by Helen Fields
‘I wasn’t asking you, I was giving my source. Ben has hacked part of the website. He got into their communications portal. That’s where this information’s from. It’s reliable and recent. I’ll see you at the station.’ He hung up.
There was little Callanach could do for Ben if DCI Edgar’s squad were ready to make an arrest. If he was convicted and sentenced, the assistance Ben had given in the murder cases could be taken into account – not that it would make a dent, given the political clout of the people The Unsung had hacked and humiliated. And if Callanach warned Ben now, the leak would inevitably lead back to Ava. He couldn’t do that to her.
He parked his car and strode into the station. His squad was beginning to assemble, but he needed to brief Overbeck and Ava first. What he wasn’t sure about was precisely when the twenty-four hour period had started, nor how far the geographical net might be thrown. There were still two killers out there. Grom was holding a victim who would be in shock, possibly already dead. The other, Sem Culpa, had a stomach for atrocities the like of which he’d never seen before. If she took another victim, her only aim would be to excel at her craft in previously unimaginable ways. Salter met him at the incident room door holding out a sheet of paper.
‘Here you go, sir. Names of all lawyers in the city known to be practising in human rights or civil liberties. About twenty names in all, so the field isn’t too wide,’ Salter said.
‘It’s still too many to protect,’ Callanach replied. ‘I’ll be in with the superintendent and DI Turner. Have everyone ready for briefing and make sure there are vehicles available. I want boots on the street.’ He made his way to Overbeck’s office knowing he wasn’t going to be popular. It was a sensation he was getting used to.
‘Send Callanach and Turner in,’ Overbeck boomed through her assistant’s telephone speaker. The superintendent didn’t wait for them to sit down. ‘So you’ve got one hostage, location unknown, who has been tortured causing multiple injuries, and also a new target the identity of which you cannot precisely confirm. How accurate is your source on the human rights lawyer?’
‘Very,’ Callanach replied. There was a long pause.
‘If your intention is to make me beg for the details, Callanach, you’re in the wrong office. I need to know substantially more before we go off on another wild-goose chase. I’m still getting pelted with crap from the Julia Stimple debacle.’
‘I can’t give you the name of my source, ma’am. It’s intelligence. I don’t have any doubts about its veracity,’ Callanach said.
‘You’re not a fucking journalist, Detective Inspector. We don’t have undisclosable sources here. We have evidence and disclosure and rules, so you’ll tell me or you can whistle for your frigging resources today.’
‘Then the lawyer will die, and we’ll have done nothing to stop it,’ Callanach said.
‘It was an anonymous tip-off,’ Ava said. ‘By phone. I picked it up.’
Overbeck stared at her, eyes wide, chewing her bottom lip. ‘That’s where we’re at, is it? You’re going to bullshit me in the middle of the worst case this city has seen in living memory,’ she said. Callanach and Turner stood silent. ‘You realise this is tantamount to blackmail, do you? If I don’t give you the go-ahead for your operation and someone dies, it’s on my head. And if this turns out to be a cartload of bollocks and we waste all our time and resources, it’s also on my head. So I’m only going to say this once. Get out of my goddamn office and don’t let anyone else get fucking murdered!’
They didn’t speak until they got into Callanach’s office.
‘Paulson’s information is really good, right? Only I just lied to a superior officer and we’re playing Russian roulette with our careers,’ Ava said.
‘It’s data. It doesn’t lie,’ Callanach replied, hoping like hell he was right.
‘Is Paulson really so good that he can hack his way into an encrypted darknet site?’ Ava asked.
‘Your fiancé seems to think so,’ Callanach said. ‘You run the briefing. We have to catch Sem Culpa this time. Overbeck’s right. We can’t let anyone else die.’
Chapter Forty-Six
The incident room was bursting. Uniforms had been called in to swell the ranks. Anyone making the mistake of thinking they might be on leave the next day had been rudely disabused of the notion. Ava took her place at the front.
