Crooner42 checked his rear view mirror, searching for Fingal’s car. He could see a silver car behind him, but there was nothing behind that. Certainly not the ridiculous Smart car.
All this week, Fingal had been searching for a way into SWY. He’d never given up. On Monday and Tuesday he’d been doing a classic frontal assault. Crooner42 remembered all the unusual network activity that signified his attempts to break in. As expected, his defences had held. And then on Wednesday morning, when he’d thought Fingal had given up, he’d bounced back with his forty-eight hour challenge, risking his whole reputation.
At the same time, there was all the police activity at two SWY locations, Student Heaven and this one, Au Pair Affair. Crooner42 remembered identifying Fingal at Student Heaven but now, as he thought back, there had been another man, a techie, at the Saxtons’ house on Wednesday morning. It was obvious to him now he had also been Fingal. He’d been the one guiding the police all along. Perhaps Fingal was some kind of IT police detective pretending to be a hacker. Damn, that was concerning. But it explained why they were waiting there, trying to capture him in person. Rather than —
— And then it hit him. Backdoor. He’d provided Fingal a viable backdoor.
The PC in the boot, assuming it was still in the boot of the Toledo, had direct access to SecretlyWatchingYou. It tunnelled straight through all of his firewalls and his intrusion prevention system right into the heart of the site. He’d set it up like that because it was a trusted source and because he needed to limit the amount of latency when streaming the video feeds. On the PC were the login credentials that Fingal could use to break into the site. In fact, it was the same set of credentials on every shadow PC in the boots of cars stranded all over the country. He realised now that he’d made a huge mistake.
But it was only a mistake if Fingal followed up on it quickly enough. Right now he was sat in his stupid little car waiting for Crooner42 to show up and fix the shadow PC. But once he realised Crooner42 wasn’t coming, it wouldn’t take someone as smart as Fingal long — and yes, he had to admit, he was definitely a smart cookie to have figured out his network of shadow PCs — to figure out the backdoor contained in the shadow PC. But, even then, it would still take Fingal a good few hours to crack the hash-password on the PC.
Crooner42 still had time to sort this out.
He had to get back to his apartment in Docklands. Once there he would lock down the Au Pair Affair location completely and change the password on the account used by the shadow PCs. He’d need to write a script to remotely connect to each of them, one by one, and change their passwords to match. But once done, the backdoor would be blocked.
And Fingal would fail. His forty-eight hours would pass and Crooner42 would be declared the winner on CrackerHack. His status would go through the roof while Fingal would disappear forever. And all that was unrelated to whatever the Russian Mafia would do with information Crooner42 had provided them about Fingal’s real-world identity.
Fingal had come close to beating him; he had to admit that. But not close enough.
He turned left and put his foot on the accelerator.
* * *
Kim awoke in Patrick’s plush double bed. As she yawned, she could feel dried tear tracks pulling at the skin on her face.
She hadn’t expected to fall back asleep when Patrick left for work early this morning. But without him around, she’d felt able to cry again. And she’d cried herself back to sleep, lucidly dreaming about attending her best friend’s funeral in a few days. It was so final. So permanent. Even in her dream, she’d felt tears bubbling up again. Deep down she knew that she needed to find a way to say goodbye to Anna. Maybe travelling down to Torquay and standing at Anna’s graveside beside her grieving family was the best way to do it.
Kim threw back the covers and headed for the en-suite bathroom.
A few minutes later, scalding hot water showered over her. She raised her face to meet the cascade.
If she were being forced to find a way to live without Anna, then maybe she should step up and deal with the other issue in her life. Her feelings about Patrick.
Finally, Kim was admitting to herself that their relationship wasn’t quite right. There was one fundamental flaw. She didn’t love him.
