The Coercion Key

by Catriona King

  Craig shook his head. “There’s no point speculating, Mr Wallace. We’ll sort all that out later.”

  Craig thought about going over the events with the young man again but a glance at his pale skin and reddening eyes said that he’d had quite enough for tonight.

  “Thank you for being so helpful, Mr Wallace. I think you should go home now and get some sleep. A constable will contact you in the morning.” Craig turned to enter the apartment block then thought of something and turned swiftly back again. “Just one more question. How do people gain access to the development?”

  Wallace stared at the high gates that separated the exclusive apartments from the road and then back at Craig. “Electronic gate opener.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a fob, holding it out to Craig. “We get them from the managing agents. Only apartment owners have them, although several people have rented their apartments out now, so I suppose…”

  Craig finished the sentence. “Any tenant would have one.”

  Craig smiled again and nodded Wallace to continue on his way. He walked back to where John was standing with a C.S.I.

  “Ready?”

  John nodded and they headed for Victoria Linton’s fifth-floor apartment. Penthouse would have been a better name for it. As they walked through the heavy front door Craig gasped. He’d seen some amazing homes in his time, especially during his years in London, but this was up there with the best. The door opened directly into an open-plan living area of over one thousand square metres. The back wall held a modern kitchen, with steel appliances and every gadget known to man. The front was made of ceiling-to-floor glass and gave a view over the river at Stranmillis that Craig could only dream he had. He smiled, thinking of his small two-bedroomed place. Quaint was how Julia had always described it, scruffy would have been nearer the truth. He was hardly ever there so it hadn’t seemed to matter, but…

  John watched Craig’s face as he scanned the room and hoped he was doing more than admiring the drapes. He was, and something was niggling at him. Without preamble Craig crossed to a wide black desk by the window and scanned the items neatly arranged on top. Pens, in and out trays, a docking station and a computer mat. So far so ordinary for a professional of any sort. There was nothing out of place on the desk; in fact there was nothing out of place anywhere in the room. Victoria Linton must have had O.C.D. Then he saw what was wrong. Where was the computer that went with the docking station? Craig scanned the room and then turned to John.

  “Has anyone taken her computer?”

  “Yes. It was a laptop. Forensics are taking it back for examination.”

  “Where is it now?”

  John waved towards a white-suited C.S.I. in the corner and Craig crossed the room to her in three strides.

  “Have you got the laptop from that desk?”

  The girl looked up at him, her small face almost enveloped by the hood of her white jump-suit. “Yes, sir. But it wasn’t on the desk; it was on the settee when we arrived. Did you want to have a look at it?”

  She stared pointedly at Craig’s un-gloved hands and handed him a pair, then she extricated a sleek laptop from its sterile wrapping and opened it towards him, pressing the ‘on’ key. As it booted-up, Craig thought quickly. Forensics would work with Davy to dig into the deeper files, but it wasn’t something deep that he was looking for. Whatever had made Victoria Linton kill herself was either going to be obvious or it wasn’t going to be on her computer at all.

  A moment later the computer’s desktop screen appeared, devoid of personal images. The only images on it were shortcuts to documents archived elsewhere. Craig stared at it for a moment then he shook his head and looked at the C.S.I.

  “Was there anything else near where you found this? Anything at all?”

  The girl went to say no then she stopped, remembering something. She placed the laptop carefully on one side and rifled through a pile of evidence bags. After a moment’s search she beckoned another C.S.I. across.

  “Damien, you cleared this room, didn’t you?”

  The middle-aged man nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  “Did you find anything near the laptop?”

  “Aye, loads of stuff.” He pointed to a plastic crate set in one corner then lifted a clipboard and ran his finger down a page. “It’s all in there; bags marked twenty-three to ninety-six.” He turned over the sheet and tapped the one beneath. “That’s the list.”

  “Thanks.”

  The girl turned towards the crate and Craig followed. John stood with his arms folded, watching the pair. Craig was like a dog after a bone and that usually meant that there was a bone to find. Two minutes later four evidence bags were spread out on the floor.

