by S J Grey
“And if you can’t, for whatever reason?”
“Wait one month, and if there’s no news of me, go to the media. Find a crime reporter for the national news and tell them Joss’s story. Let them release the source code far and wide, and then no fucker can benefit from it.”
There were still a thousand questions Emma wanted to ask, but the longer they sat here, the greater the risk he took. “We need to move before you’re seen. Are you sure Mark will be okay?”
“Positive.” He closed his hand around her arm. “He lied if he said he knew me. How well do you trust him?”
“We’ve been together for a year. I love him.”
“Be careful. If he lies about that, what else is he hiding?”
Chapter Ten
They got back into the VW, and Caleb drove to the railway station on the other side of the expressway at a leisurely speed. From here, a short pedestrian tunnel led directly to the shopping centre car park and Mark’s car.
“I hope I can trust you, Em,” Caleb said.
“You can.” She held up her fist, and they knocked knuckles. “Stay safe.”
“You too.” He gunned the engine as soon as she was clear of the car, and headed back onto the expressway.
Without her phone, Emma had no idea of the time, but it felt less than half an hour had passed. She needed to see if Mark was okay. A commuter train pulled in as she walked to the underpass, and a sea of people surrounded her, slowing her progress. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She had to make sure Caleb had enough time to get away. Where would he go? He said he’d been planning this, but how? He’d been in prison. He must have someone helping him.
She emerged from the tunnel and saw Mark’s car, surrounded by two police cars with lights flashing. God. Was he okay? She broke into a run, her pulse beating a tattoo in her brain.
The boot lid was open. The police officers stood in a loose group. There was no ambulance. He must be okay. Why couldn’t she see him?
“Emma.”
She stopped at the shout and turned around.
Mark stood a few yards away, relief blazing across his handsome face. He ran to her, threw his arms around her, and squeezed tight. “Christ, Em. I was so worried. Did he hurt you? How did you escape?”
“I’m fine. Are you okay? How did you get out?”
“I kicked and shouted, and someone called the police. They popped it open. What did the bastard do with my keys? Where did he go?”
She held onto him. She’d no clue how to explain what happened with Caleb. Rather than lying, she needed to stick as closely to the truth as possible.
After one final press against Mark’s body, she pulled back. “He threw your keys into the hedge. Over there.” She pointed. “Let’s go find them.”
“Ms. Blackthorne. I’m relieved to see you unharmed.” DS Miller approached. “I’m afraid we need to ask you some questions.”
“Go on,” said Mark. “I’ll get my keys, and then join you.” He searched her face. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes. Really.”
“Ms. Blackthorne,” said Miller, “come sit in my car.”
She followed him to the dark vehicle and sat in the back, Miller beside her. A uniformed officer climbed into the front and turned around to watch them, notebook in hand.
“I want you to take me through the events of the past hour, please,” said Miller. “In as much detail as you can. But first, do you have any idea where Rush was going and what transport he was using?”
“He stole a car from this carpark. I think it was a European car. Dark green… Maybe blue. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Where is he going?”
This she could be truthful about. “He didn’t tell me. I’ve no idea.”
“You’ve been missing for around thirty minutes. Where did he take you?”
Would they remember her in the café? She hoped not. “He just drove around, and then he dropped me off at the station.”
Miller gazed at her and narrowed his eyes. “Did he threaten you in any way? Try to coerce you into helping him?”
“No. He wanted to talk about Joss. Wanted me to tell him what happened.”
“And did you?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Did he tell you how he escaped from Rimutaka Prison?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you who his accomplices are?”
“No.”
“Did he offer you anything, to persuade you to help him?”
“No.”
“And if he approaches you again, what will you do?”
“I’ll call the police.” She made it sound obvious. “He took my phone off me and smashed Mark’s. There was nothing I could do.”
“Forgive me for being blunt, but you seem very calm for someone who’s been held at knifepoint for the last half-hour.”
Warmth filled her cheeks, but Emma kept her gaze locked on Miller. “I was in no danger. Caleb wouldn’t hurt me. And like I said, he just wanted to know about Joss. We talked about her, and then he dropped me off, and I came to look for Mark.”
“Where did he go? You said he drove around. Where?”
“The car park. And then over to the station.”
“So when we check the shopping centre CCTV, we may be able to see him. This section doesn’t have any cameras, but there are some closer to the mall. We’re about to review the footage.”
Shit. Would they be seen at the café? Caleb had been looking out for cameras, so hopefully not.
“It’s a puzzle, why he broke out,” said Miller. “He was up for parole soon. Now when we catch him, they’re likely to throw away the keys.”
It wasn’t a question, so Emma stayed quiet.
“Okay. Let’s go back to the moment he arrived at your house. Walk me through it, please.”
This was easier to describe, and Mark must have already given his account of events. She talked through Caleb’s arrival, and then how he abducted her and locked Mark in his car.
“And even though he held a knife to your throat, you don’t believe you were in any danger?”