That he loved her, there was no doubt, which made the situation worse. But it was the way he loved her that was the problem. It was as if his love for her suppressed any individuality he might have had. Everything they did together was all about her. He obliged her in everything. He agreed with everything she said and did. He shared her interests. As far as she could tell, he had no interests of his own. If it weren’t for his work, then he’d have nothing in his life that didn’t revolve around her. She recalled Anna describing him as ‘fawny’.
It really was amazing how much they had in common. She’d always felt that. And initially it had been a wonderful thing. From that first time she’d met him, when he’d sung her favourite song at the karaoke restaurant, only for him to explain it was his favourite song as well. That he was so into ballet, admitting it even before he found out she was a dancer. That he enjoyed shopping. For clothes, even. The soppy romcoms he chose were always ones she wanted to watch, almost as if he’d read her mind. That he even read sonnets to her in bed.
Where was his love of football? Or action movies? Or rock bands? Or anything manly?
She dried herself off and changed back into her clothes from yesterday. Leggings, blouse and dance shoes.
Even during sex it was all about her. He was so damn attentive to her needs. So gentle and caring. Why couldn’t he just fuck her once in a while?
She wanted him to be a little bit selfish. Stand up for himself occasionally. Push back when her needs conflicted with his. To actually want something for himself. To have a fucking opinion that didn’t echo hers for God’s sake.
She grabbed her bag and, as she headed for the front door, she halted in the middle of the open plan apartment, studying it with fresh eyes.
It really was impressive. Shiny parquet flooring, leather sofas, framed art-house movie posters, stone busts for ornaments, glass tables and an amazing view over the Thames. There was a veneer of masculinity. A pinball machine, an arcade machine and a pool table. But for all his money, it was clear to her now that this bachelor pad was someone else’s design. Definitely not Patrick’s. He would need to have had opinions to put together this get-up.
Maybe she should leave him a note? She dismissed the thought as soon as it had formed. That was too cruel.
She would break up with him to his face. It would be the only way she would get through to him.
She wondered whether his passivity would last through a break-up scene? She hoped not. Maybe he would display some spark. Some fight. But even if he did, it would be too late.
She opened the front door and jumped back in horror. Someone was standing right there, hand raised, about to press the bell.
“At least you haven’t got a knife this time, Kim?” said a smiling DI Jenny Price.
“Oh Jenny, thank God. You scared the life out of me.”
She remembered back to Monday evening when they had confronted each other either side of the door to Anna’s room. She still had a bruise on her forearm where Jenny had smashed the door onto her arm, causing her to drop the knife she had been wielding, thinking the killer was inside.
Standing behind Jenny, she noticed the techie guy who had found all the webcams in her house.
“What are you two doing here?”
“It’s a long story, Kim. Can we come in?”
* * *
“I was just leaving,” said Kim.
Kim looked flustered. She was thinner than when Jenny had seen her just two days ago.
Jenny stood her ground in the doorway. Kim gave in. “Sure, come in.”
They walked into an impressive apartment. It was a bachelor pad right out of a magazine. Not a floral design or soft furnishing in sight. All cream and dark-brown. And lots of l
arge boys toys. Absently, Jenny wondered if she’d be any good at the Asteroids arcade machine.
“What’s going on, Jenny? Why are you here? What’s Patrick got to do with anything?”
Three very good questions, thought Jenny.
Earlier that morning, still staking out the SEAT Toledo after a long, uncomfortable night in Brody’s car, her walkie-talkie had crackled again.
“Got a white 911 heading our way. Single occupant.” It had been Alan giving the commentary. “Okay, he’s indicating right. This could be our guy.” A pause and then, “Sorry, another false alarm. Indicator’s stopped. He’s carrying straight on.”
At that moment, Jenny saw the Porsche slowly cruise by the mouth of the cul-de-sac and recognised the car immediately. It had been striking when she had first seen it, parked outside of Kim’s house on Monday, sparkling white on the outside, ostentatious red leather on the inside. She remembered being frustrated that she’d had to park further down the road and walk back through the pouring rain, yet its owner had fluked a parking space right outside just when he needed one.
