The Talion Code

by Catriona King

  Reggie gave Liam a ‘so there’ smirk and continued his train of thought. “Anyway, Moriarty implied that they have the upper hand.”

  Craig sat up straight. “How so?”

  “They think they’ve found someone to alibi him for the time of his father’s death.” The sergeant reached into his trouser pocket and withdrew a folded-up page, reading aloud. “A Mister Jackson Poulter. Apparently he’s prepared to say that Les was with him, stoned in some flop house, while Les’ old man was getting creamed.”

  Craig raised an eyebrow at his language. “I take it ‘creamed’ was his word and not yours?”

  “You take it right. I would have said hammered.” He stowed the paper and lifted his tea again. “So we were thinking that our next move would be to find this Poulter and see what he had to say, if that’s all right?”

  Craig nodded. “More than all right, although I wouldn’t hold out much hope of getting him to talk. It may come down to you breaking the alibi, or proving that Poulter was paid for it.”

  Reggie nodded slowly. “Indeed it might, but we’ll keep you informed either way.”

  “Good work.” Craig wrote the number two up on the board and then thought again. “Before we move on, does anyone know this Jackson Poulter? Liam?”

  Liam was the team’s first stop for information on any low-life in the North. The D.C.I.’s superior tone in reply said that he was still smarting from Reggie’s smirk. “Of course I know him. Small time hood from the Shankill. Mostly petty busts for dealing in stolen goods and possession of Class A drugs. He’s out on license now, as far as I can recall, did two years of a four year term, so if his alibi says he was using drugs with Moriarty he’s risking a recall to prison-”

  Annette cut in. “So what can Harrison be offering Poulter to make it worth his while to lie?”

  Liam shook his head slowly, accompanying it with a “Tut, tut. Such cynicism” that earned him a grudging smile. “Who’s to say he’s lying? Maybe he actually was with Moriarty.”

  As she laughed Craig moved things on.

  “OK, so we’re agreed that Poulter’s probably lying about the alibi. But Annette’s right; if he’s prepared to risk a return to prison then someone is definitely making it worth his while. OK, Reggie, interview Poulter.” He re-drew the number two. “Moving on. Aaron Foster. Annette, you take this one, please.”

  He glanced at her, only to see Liam doing the same out of the side of his eye, except that Liam’s expression resembled someone in an old cowboy movie who’d just been told that his wife was ‘with child’. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him looking so proud; anyone would have thought the baby was his. He knew that Annette had caught the look as well and that after four more months of it she would probably grab Liam by the throat. For now she managed to ignore him and obliged Craig by starting to report.

  “We received a report that Aaron was in Portavogie, so Liam and I went down prepared for a long wait but he gave himself up without a fight. Preliminary interviewing yielded an admission to his assault on Jake but only after he’d elicited the promise of seeing Jake face-to-face. Jake has said that he wants to, so I’m meeting him at High Street after we finish here.” She grimaced. “I’m not looking forward to it, sir. I honestly don’t think Jake knows what he’s taking on.”

  Craig nodded. “I agree, but he’s adamant he wants to do it. Keep an eye on him, please. He’s a lot angrier than he appears.”

  As she nodded in reply he noticed Liam nodding along in time. Hell, if Annette didn’t kill him before April, the chances were that he would. He wrote up the number three.

  “OK, last but definitely not least, we have a new murder case. The body of a man was found last night in the Titanic Quarter. We’re investigating as normal, including the manner in which the death was reported which is very far from clear. Apparently a man called it into Stranmillis Road Station and the station then called the C.S.I.s and us at the same time, which is highly irregular. What’s even more irregular is that the caller gave his name as Richard Jamison and didn’t try to hide his number, yet he disappeared immediately from the scene. I blocked the ports and airports and a man called Richard Jamison was lifted this morning by the Gardaí preparing to board a flight. We don’t know if it’s the Jamison in question so the blockade is still live, but the prisoner and his wife are on the way to the border now, where Joe and some uniforms are meeting them and bringing them to High Street for interview.” He took a sip of coffee and signalled Liam to pick things up.