“I did at first. But then we started talking, and he apologised for scaring me.”
“Hmm.”
If only this were a bad dream and Emma could wake to find herself in bed with Mark. That wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. She had enough of being questioned, though.
She ran her fingers through her hair—beyond frizzy in this humidity—and tried to stop the tears that threatened to fall. “Please, detective, can I go now? I just want to go home and forget about this.”
Mark stood outside the car, one hand resting on the roof. She felt comforted by his presence. No matter what Caleb said, she could trust Mark. Couldn’t she?
There were a few more questions—details to be clarified, about the clothes Caleb was wearing—and then she was free to leave. She walked into Mark’s embrace, and he held her tight.
“We’re going to pick up the cat and go straight to your mum’s. I want you as far away from here as possible. Does he know where your parents live?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. Lying to Mark made her feel bad. How many more lies would she tell, before this nightmare was over?
“I can’t tell you how worried I was,” he said, his voice choked, “when I walked into the house and saw him with you. That moment is going to stay with me for a long time.” He held her hand for most of the short drive home, squeezing her fingers occasionally, as though reassuring himself she was there. The show of affection made her feel warm inside.
She had some questions for him, but they could wait until she had his full attention. She held off until Mark parked the car outside her house, and then twisted in her seat, to look at him.
“You said you were friends with Caleb, that you knew him from Uni, but he says he’s never seen you before.”
Surprise and hurt flickered over Mark’s face. “There were a lot of students in our int
ake. He may not remember me, or he may be lying.” He sat back and chewed on his lip. He did that when he was thinking. “You’ve had a traumatic experience this afternoon, and I guess you’re in shock. I can prove I studied with him. Student names for each term are recorded. Let me show you.”
He patted his pocket and scowled. “That’s right. He trashed my phone. I’ll need to get it replaced.”
That reminded Emma. She leaned forwards and flicked open the glove box. “There’s one in here. Whose is it?”
Her phone lay abandoned, but it was on its own. Huh?
Mark gave her the side-eye. “That’s yours, love.”
“There was another.”
“What?”
“When we left, Caleb put my phone in here, and I saw another one. It was silver. I only got a glimpse of it, but it was different to yours. Smaller screen.”
He frowned. Either he was genuinely puzzled, or he was a better actor than Emma believed. “That’s weird.”
“It’s gone. Who could have taken it?”
“Sweetheart, are you completely and totally sure you saw a phone? It wasn’t something else?”
“Something else, like what? I know what I saw.”
Mark stuck his hand in the glove box and sifted through the other items in there. A manual for the Bluetooth setup. A tiny first-aid kit. Tissues. Chewing gum. A flyer for the local sandwich bar, and another with pizza discount vouchers. The pizza advert showed a full-sized cellphone with the ordering options displayed on the screen.
Mark handed her the flyer. “Sure you didn’t see this and think it was a phone?”
“No. I know what I saw.”
“Think back,” he urged, his voice gentle. “He locks me in the boot, then forces you into the car with God only knows what threats. He takes your phone and dumps it in the glovebox, and in that split-second, you see something that looks like another phone. Is that possible?”
That wasn’t how it happened, but Emma hesitated. For whatever reason, Mark wanted her to believe his version of the truth. Caleb was right. Mark was lying to her, and the idea made her feel ill.
Chapter Eleven
Emma didn’t understand why Mark was lying. What did he hope to gain? She needed some time, to figure out this new development.
As she walked with him into the house, she mentally sifted back through his behaviour. His attitude when he found Caleb in the kitchen made her pause. Mark was calm and in control, and not freaking out in the slightest. When they found Joss in the river, he didn’t hesitate to scramble into the water to pull her out. And there was his confidence around the police. He wasn’t cowed by them or intimidated in the slightest.
She was drawn to his confidence, and had been from the start, but his actions seemed more than that.
Was he really an accountant? Or something more sinister?
She scoffed at herself. Her imagination was working overtime. There’d be a mundane reason for his lies, and she wasn’t ready to unpick them right now. She longed for her parents’ honest and unconditional love and affection.
“While you’re away,” said Mark, “I’ll see if the landlord has any objection to my fitting security lights and a couple of cameras. It’ll make me happier if we have some perimeter protection.”
“Listen to you,” she said, trying to make her voice light, but failing. “How do you know so much about it?”
He gave her an amused smile. “I worked for a security-alarm fitter in the summer vacation one year. It was good experience.”
The traffic was light, going into the city. Most of the commuters were leaving for the day and streaming in the opposite direction. The clouds hung low over the tower blocks, and Emma shivered, despite the warmth of the day.
Mark squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay. The police will catch him soon, and then we can put this behind us.”
“Talking of police— I’m supposed to go tomorrow, to do a formal identification.”
“I can take you.”
“Don’t be silly. It doesn’t make sense, for you to ferry me everywhere.”
“Call that detective, then. DS Miller. Ask if you can delay it a few days.”
They were stopped at a set of lights.