“Run the number plate, Alan,” she ordered back into the radio. “Fiona, you’re facing the right way. Follow the Porsche, but don’t let him know you’re on to him.”
She waited, watching Fiona drive off in her silver A3.
Brody asked her, “What’s with the Porsche?”
“I’ve seen it before, or one very much like it. And in my book, coincidences rarely happen.”
“Whose is it?”
“If his first name is Patrick, then we have our man.”
Brody went to ask for more, but the radio crackled again.
“Okay, so it’s registered to a Patrick Harper. Address is in Docklands.”
Jenny clenched her fist in triumph. Brody fired up the car and pulled out.
“Alan, you and Karim wait here in case Fiona loses him and he comes back. Give it half-an-hour. If nothing happens, then get crime scene out here and process that vehicle. It’s evidence.”
Jenny saw Brody had plugged Harper’s Docklands address into his satnav. After a few minutes, they reached the roundabout for the A41. Instead of following the road signs and turning right towards London, for some reason the satnav indicated they should drive straight on. He followed it blindly.
“Have you entered the address properly? London’s that way,” stated Jenny.
“So is all the commuter traffic heading into town. This satnav has a live link to the Internet and takes account of all that.” He pressed some buttons on the screen and an overview of its intended route came up. It was taking them up the A1, around the north section of the M25, and back into London via the M11. “Although it’s a longer route, it’s mostly motorway. I reckon it will save us a good three quarters on an hour.”
She rang Fiona. Harry answered. “Which direction has Harper taken?”
“He’s on the A41 heading south. We’re two cars behind him.”
“Okay, stay with him. We’re heading to his address, but we’re taking a quicker route.”
Despite its diminutive size, Brody’s Smart car was much faster than she’d expected. He threw it around the back roads heading towards the A1 and, once on the multi-lane carriageways, he sat nicely in the outside lane. Only once, as the M11 approached the North Circular, did traffic clog up. She wondered if she should upgrade the satnav in her car.
“So whose this Patrick Harper then?” Brody asked, as he sped past a white van.
“You remember Kim Chang?”
“The friend of the first victim?”
“He’s her boyfriend. I met him on Monday. I did wonder about the car at the time, especially when Kim told me he was a student. I thought he must have rich parents, but she explained that he was running an online business, something to do with advertising. Click . . .”
“Click-throughs.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, it looks like his lucrative online business is SecretlyWatchingYou. It’s certainly making him enough money to buy a car like that.”
Brody coughed abruptly, the small car juddering slightly. “Why would Harper broadcast his girlfriend on SWY?”
“Maybe he gets off on others watching.”
As the final destination came into view, a dockside warehouse converted into apartments, Jenny phoned Fiona. “Where is he now?”
“Traffic’s been awful. We’re only just passing Lord’s Cricket Ground. Looks like he’s heading home.”
They were still a good thirty minutes away.
“Okay, we’ll be there waiting when he arrives. Make sure you follow in right behind him as he enters the building. I don’t want him to see us and do a runner. After spending the night cooped up in this matchbox toy, I’m not sure my legs could take it.”
She ignored Brody’s affronted look.
On Jenny’s suggestion, Brody parked his car around the corner, out of sight, and they tailgated in through the secured front door when another resident exited for work. Harper’s apartment was a luxury penthouse. They took the lift to the top floor. Jenny had anticipated waiting for him right outside his front door. As they stood in the hallway, Brody suggested pressing the bell, just in case. And as Jenny had raised her finger to the button, the door had opened, making her jump.
Quickly, Jenny considered the best way to answer Kim’s question about why they were there.
“We’re here to ask him some questions about his online business.”
“Is this related to Anna?”
“It might be, yes.”
“Oh.”
“Nice flat,” said Brody, looking around.