‘We have intelligence that the next target is a human rights lawyer. Could be male or female, any age. The only thing we’re sure of is that they live or work in Edinburgh. There’s a list circulating now and you’ve been assigned partners. Understand this. You are on a watch-only brief. We’re not speaking to any of the people on this list. Your job is to make sure your assigned lawyer gets through their day alive.’ The muttering started. Ava pre-empted questions with an explanation. ‘The attempt will be carried out by a woman with the internet username Sem Culpa.’
‘Is the username relevant at all, ma’am?’ Tripp asked.
‘All we know is that the words Sem Culpa translate as blameless from Portuguese which might be an indicator of her nationality or relate to something else in her past. We believe she was responsible for killing both Sim Thorburn at the rock festival and Michael Swan at the McDonald Road library. Images of her have already been circulated, although there is little by way of facial definition. We estimate her to be between twenty-six and thirty-two years of age, slim, five foot six. She is dangerous in a way that makes her unpredictable. If cornered, there’s a risk that she might take hostages, kill bystanders and use whatever weapon comes to hand. Do not underestimate her. She is a psychopath who has everything to lose by getting caught.’
‘All the other victims seem to have been chosen because they received media attention for their work. Can we not identify the most likely victim in this case in the same way?’ a uniformed officer asked.
‘We have a team allocated to that already. If we can cut down to a shortlist of likely targets you’ll all be notified,’ Ava said.
‘Why not tell the potential victims, ma’am? Seems crazy not to give them a heads-up,’ someone called out. Ava didn’t catch who had spoken and it didn’t matter. The whole team had obviously been thinking the same thing.
‘We notified potential victims last time and that didn’t work out. In fact it may have worked in the killer’s favour. If we put potential victims on notice, they’ll change their normal patterns. They won’t go to work. They’ll use alternate means of transport. Right now, our best chance of finding Sem Culpa is by catching her in the act of stalking or attempting an abduction.’
‘And what if she uses a sniper rifle or runs the victim down in a car? We can’t protect the targets from that and we still won’t have an arrest,’ Sergeant Lively said.
‘I understand your concerns and this isn’t foolproof, but we have reason to believe Sem Culpa’s desired kill method will be elaborate, something that takes time. If Sem Culpa gets away this time, we may not have another chance. If all the targets start acting unusually, she’ll know we’re onto her. The target will change. We’ll be back to square one. I want you out on the streets within thirty minutes and there won’t be anyone to relieve you for the next eighteen hours as we’re stretched to capacity. Eat and drink now. All plain clothes activity. Keep in contact. Armed units are on high alert. And let’s not forget that there’s another victim out there right now who has suffered a further amputation of skin. Forensics are currently running tests to see if we can pick up anything from the pieces of flesh sent through to BBC Scotland. You’ll be updated on that as soon as we have more, but be vigilant. There are two lives to save and right now we’re not closing in on either of them. Off you go.’
Salter sidled up to Ava. ‘I’m not on the list, ma’am,’ she said.
‘That’s right, you’re not. Someone has to be here to co-ordinate,’ Ava said.
‘I’m pregnant, not useless. You need every pair of feet you can get out there. Communications can be handled by civilians.’
<
br /> ‘DC Salter, at risk of you accusing me of sexism, I don’t want you putting that baby in harm’s way. Some things in life are too precious to be exposed to unnecessary danger. Even if it’s a thousand to one chance, I’m not taking it.’
Salter’s hand went to her stomach. She was hiding it well, but soon there would be no disguising the bump beneath her baggy shirt.
‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ Ava asked.
‘A girl,’ Salter whispered. ‘We don’t want to announce it. Nice to keep a bit of a surprise.’
‘Good for you,’ Ava said.
‘Will you and DCI Edgar be starting a family? I think you’d be a great mother.’
‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,’ Ava said. ‘I’d better get moving. Make sure everyone is on their way out then get some rest. It’s going to be a long one.’
