, Vicky.”
She smiled at him, drew breath and strained the buttons on her shirtfront. Sean wouldn’t like her going off alone, but this man used SPI to make money. If he also used it to murder women, then she wanted him terminated.
The staff were mainly young, academic in appearance and absent in their expressions. No one paid Sean much attention, even when he stopped behind someone to covertly film their computer screens. Security was clearly minimal, until he went to t
he first floor. At the top of the stairs he was faced by double fire-doors and a sign which read “Research staff only. Keep out. That means you.” Sean walked right in. A front corridor led off to various individual rooms. Sean entered the nearest door.
Four computer terminals were occupied by employees older and clearly more experienced than those below. The deep hum of other electronic equipment in the room mingled with the rattle of keyboards beneath dextrous fingers. At the far end a young guard in a blue uniform was collecting a signature from a tall, shaven-headed guy. Sean was halfway down the room before they saw him.
“This area is restricted, sir.” The guard came towards him, his arms outstretched to apprehend.
“I’m looking for Richard Caswell.” Sean took a step back and played thicko. “He’s showing my wife around.”
The guy who had signed his signature came also. “My name’s Faulkner. I’m a director. Will you please go with security. He’ll find your wife.” He took hold of Sean’s arm.
“You mustn’t walk the building alone, sir,” the guard said, escorting Sean down to reception.
Within minutes Victoria came from the depths of the building with Caswell.
“Until tomorrow,” she said to him, and led Sean out into the sunshine as if he were some errant schoolboy. The whole visit had lasted forty-five minutes.
“Did you get to the first floor?” he asked, once they were in the car. “That’s where they keep the restricted stuff. I saw at least four staff. If they’re all working with SPI, prosecution witnesses will not be difficult.”
“We agreed not to deviate,” Victoria said, buttoning up her jacket. “Let’s concentrate on murder. We can deal with any SPI factors once we have Zoby and Crystal.”
“Ever thought that Crystal might be running Zoby through SPI?” He produced the stolen disk from his pocket. “We can’t ignore the technical implications. I’ll have this analysed. If we find evidence we can go back with a full team. We can raid the hotels at the same time.”
“Sean,” she swivelled to face him and he momentarily glanced from his driving. She was biting on her lower lip. From old days he knew that was a sure sign she was troubled, or about to be devious. “Let’s get this straight,” she said. “The person I want is Zoby, followed by his controller. So I’m deliberately pushing myself as bait. Caswell is very greedy for money, mine at the moment. When I turn him down he’ll get angry. We’ll see then what happens. We give it two weeks, OK? If we go your way and have them for fraud and SPI, Zoby and Crystal might slip the net. I can’t allow that.”
Sean twitched his nose. “You walk a precarious path. For all we know, Crystal and Zoby might be the same person. That person could even be Caswell. If SPI is run as a sting to gain shareholders, Caswell will know it’s only a matter of time before he’s clocked. If he’s shrewd, and I think he is, he’ll have an escape route set up. He’s a wide-boy and won’t call it a fair cop. He’ll try disappearing to the Bahamas or some such place.”
“When that time comes, then you block his escape. But until then, don’t interfere with my approach. At the same time, there is no harm in you being close.”
“What if it’s not Caswell?”
“Then we look at the other two suspects, Snibbard and Faulkner. Snibbard was once arrested for rape. Faulkner has convictions for Internet card fraud.”
Sean turned down onto the M1 and headed for Watford. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Not me, Alice.” Victoria turned back into her seat. “I’m not the only one involved in this.”
“And you believe Alice would let you walk in as possible bait for Zoby?”
“On this one, she’d expect it.”