  Their contents were curious. A white jiffy bag addressed to their victim at an office called Linton and Roche. So Victoria Linton had her own chambers now, well done her. A wine glass with a residue of red wine in it, waiting to be tested for contaminants. An open felt-tipped pen and a hair clasp. Anything that the C.S.I.s thought Linton might have touched immediately before her death.

  Craig pictured the deceased woman’s evening. She’d come home from work and dumped her coat and briefcase beside the front door, then she’d poured a class of wine and sat down with her computer, loosening her hair. Was she at her desk or on the settee at that point? She didn’t strike him as the sort to drink at her desk.

  He turned back to the C.S.I. “Where was the wine found?”

  The girl turned to ask Damien the question but he was nowhere to be seen. She walked into another room and returned a minute later with an exasperated shrug. “Damien’s disappeared. I’ll check later and let you know for sure, but we cluster items by location and these are listed as being together, so I’d say the wineglass was found near the laptop. By the settee.”

  Craig frowned, unconvinced by her conjecture. “OK, thanks.”

  He returned to the story of Victoria Linton’s evening. If Linton had poured herself a glass of wine to drink while she sat on the settee looking at her laptop, it’s unlikely that she was working. The whole act implied relaxation. Was she going to surf the Net? Perhaps. But then why was something posted to her at work sitting nearby?

  Craig seized the jiffy bag urgently and held it under a light. The postmark was April 4th; the Friday before, which meant that the envelope would have been delivered to Linton’s chambers on Saturday or Monday. So whatever it contained had been delivered to her office and she’d brought it home, then sat down at the computer with a glass of wine to look at it? Why would she have done that with something related to work? And then there was the hairpin. Victoria Linton had long thick hair that she tortured into submission for work, removing the pin said she was relaxing, or that someone else had wanted her to relax.

  Craig turned to John. “John, was there any sign of a boyfriend here this evening?”

  “None. There were no male clothes or shaving gear either, so maybe the neighbour was right and he’d dumped her.”

  Craig frowned. Victoria Linton hadn’t struck him as the sort to kill herself over a man, but you never knew.

  “OK.”

  Just then Liam loped in, looking as if he’d been dragged through a hedge. Craig laughed at how they must both have appeared.

  “Hi, boss. What’s up Doc?”

  John rolled his eyes. “You love saying that, don’t you?”

  “Yep.”

  Craig’s voice was urgent. “Liam, I’m glad you’re here. Go and find out where Julian, the victim’s boyfriend, was this evening.”

  “And hello to you too.”

  “Hello. Now go and do it.”

  Liam raised an eyebrow quizzically at John. John shrugged and shook his head. Universal shorthand for ‘God knows what he’s up to’.

  “Aye well, does this Julian have a second name?”

  “You’re a detective. Detect.”

  Craig turned back to his puzzle as John and Liam filtered out of the room. When they were on the stairs Liam asked the question. “W
ho rattled his cage?”

  “Four deaths will do that to a man. Uniform should have the boyfriend’s name; let’s find them.”

  Craig returned to his evidence bags and ran through them one by one, adding detail to Vicky Linton’s story. She’d finished work that evening, they could check the time with her office, then she’d come home, poured herself some wine, loosened her hair and removed the jiffy bag from her briefcase. Or removed the bag then poured the wine, etc. The order didn’t matter, what mattered was that she was treating post that she’d received at work in a personal way. Why?

  Craig scrutinised the jiffy bag again and wanted to kick himself. In one corner, almost obscured by fingerprint powder, was a word that confirmed his thought process: ‘Private’. He’d been right.

  Craig shook his head again. OK, so the envelope was marked ‘private’, but he got private things at work every day; they usually turned out to be someone offering him an ISA and went straight in the bin. This envelope had to have contained something personally important for Linton to bring it home. But if the envelope had contained something personal and it had been sent to her at work then again, why? Why not simply post it to her home?