  Liam hastily swallowed a mouthful of cake. “OK, so last night we started canvassing the Titanic area, gathering CCTV and traffic cams.” He nodded at the analysts. “They’ll be with you lads very soon. We went back this morning and did the offices.” He shook his head. “It’s a busy stretch of land, what with the Odyssey, offices, shipping etc., so there are uniforms still down there interviewing. Annette’s running that side. We’ll also have to visit anyone we miss today but who might have been at work last night.” He rolled his eyes at Craig. “This could take till Monday, boss.”

  Craig shrugged. “It’ll take whatever it takes. OK, the P.M. says the man was in his early thirties, killed by a single blow to the top of his skull. Death was instant and definitely occurred where he was found. The victim’s only other injuries were abrasions from the gravel where he fell. As yet we have no I.D. His wallet was missing-”

  Ash cut in. “Robbery?”

  Craig shook his head. “Unlikely. His watch was still there, and it was a Patek Phillipe. More likely they took the wallet to stop him being I.D.ed. As his watch and clothing suggest, and Doctor Winter’s post-mortem report agrees, the victim was well-nourished and well groomed, so most likely middle-class. A businessman perhaps, judging by his suit, but that’s all we’ve got so far.” He turned to Davy. “Davy, check for any missing persons. It’s early days but maybe someone’s noticed he’s missing and called it in.” His gaze returned to Liam. “We need the weapon, so can you press forensics for any likelies and anything else that they found at the scene-”

  Reggie raised a finger, interrupting. “Prints?”

  Craig shook his head. “No match unfortunately. Of course, if the government insisted fingerprints went on all driving licences we wouldn’t have problems identifying people like this.” It was his and John’s latest hobby horse.

  He glanced back at the board. “OK, this is a Friday night murder in a part of the city known for bars and clubs, so it could simply have been the aftermath of a brawl gone wrong, despite the strange phone call. But until we know who we’re dealing with we work it as we would every other case.” He jumped off the desk. “Right, Liam and I will interview Jamison when he arrives and Annette, you’re off to High Street now with Jake. Let me know how that goes, please.” He turned towards his office and then stopped. “I forgot to say. Jake’s back at work on Monday so he and Reggie will be working in tandem for a while, Jake probably in the office until he’s back on his feet, but not definitely. We’ll see.” He nodded to the analysts. “You two, join me in my office, please.”

  ****

  As the door closed behind them, Craig held up the percolator, to be answered by two shaking heads. He waved them to sit and helped himself, sipping his black coffee as Ash scanned his face intently for a moment and then spoke.

  “Apparently drinking black coffee is a sign of being a psychopath.”

  Craig was so surprised that he almost spat out his drink. “Thanks for that! If I start getting the urge to kill anyone I promise I’ll see a shrink.”

  He sat down, resting back in his chair and considering the analysts in turn. He noticed with surprise that Davy looked older than he had before he’d gone to France. More like a man than a boy now. A month’s absence was allowing him to see him with fresh eyes. Ash, on the other hand, still looked like a trendy teenager, despite them being almost the same age; an impression aided by his colourful hair and unfeasibly skinny jeans. After a moment of scrutiny that made Ash grin nervously and Da
vy start to blush, Craig knew that he had them off balance, exactly where he wanted them, so he broached the reason that he’d called them in.

  “What are you two up to? I’ve seen you whispering together.”

  Ash’s grin was replaced by a glare at Davy, which Davy avoided by finding something fascinating on the floor. But silence was not an answer so Craig repeated his question and this time Davy spoke.

  “Ash thinks-”

  The Smurf rounded on him. “Oh, that’s right, blame me! You agreed with me, remember?”

  Craig raised a hand before it deteriorated into a school-yard brawl.

  “I’ll decide if anyone’s to be blamed for anything, so before you start slinging mud, and in non-computer-jargon, tell me what you’ve been getting into a huddle about.” He angled his chair slightly towards Davy. “Now.”

  Davy complied reluctantly. “Ash thinks”. As Ash got ready to object again, Craig shot him a look that said he’d better keep quiet. “Ash thinks that he’s s…spotted a pattern in some events that have been happening lately, so he asked me to take a look. I agreed that there was something there, but didn’t want to bring it to you until w…we’d worked it up properly.”