Richard sat in his small office on the top floor of the Milton Keynes industrial unit, his fingers absently twiddling a gold-plated pencil. He felt smug, spoilt for choice. Who did he screw next, Jovana or Vicky? Both of them offered serious money. Maybe they’d do three in a bed. He smiled at the thought and considered how many Viagra pills he would need to sustain himself for the duration. The pencil stopped in his fingers and he sneered. Decision time. Who would die immediately? Who would die later? Money. He picked up the pencil again. Whoever produced the money first would be the witness; the one who hesitated, would die. If he sexually goaded both on the way, it would make testimony to his bravery that more galling for the survivor. Afterwards he would give her to Zoby, or maybe, even himself. He had always found female subjugation most satisfying to his masculine problem. He would particularly enjoy it in Zellar’s case, on account of the demands she had made in promise of her money.
For a moment he watched the pencil turn in his fingers. It was a habit borne from concentration, the slow twiddling of his pencil, his talisman. It was the single item he retained from the life of Harry Woods, a ten-year-old who had won a scholarship to Westminster. It remained his first and only prize. In two, maybe three days time, Harry would need to re-emerge from the shadows. Without raising the bank’s suspicions, he had already transferred most of his assets into Harry’s New Jersey account, including half the funds from PKL. To draw on that account Harry had a legal passport and no current history to hinder him. The only thing that Harry did not have at present was a body.
The ringing of Caswell’s mobile brought him out of thought. Faulkner spoke.
“Richard, we might have a problem. That Fagan fellow, he’s nicked an in-house DVD with SPI on.”
“So what, he’s a pleb. That’s the sort of thing they do. He’ll never reach level ten, never see it.”
“Possibly, but I’ve just run through the CCTV security tapes because he was wondering round the building, then I checked what he did down here. He nicked the induction DVD with the ‘buy more shares’ prompt, then replaced it with another disk. If he was just stealing, wouldn’t he have nicked a complete set rather than an odd disk?”
“Extra thick people do that sort of thing.”
“And extra clever people bluff that way as a cover up. If he just wanted to play games, why was he wondering round the building looking at computer screens?”
“I’ll be down.” Richard stood and headed for the display floor. He had taken little notice of the husband, only a rich woman flashing her tits and legs.
Faulkner sat at the control desk tapping his finger on the software box. “What do we do? Working people are mainly polite and respectful, they don’t go walking through doors marked ‘keep out’.”
“OK, let’s assume they are police. What we research here is legit providing we don’t use it on the public. The guy’s stolen a DVD. That’s no evidence for a court,” Richard said, his mind suddenly in survival mode.
“They came here as members of the public. If they’re police, then we’re fucked. This is serious, Richard, very serious.” Faulkner shook his head. “I suggest we start cleaning the system now.”
“OK, if you’re that worried,” Richard said, trying not to show his own concern. “Go onto the Net and download our sanitising code to all public outlets. Phone the hotels; tell them all games are offline due to a virus and system failure. No one will argue it’s bullshit. Then activate our cleaning programme. We need all hard drives reformatted then overwritten with clean material.”
“That will take hours.”
Richard shrugged. “Say they are police, and there is no proof of that, by the time they’ve had the disk analysed and obtained search warrants, it will be days before they’re back. By then PKL will be saintly clean. Fagan could never prove that DVD was shown to him here. Neither could they prove it was shown to anyone else. It may hit PKL, but so what? We got plenty money. You and me, Derek, we’ll just start again.” Richard grinned.
Faulkner put hand to forehead. “I knew this would happen. We couldn’t scam it forever.”
“Philosophically taken.” Richard slapped Faulkner’s shoulder to express solidarity, then leant back against the control desk. For a moment he swallowed. It was time to start the endgame, time to move out. “The
downside is Snibbsy. I hate to tell you this, mate, but you’d better start watching your back. You’re in charge out here and Snibbsy might blame you.”
Faulkner looked baffled. “Why? I’ve done nothing.”
“I know that, but Snibbard’s got a funny mind. I should have told you earlier. Snibbard may behave like a perverted little wanker, particularly where women are concerned, but underneath he’s a total freak. He thought Lizzie Sinclair was going to cough on us so he did for her. Once he got the taste he followed on with Helen Carter and Sarah Finch.”
“Fuck off will you? Never.”
Richard shrugged again. “Well, I know for a fact he raped those girls in Glasgow, because he told me.”
The Unseen Page 16