  Craig parked the question behind the much bigger one that still needed an answer. What had been in the jiffy bag? He grabbed the clipboard and ran his finger quickly down the list, there was something missing. Craig turned to the young C.S.I. who had been staring at him curiously the whole time.

  “Where’s the fifth exhibit?”

  “What?”

  “You said the exhibits were numbered. Forty-two to forty-six are listed as being found together on the settee; that makes five exhibits. I only found four. Number forty-six is missing.”

  She stared at Craig blankly for a moment then nodded and rifled through the crate, pulling out the final bag. “Sorry. It was mis-filed.”

  As the girl held out the small plastic bag a smile lit up Craig’s face. This was it. This was what he’d been looking for. If he was right it would solve all four of their murders, not just this one.

  Chapter Six

  By the time they’d finished at the scene it was six a.m. so the three men decamped to Craig’s flat for breakfast, such as it was. Craig took a shower first while Liam rifled through the fridge, searching for something edible amongst the cans of beer.

  “You could open a pub with this lot, but there’s no food.”

  Craig couldn’t hear him so Liam yelled louder, eliciting a reply from the depths of the shower. “Well, nip down to the deli on the corner then, it opens early. I’ll have a ham croissant.”

  Liam made a face and turned to John. “What do you fancy, Doc?”

  “I’ll just have coffee, thanks. I’ll put it on while you’re out.”

  Twenty minutes later they were fed and watered and it was Liam’s turn to get clean. Craig dressed in his suit and poured himself a fresh espresso then he turned to John with an eager look.

  “How quickly can I get my hands on that exhibit, John?”

  John smiled. Even his curiosity had been piqued by Craig’s discovery. The fifth exhibit had been a silver-coloured computer memory stick.

  “Ask Des, forensics is his domain. They’ll have to print it, check it for viruses and download the contents before they’ll let you see it. Why not just get him to e-mail you a copy of the files?”

  Craig shook his head. “No. I want to take a look at the memory stick itself. I’m positive there’s something significant about it. More than just the contents of its files.” He glanced at his watch and made a decision. “I’ll come to the lab with you now and see Des. Liam can start things back at the ranch.”

  As Craig said his name, Liam wandered into the living room draped in a minuscule towel. It looked ridiculous against his six-feet-six of blue-white flesh. John burst out laughing and Craig shook his head.

  “That’s a hand towel, Liam! There were two bath sheets sitting on the stool.” He made a face and pushed his coffee away. “I never thought anything could put me off my coffee but you’ve just managed it.” Liam turned to one side and posed like Rodin’s ‘Thinker’.

  “Ah now, you’re just jealous. Sure you’d love muscles like this.” John smiled and shook his head.

  “You look like a giant milk bottle, Liam. Hurry up and get dressed.”

  Craig laughed. “I’m heading into the lab with John. You can take my car to the C.C.U.”

  Liam’s towel looked perilously close to giving way under the strain of his paunch so Craig headed for the door and threw his car-keys on top of his clothes.

  “Just pull the door behind you when you leave.”

  Craig pulled the front door behind them and they wandered down to John’s car. John drove slowly up the Stranmillis Road towards its junction with the Malone. After a few minutes silence he spoke, in a confiding voice.

  “I did it.”

  Craig responded distractedly. “Did what?”

  “Set a date. Last night.”

  “You got married last night?”

  John sighed and explained himself slowly, as if he was talking to a child. He might as well have been for the length of Craig’s attention span. Until Craig had that memory stick in his hand he wouldn’t listen to anything.

  “We set the date for the wedding last night. The second of August. It’s a Saturday.”

  Craig turned in his seat. “This August? You’re kidding!”

  “No, I’m not kidding. There’s no point hanging about and I wanted to get married on the same day my parents did.”

  Craig laughed incredulously. “Have you any idea how long it takes to plan a wedding, John?”