“What?” Kim was unsettled. “Yes, I suppose.” She sat herself down at the glass dining table, a round sheet of glass resting on what looked like a tree stump. Jenny joined her.
“Are you okay, Kim?”
Brody left them to it and began nosing around the flat, poking his head into each room. She watched him pull a device out of his canvas man bag, some kind of handheld scanner.
“Yes. No. I’m all over the place since Anna was . . . since Anna died.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Jenny could see tears beginning to form. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and handed it to her. Kim wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Her Mum came round yesterday. She was ice cold as she poked through her things. Not a flicker of emotion. I know they didn’t get on but come on, it’s her daughter.”
“Maybe shutting off her emotions is her way of grieving.”
As they talked, she could see Brody at the bookcase on the far wall, selecting books, examining them and placing them back on the shelf. He dropped the scanner back in his satchel, pulled out his tablet PC and began swiping his fingers on its surface.
Jenny tried to swing the conversation with Kim towards Patrick.
“How long has Patrick lived here?”
“He told me he moved in here about a month before we met. We’ve been together just over a year now.”
Brody piped up from the other side of the room, his eyes fixed on his computer. “Just the one bedroom?”
Kim turned to answer him. “Yeah, over there.”
Jenny wished he’d leave the conversation to her. She was the professional here.
“Do you know the name of his online business? The website?” asked Jenny.
Kim furrowed her brows and shrugged. “Sorry, I never thought to ask.”
Brody walked over to the hallway door, looked at his watch and interjected. “He’s still a good twenty minutes away and, I don’t know about you Jenny, but I’m famished. I’m going to pop down to that coffee shop we passed on the way in and grab some provisions. You want anything?”
Jenny was irked at Brody’s interruptions. Perhaps it would be better if he were out of the way. “Just a cappuccino for me. Kim, you want anything?”
She shook her head.
“Okay, back soon.”
Jenny heard the front door shut behind him.
She chat
ted with Kim. The conversation was less an interview and more akin to two friends catching up. Kim even asked after her nephew, surprising Jenny who’d forgotten she had shared some personal details when they’d talked the other evening. About ten minutes later, Jenny heard a faint thump through the walls and looked at Kim questioningly.
“Must be the neighbours.”
There had been two other doors on the top landing. Jenny let it pass.
Her phone rang. It was Fiona.
“He’s just passed Tower Bridge, heading east. Definitely heading your way. Satnav says eleven minutes.”
“Okay, thanks. See you soon.”
Kim asked. “Did Brody mean Patrick earlier? When he said someone was on the way here?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he done, Jenny?”
Jenny didn’t want to lie. Yet at this stage she didn’t have any direct evidence of anything. Alan and Karim would be treating the SEAT Toledo as a crime scene by now. Hopefully, there would be prints and DNA in it that tied back to Patrick. And then they would need to forensically examine the PC in the boot of the car. Maybe the techies would find something on there that tied back to SWY. It was all very hopeful, but at this stage she had nothing concrete. And anyway, she couldn’t risk Kim warning him.
“I can’t say until I speak with him. I’m sorry Kim.”
Kim seemed to accept it.
Her phone rang again. It was Da Silva’s number. There was no way she could give him an update in front of Kim. She let it go to voicemail.
After another ten minutes, her phone beeped with a text from Fiona. “Harper’s on the way up.”
* * *
Inside the lift, Patrick Harper, known on the CrackerHack forums as Crooner42, pressed the button for the sixth floor.
As it rose, he studied his reflection in the mirrored interior walls, marvelling that if he stood to one side and looked towards the corners, he could see his profile just as others would see him, the mirrors double-reflecting at ninety-degrees to each other and affording him this rare glimpse of himself. He could even see the same reflection repeated behind, smaller each time, disappearing off to infinity. Perhaps he ought to change his round glasses for something more stylish. He’d take a look through GQ later.
Invasion of Privacy: A Deep Web Thriller #1 (Deep Web Thriller Series) Page 46