Mark looked at her. “I don’t like the idea of you being anywhere on your own at the moment. Not until that bastard is behind bars again.”
“Okay.” It was easier to agree than to open the can of worms about whether or not Mark really knew Caleb.
They stayed silent until they reached Emma’s office block.
Mark parked right outside. “I’ll wait here,” he said.
The working day was over, and she needed to use her swipe card, to gain access to the building. She didn’t encounter anyone on her ride to the fourth floor or across the open-plan space to her desk. That was the pattern for the summer months, even when the weather was less than perfect. This close to Christmas, everyone had more exciting places to be than the office.
Everyone except Si. He sat hunched over his keyboard, typing at speed.
“Hi,” said Emma, walking past to her desk, opposite him.
“Hi,” he said absently, then glanced at his watch. “You’re here late.”
“I’ve not been here today. You didn’t notice?”
He looked up, a grin on his face. “I’ve been in a workshop all day, reviewing the security protocols. I wanted to type up my thoughts while they were still fresh. Where have you been?”
“I’ve got a thing I need to take care of. I’ll be working from home until the end of the week.”
He tilted his head to the side, curiosity clear on his face. “A thing? Like a broken car, or a sick person?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Uh oh. It’s not a boyfriend thing, is it?”
Emma disconnected her laptop from the docking station and shoved it into its carry case. “No. Mark’s lovely. We’re fine.”
“Okay. Look, I’m sorry if this is gonna compound your problems, but there’s something I need to tell you. I was about to call you, so it’s great timing.”
Jesus. She was tempted to say, Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know. “What?”
“One of the security steps for the shared portal is to have unique personal identifiers, right?”
She nodded.
“And one of the issues with that, is that different sectors often have records for the same person. Like, you’ll have a central medical record, but if you’ve got a speeding ticket from the police, it won’t be linked. In theory, there could be two Emma Blackthornes. With me?”
“Yes. That’s why we’re spearheading the use of linked IDs.”
“Part of my remit is to establish a process for matching names, so we don’t have duplicates.”
She nodded. God, but she was tired. “Where are you going with this?”
“So I’ve been running some sample data through my algorithms, to test the matching. All unofficial, of course.” He gave her a look that she translated instantly.
“We don’t want to be accused of a privacy breach,” she said.
“Exactly. And so I’ve only been testing people on the project, as well as their partners. Just as test data, you understand. I’ll destroy it when the tests are complete.”
She knew what he’d found. Police records of Emma, when she was interviewed after Bill Doyle died. Or the court transcript of the trial. She was naïve enough to think nobody would ever find out. Pain pinged in her temples, and she rubbed them with her fingertips. “It’s okay, Si. I think I know what you’re talking about.”
He tugged his eyebrows together into a dark V. “You do?”
“It was all over the papers for months. It wasn’t exactly a good time for me, so I don’t talk about it.”
“See, now I’m confused. I know about the trial. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not?”
“No. I’m talking about Mark, and how he only appeared in our systems less than two years
ago.”
“My Mark?”
Si nodded.
She needed to sit down for this. She sank into her chair and gazed at Si, at his short, wild hair that stuck out in all directions at once. He looked more like a rock musician than an IT architect. He was smart—exceedingly so, and he reminded her so much of Caleb, the way he’d lose himself in his data.
“What are you talking about? He’s lived in New Zealand for years. He moved here from the UK when he was in high school,” she said.
“Yeah… no.” Si disconnected his laptop and brought it around to Emma’s desk. “Look. Here are the traces I ran.” He pointed to an unintelligible spreadsheet. “And these are the results for his name and date of birth.” He flicked to another list.
She could read this one. Emma ran her finger down the rows.
Full name—Mark John Penney.
Date of birth—June 10, 1986.
Place of birth—Oxford.
Date of Permanent Resident status in New Zealand in 2004, when he was eighteen.
Passport expiry date looked right.
He was registered to a doctor in Paraparaumu, where they lived.
No police record.
“What am I missing, Si? It looks right,” she said.
“It does, on the surface. But this is where my algorithm comes into play. It searches for all traces of a person. When records were created, and so on, in order to cross-match efficiently. When it’s complete, it’ll give over ninety-five percent accuracy on data integrity.”
“And?”
He sighed and clicked at his spreadsheet. “The date when his records were created, is the same in every case, give or take a day or two. No records of Mark John Penney exist prior to June 2017. Eighteen months ago.”
Emma stared at him. He was serious. “That’s ridiculous. The algorithm must be flawed.”
“That’s one possibility. Another is that, because he’s a migrant, it’s treating the matching process differently. But I tested for that by cross-matching my girlfriend’s data. She’s a Pom, too. Hers didn’t come out like this.”
The day had been too long. Emma could have done without this complication. “What other options are there?”
“One—the algorithm is flawed. Two—his records are sealed. Three—he legally changed his name around this time. And all his other details.” Si counted off the options on his fingers. “Or four—his identity was only created eighteen months ago.”