Ava caught up with Callanach as he was leaving the station. It was dawn. The city’s lights were switching on and traffic was still light. Edinburgh was contemplating its day. Tourists would meander up and down the Royal Mile. Joggers would punish themselves on the city’s hills. Parents would take their children to the open spaces to picnic and play ball. And Police Scotland would be watching nearly two dozen innocent people, one of whom was practically ticking with the imminence of their destiny.
‘Did you speak to the news editor about holding back the story of the body parts delivery?’ Callanach asked.
‘I called the director to make sure they weren’t going to run it. To his credit, he sounded appalled at the suggestion. Has Ben not come up with anything on that one?’
‘Not yet,’ Callanach said. ‘And I think we should agree not to talk about him. You’re in a difficult enough position as it is.’
‘I didn’t like him,’ Ava said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for what he’s doing.’
‘He doesn’t like you either, but that didn’t stop him helping. Maybe neither of you should be judging.’
‘Spare me it,’ Ava said. ‘You’ve broken every rule in the book, including a few that no one had thought of before.’
‘I certainly have this time. We’d better catch this bitch. I’m not sure I can carry on if this doesn’t work,’ Callanach said.
‘What are you talking about?’ Ava asked.
Callanach stopped mid-step, pinching the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb.
‘There was a vote for the next target. Under our username, I told Ben to input a profession no one would feel any sympathy towards.’
‘Oh God,’ Ava said.
‘And here we are, waiting to see just how clever Sem Culpa really is.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Ava said. ‘You didn’t know what other suggestions were being made. And we’ve had no joy making a shortlist of likely targets from internet searches. The problem with lawyers is their case reports, there’s loads on the internet about all of them. We have hits for almost every human rights lawyer in the city. There’s no single person who stands out. Even if your vote did have some sort of impact, there’s no way you can be responsible for the ultimate choice of victim.’
‘Thanks, but I’m not sure you and my conscience are going to agree about that,’ Callanach said opening his car door. ‘Stay safe today.’
She waited as he climbed in, motioning for him to lower his window.
‘Luc, why don’t you like Joe?’ Ava asked as he started the engine.
‘I think the more relevant question is, what do you like about him so much?’ He pulled away gently. The hunt had begun.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The clock showed 4 a.m. and Alexina O’Rourke had been awake for more than an hour with the sort of headache that started slowly and settled in behind her eyes for the long haul. She’d done her best not to wake her husband but there was no avoiding getting up to fetch water and the strongest painkillers she could find in the house.
‘You okay, darling?’ he asked as she slid from between the sheets, grabbing her dressing gown and stepping softly towards the bedroom door.
‘Just a headache. Sorry I disturbed you. Go back to sleep,’ she said.
He managed to catch her fingers as she passed him, pulling them lightly back towards the bed.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ he said. ‘Get back in. I’ll go. And don’t argue. How long has it been coming on?’
‘About an hour,’ she said, lying gratefully back down.
He kissed her forehead, brushing her hair away from her face and pulling the duvet up to her chin. ‘Give me a minute.’
‘Wes?’ she muttered as he pulled on a T-shirt. He leaned over her. ‘Thank you.’
* * *
Two hours later Alexina awoke from a brief sleep to a throbbing that ran from her right eye around her skull, ending in a screeching that matched the pulse in her temples. She ran to the en suite, dry-heaved over the toilet, plodded back to bed with her water and gave in to the migraine that she knew was going to be her companion for the next twelve or so hours. She groaned. It couldn’t have come at the weekend when she had time to feel sorry for herself and stay in bed. No, it had to be on a weekday when she had a new brief waiting on her desk and a client conference in the diary. Wesley was absent from their bed. He was always the same. Once awake, he never could get back to sleep.
Alexina slipped out of bed, padding downstairs quietly, needing an ice pack and more water. Wesley was on his computer. Always working when sleep eluded him. She could hear him in his study tapping away on the keyboard. She looked around at the white walls. Next weekend, she promised herself, they would both put their laptops and mobiles in a cupboard and leave them untouched until Monday morning. Somewhere there would be an antiques market or an auction, anything to get them out together, focusing entirely on one another again just like when they’d first met. A pair of warm arms slid around her waist and Wesley’s head rested gently on her shoulder.