  “Ah, well now, that’s where you’re wrong. It takes years if it’s one of those frothy Northern Irish jobs, where you have to invite the world and his wife, but we’re not having that.”

  Craig smiled, knowing exactly what was coming next.

  “We’re getting married abroad. We haven’t decided where yet. And instead of paying twenty grand for a bunch of bridesmaids and a mediocre meal, we’re going to fly a select few guests out for the ceremony.”

  Craig smiled. It was exactly what he would do, in his case the venue would have to be Italy somewhere, otherwise he’d never hear the end of it from his mum, but his money was on John choosing somewhere much farther afield.

  “Where are you thinking of?”

  “We’ve a shortlist of the Caribbean, the Azores and the Seychelles. Somewhere with great weather and lots to drink.”

  “Good for you. At least now Natalie will stop sending you pictures of flower arrangements.”

  John nodded, looking relieved. “Book the time off now, will you? And the rest of your team.”

  Craig smiled. John didn’t have any relatives except an elderly aunt in Carryduff, so Craig’s family and team were pretty much it.

  “They’ll love it. Give me the list of people you want to go as soon as possible and I’ll organise their leave.”

  “Don’t tell them why though. Natalie wants it to be a surprise when the invitations arrive.”

  Craig laughed at the image of Liam in a sarong. After this morning’s exhibition the image made him shudder. John turned off the Saintfield Road and they parked at the lab. Craig jumped out first.

  “I’m heading up to see Des. I’ll be with you in ten minutes.”

  “Victoria Linton’s body has arrived so I’ll be in the dissection room. Join me there.”

  Craig took the lift to the third floor and knocked on a white door embellished ‘Dr Desmond Marsham. Head of Forensic Science.’

  He smiled, he’d never thought of Des as a Desmond before and he was certain that Liam didn’t know that was his name, otherwise he would have been slagging him about it for years and playing Desmond Dekker songs whenever he got a chance. Des and John worked well as a team, pretty much like Liam and him. John with his bodies and Des finding whatever nasty implement had killed them.

  After a few seconds knocking a cheerful voice yelled, “C
ome in.”

  Craig pushed open the door and went to say hello just as Des turned around from his microscope. Craig stopped mid-word, shocked. In place of Des’ normal bushy beard he was sporting a Che Guevara moustache. Craig gawped at him for a moment, not certain what to say, then he told him the truth.

  “My God, Des. You look ten years younger. When did that happen?”

  Des grinned cheerfully and it made him look younger still. “Do you like it?” He stroked his moustache proudly. “Annie made me shave the beard off. She was fed up with people thinking I was her dad.” He smiled confidingly. “To be honest, even I was getting fed up with it. It was bloody itchy.”

  “And it made you look like something out of ZZ Top.”

  Des waved Craig to a chair, talking quickly. “Before you ask, Marc, no, you can’t have the memory stick yet.”

  “How…?”

  “I have my spies.” He tried to look mysterious then caved in. “OK it was Jenny, the C.S.I. at the scene. She told me you stared at it like you’d fallen in love.”

  “I need it, Des, it’s important to the case.”

  “You mean the file on it is?”

  Craig shook his head vehemently. “No. Not just the file, the USB itself is important, I’m sure of it.” Craig realised what Des had said and did a double take. “There was only one file on it?”

  “Yes and a very short one it was. I’ll tell you about it once I’ve explained a few things.” He leaned over and opened a drawer, withdrawing the USB still in its evidence bag. “When we get items of electronic equipment we have to do a number of additional checks on them. It’s not just the usual finger-printing and what have you. We have to test them for booby-traps, explosives, radiation, poisonous deposits, the works. If they pass all of that then we scan them for viruses on a special machine. We can’t just put them in one of our PCs and open them; they could crash the whole system.”

  He turned the evidence bag over in his hand. “Victoria Linton worked in a barrister’s chambers and they would have a closed system as well. So that no USBs but those issued by the chambers could have been used in their computers; they would have been automatically locked out. Yes?”