  Craig raised a hand to halt him and considered for a moment before continuing. “OK. So, Ash, well done for seeing a pattern in the first place. Even if it turns out to be nothing, it’s always good to keep your eyes open. But…” They knew what was coming next. “How much less concerned do you think I would have been if you’d said that’s what you were doing, instead of just going into a scrum?”

  Ash jumped in, encouraged by Craig’s ‘well done’ and ignoring the rest. “I saw the first signs months ago, but I didn’t want to bother you. So when Davy came back I thought I’d ask his opinion.”

  “That’s fine. But in future just tell me if you need space to check something out. I don’t bite, you know.”

  Davy nodded his dark head. “Never bitten yet.” He smiled. “Even though I thought he w…would when I first started.”

  Craig smiled as well; remembering how shy Davy had been about approaching him when he’d first joined the squad.

  “OK, so now that we’ve established I’m not a cannibal, despite my apparent psychopathic tendencies, what are these events that you’ve noticed?”

  Davy gave him a warning look. “It’s detailed computer stuff.”

  “I’m sure I’ll cope.”

  Davy nodded Ash to set his smart-pad on the desk, and as one analyst typed the other recounted the background to their search.

  “Ash started noticing small things in news reports and online posts months ago, before he’d even started here. From all across the w…world but mostly in the West. Then they started happening more locally-”

  Ash cut in, turning the pad towards Craig as he did. “Things have been happening in Northern Ireland over the past three weeks. Bank transfers that have been slow or wrong, ATM machines malfunctioning, traffic lights out.”

  Craig shook his head, unconvinced. “But there always are, and surely with the high volume of cash withdrawals coming up to Christmas-”

  Ash shook his head emphatically. “That’s what I thought at first, so I made adjustments for that. I’ve been monitoring things since July, and it’s been happening all over the West. Plus, drones have been coming down; just media and weather drones crashing so far, but lots of them. In the States, England, France. All over Europe everywhere.”

  Craig nodded slowly. “OK, so lots of small incidents in the Western World for six months and in Northern Ireland over the past three weeks.” Something occurred to him, but he parked it for a moment. “Have any of the incidents been major?”

  Ash hesitated so Davy jumped in.

  “We don’t know yet. Ash hit a brick wall with the money trails, because he doesn’t have clearance. Reportedly none of the drones hit anyone when they fell, but that could just be what they’re telling the media, or it could just be a matter of time. And as far as the road s…signals…”

  His voice tailed off, leaving Craig thinking of the RTC they’d attended four days before. He decided to ask the question that he’d parked, in two parts.

  “OK. First question. When the incidents began in Northern Ireland what happened in the rest of the West?”

  Ash grinned, knowing that Craig had got it. “The incidents elsewhere stopped within the week.”

  “None anywhere else at all now?”

  “None.”

  Craig leaned forward. “So… secondly, am I right that you’re both thinking whoever or whatever is responsible for all of these events is based in Northern Ireland?”

  The analyst’s “yes”s came simultaneously and Davy carried on.

  “Let’s face it, chief, Northern Ireland’s only a s…small country, so, assuming these things aren’t accidental, why focus events here at all? And more pertinently, why elsewhere and then Northern Ireland, unless we’ve always been the target? If you were choosing a s…small place to trial things, then I could see here being used before spreading to the rest of the West, but why after?”

  Ash jumped in. “So I dug into the computer side, as far as I could without obvious access to other governments’ information.”

  Craig arched an eyebrow. “Fancy rephrasing that?”

  The analyst had the grace to blush. “OK, OK. Without legal access. Can we help it if they leave back doors in their networks just begging to be kicked in?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “The government hacks us so I don’t see why we can’t return the favour.”

  Davy sighed. “He’s a conspiracy nut.”

  But Craig had already moved on. He stared at the screen Ash had turned towards him. It was covered in computer code so he looked to Davy to explain. The analysts moved to stand behind him and Davy pointed to the top half of the screen.