‘You should have called me,’ he said. ‘I’d have brought the ice up to you.’
‘Didn’t want to disturb you,’ she said, closing her eyes and leaning against the strong bulk of his chest. ‘I’m going to phone in sick.’
‘I should think so too,’ Wesley replied, reaching out to pick up the kettle. ‘They’ll have to manage without you for one day. Can I bring you a cup of Earl Grey?’
‘I’m fine with water,’ she said. ‘Listen, this weekend, let’s go out and buy something great for the house. A painting for your study or a coffee table for the lounge. Something we both love. It’ll be fun.’
‘Way ahead of you,’ Wesley smiled. ‘How about we do that then find a hotel, have dinner in a country pub, lock the rest of the world out for a while.’
Alexina knotted her hands together behind her husband’s back, breathing out into his chest. ‘God, yes, let’s do all of that.’ She winced and shut her eyes.
‘Right, back to bed with you. I want you in a fit state to be spoiled rotten on Saturday morning. I’ll lock up as I go. You try to get some more sleep.’ He kissed the top of her head, put the bag of ice in her hand and sent her towards the stairs.
He was already dressed and ready for work. Better to get in early, establish a firm head start on the day’s tasks and get home early. Making a quick chicken mayonnaise sandwich, he left it on a plate in the fridge covered with cling film and folded a tiny note on top. ‘Lexy, Try to eat. The migraine will get worse if you starve it. And NO work today! Love you more, W xxx’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ben rolled over, studying the woman next to him. Polly was asleep, her hair falling across her face, particles of dust dancing around her in the sunlight. Last night had been awful and joyful in equal measures. He’d expected her to leave after his outburst, having declined to explain his telephone conversation with Callanach as much from shame as from the knowledge that no one else could know what they’d done. Still Polly had stayed, making coffee and insisting that he ate some of the food he’d forgotten in the aftermath of his discovery. He’d relaxed
a little with the help of several bottles of beer and Polly’s tales of travelling and narrowly missed disasters. But eventually he’d lost the will to make small talk and she’d asked if he was all right. When he hadn’t answered she’d slid a cool hand round the back of his neck, kissing him gently, teasing him with her tongue, shifting her body to sit on his lap. The rest, unexpectedly, unbelievably, was history. And Polly had stayed – that was the best thing about it. There had been no rush, no awkwardness. She’d even had to remind him to lock his study door.
Ben slipped quietly out of bed to check if anything in the fridge might pass as breakfast. His phone showed only one text message from Lance half an hour earlier. He was glad there was nothing from Callanach. As the cliché went, no news had to be good news. Lance had apparently not heard the latest update. Ben called him.
‘Hey buddy,’ Ben said.
‘Ben? You all right? You sound …’ Lance faltered.
‘Yeah. No. It was kind of a weird evening. Have you spoken to Luc?’ Ben asked.
‘I tried his mobile a couple of times but he keeps switching it off. I was worried that something was wrong, hence the text. Apologies if I woke you.’
‘You didn’t. Hold on.’ Ben closed the kitchen door. ‘Luc’s going to be busy today. The entry I put into the website … I wrote lawyer, Lance. They made it the next target. I had no idea …’
‘You did what Luc told you to do. If you’ve spent a sleepless night sweating that one, you wasted your time. Anyway, it was supposed to be the most popular suggestion that became the target. I know why you chose lawyer, but other people doing the same thing? Makes no sense.’
‘It doesn’t matter now. I got the data back late last night. He only gave the killer twenty-four hours to hit her mark. That’s why Callanach’s not answering. I guess they’ve mobilised.’
‘It feels wrong, Ben. A lawyer? Really?’ Lance said.
‘A human rights lawyer to be precise. I guess even the webmaster thought that your average lawyer wouldn’t be a sufficiently endearing target to capture the public’s imagination,’ Ben said.