  “OK. In English. This is the hack that Ash developed, based on the first few months’ incidents. It’s just a basic one to access general sites.” He moved down, to where what looked like an equation was winking in and out. “And that’s w…what he found each time.”

  “What does it do?”

  Ash shrugged. “We don’t know yet, but it was present in every incident I could get access to.”

  The analysts retook their seats and Davy leaned forward on the desk, the excitement of a hunter in his eyes. Craig recognised the look; he saw it in the mirror every time he was chasing a perp.

  “If we could get hold of the computer programmes from more incidents, even just those in Northern Ireland, then we could see if the equation w…was present there as well. Meanwhile, we’re trying to identify what it does. We think it’s an algorithm-”

  Ash interrupted in a teacher-like voice.

  “Algorithms or ALGs are basically unambiguous instructions that give a computer a step-by-step of the operation they’re to perform. They can tell it to perform calculations, data processing, automated reasoning, actions-”

  Craig nodded. “I’ve got it, thanks.” He glanced at the screen again. The blinking equation didn’t resemble anything he’d studied at school, but that was when people had still used slide-rules. “OK, so you’re saying that if this algorithm, or whatever, was planted in the computer systems for ATMs, traffic signals, drones etc. it could tell them how to malfunction and when?”

  Davy made a face that said they still weren’t sure.

  “It might be that, or this might be the algorithm that tells the systems how to function correctly and our man has found a way of messing with it that we haven’t discovered yet. W…We just don’t know. We need more time.”

  “But wouldn’t someone messing about inside a programme leave a trail?”

  Ash’s smirk said ‘not if they’re as good as me’ and Craig’s mouth went dry as he imagined the computer fraud unit kicking in his office door.

  Davy saw his panic. “Don’t worry. W…We’re very good, chief. Anyway, the answer to your question is that we won’t kn
ow until we dig.”

  The detective thought for a moment. “OK. So what does this have to do with the murder squad?”

  Davy gave him a besieging look. “Possibly nothing but we don’t know yet. W…We’re hoping you’ll let us follow the trail just in case?”

  Craig smiled and shook his head; he couldn’t afford wild goose chases. But the rebel in him admired their spirit so after a moment he relented.

  “OK. But only as long as it doesn’t affect your usual work. What do you need from me?”

  Ash cheered up instantly. “Can you get us into all the affected systems in Northern Ireland?”

  Craig shook his head. “The banks would never allow it unless a crime had been committed, and at the moment all you’ve got is a hunch. But…”

  Traffic systems were something else entirely, and he might just know a man who could help them, under the heading of Wednesday’s RTC.

  ****

  Inspector Gabe Ronson, Gabriel to his mother, was fastidious in everything that he did. He paid his bills on time, had never held a loan or a credit card because interest was so untidy, and when his side-parted, obediently straight, brown hair looked like it was even threatening to touch an earlobe, he had it barbered ruthlessly into submission with a trip to Robbie ‘Weekend’ Boyle, the man his father had first taken him to at the age of two. His mother had cried of course, at the thought of his blond baby curls hitting the glossy tiled barber-shop’s floor. That was why she hadn’t accompanied them, although of course she’d cried again when they’d got home and his unruly tendrils were no more.

  It had taught Gabe two things early on in life: women cried for reasons he didn’t understand, and unruliness in life could be controlled. It was a short stride to studying law at university (he’d never met a law he didn’t worship) and then on to implementing order in the PSNI. The force was his natural home; strict rules and a short haircut, to what higher causes could a man aspire?

  Of course the force wasn’t all neat and tidy; there were touchy feely types working there like everywhere else, and all manner of messy crimes. Which was why he’d moved to the traffic division, where things were comfortingly black and white and a misbehaving driver’s excuse was rarely hard to ignore. He especially enjoyed it when said drivers were on the job; there was nothing like giving an assistant chief constable a speeding ticket to brighten up his day. Add in all the measurements and regulations, and neat gadgets like tyre gauges, drug wipes and breathalyser machines, and Ronson’s eyes closed the moment he hit the pillow at night and all his dreams were satisfying scenarios of clamping and towing away.