Looking For A Reason (#4 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series)

by Frances di Plino

  “And all the emails were sent using the club’s IP address?”

  Mike nodded.

  “At least that’s a starting point,” Paolo said. “Trouble is, the sender could be anyone. There’s no way of knowing which computer was used?”

  Mike shrugged. “Well, yes, if I had access to the machines, I could probably find traces, but I’m not a magician. I can’t wave a wand over the building and say it was the computer housed in that room. One thing I do know, the messages were sent from the internet, not from a land based email server.”

  “Sorry,” Paolo said, “what does that mean?”

  “That’s one of the things I would have explained if you’d let me,” Mike said, sighing. “Most computer users have programmes designed to keep emails tidily in one place. Mr Mason, for example, was using Outlook.”

  Paolo nodded. He used it as well, so felt on familiar ground for a change.

  “Well, if you wanted to, you can access incoming emails and send outgoing messages via the internet without using such a programme. This means none of the emails would be stored on a computer. They would all be online and accessible from anywhere, such as internet cafes or friends’ computers.”

  “So how would you know if a computer had been used? I mean, if it was all done on the internet and not sent using Outlook or one of the other programmes?”

  “If I had access to the machine, I could probably pick it up from the browsing history.”

  “Okay, but you don’t have that access, so how do you know the emails were sent from inside the club?”

  Again Mike sighed. Paolo was beginning to think he should have let him go through his talk in the first place.

  “Because, as I explained earlier, Mr Mason’s computer retained shadows of the emails he’d received. By accessing…” He stopped, as if searching for the right words. “By looking behind the email itself, I could find the information on which server had been used and when.”

  “And all that information is in your report?”

  Mike nodded and grinned. “To my mind, it’s in layman’s terms, but if there’s anything you don’t understand, or need additional information on, my number is on the first page.”

  “I’ve got a horrible feeling I’ll be calling you to ask about something I see as too complex to cope with, but what you’ll think of as baby questions,” Paolo said. “Still, I’ll try to get to grips with it and not show myself up too much.”

  Paolo walked down with Mike, feeling bad that he hadn’t allowed him to give the lecture he’d so clearly prepared and looked forward to giving.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I stopped you mid-flow at the beginning. It’s just that I could see my team had switched off. We’re not very good with the behind the scenes techy stuff, but really appreciate what you guys can do.”

  Mike smiled. “Most of my friends are in the same line of work as me, so we all tend to think everyone is as interested in the nuts and bolts as we are. If there is a next time, I’ll keep it to the facts and leave out the way I uncovered them. I come from Bradchester, you know. Grew up here. Any chance of being taken on by you guys on a permanent basis?”

  “I wish there was,” Paolo said. “I’d love to have someone with your abilities on my team, but I know there’s no point in asking upstairs. Budget restrictions mean I can’t even take another PC on to my team. But if that situation ever changes, I’ll be in touch.”

  He shook Mike’s hand and turned to go back upstairs. As he went past the desk, he heard his name being called. Turning back, he went to find out what the duty sergeant wanted.

  “Fella came in to see you last night, sir. Wouldn’t leave his name. Said he had information to do with the youth centre. Tall bloke, has a ponytail.”

  An image of Derrick Walden came to mind.

  “Did you get the impression it was urgent? Does he want me to call him?”

  “Nah, I asked him that and he said it could wait until he came back again. Just that he had some info you could make use of.”

  “Did he say when he planned to come back?”

  The sergeant shook his head. “No, but I said to call first to make sure you’re here. No point in him cluttering up the place if you’re out, is there? Anyway, he said he’ll give you a ring later today to set up a time.”

  “Thanks, John,” Paolo said, thinking that if Derrick didn’t call today, he’d drop by and see him tomorrow. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be urgent or he’d have said so.

  Back in the main office, Paolo found a discussion about Montague well under way.

  “I think that’s our motive for suicide,” CC said. “If his ability to pay had dried up and there was a chance of his private activities being discussed in the press, that would be enough for him to decide he had no other way out.”

  Paolo nodded. “I agree. If you add to that the chances of compromising photographs appearing in the papers, he couldn’t have lived with the public disgrace.”

  “So, not paying to cover his mother’s shame, but his own,” Dave added.

  “Exactly,” Paolo said. “Come on, Dave, it’s time for yet another visit to our favourite club. I wonder what they’ll do to keep us out this time.”

  Part of Paolo’s mind had been running on his private life since Jessica had dropped her bombshell, but by the time Dave pulled in to the club’s car park and switched off the ignition, he’d made a decision. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

  “Do you mind if I ask you something, sir?” Dave asked, turning to face Paolo.

  “I can’t promise to answer, but you can ask.”

  “Before you got married, in the lead up to it, did you ever wish you could just take off and tie the knot without anyone else being there?”

  Paolo thought back to the early days with Lydia. God, they’d been so much in love. He nodded.

  “I think every male who has ever contemplated marriage has felt that way. Probably quite a high percentage of the brides as well. What makes you ask?”

  “Rebecca’s mother,” Dave said with such a resigned look on his face that Paolo couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Tough going?”

  Dave nodded. “Every day there’s something. It’s either a rehearsal, or choosing stuff, or making lists. And I don’t know why I even get included. Whatever I say is wrong. If I pick something, she ends up doing the exact opposite. I don’t think my future mother-in-law is overjoyed with Rebecca’s choice, to be honest.”

  Remembering Lydia’s mother’s attitude to him, Paolo sighed.

  “It’s in the genes, Dave. You’ll never be good enough for her daughter, but that shouldn’t worry you. You’re marrying Rebecca, not her mother. When the ceremony’s over, it’ll be just the two of you, so grit your teeth and put up with the nonsense. As they say, it’s the bride’s day and Rebecca’s mother is just trying to make it all perfect for her little girl.”

  “Fair enough,” Dave said, “but if I end up murdering my future mother-in-law, I fully expect you to speak up on my behalf saying I did it while my mind was unbalanced due to extreme stress.”

  “You’re on,” Paolo said, opening his door. “Come on, let’s go and upset Mr Baron. Someone in this club caused Montague to kill himself and I want to know who.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  As they approached the building, it struck Paolo how very respectable it looked. The old saying about judging books by their cover could have been coined for exactly this situation. Montague, and presumably countless others, used the club as a place to gratify his particular sexual needs, but if the blackmailer was to be believed, the men on the receiving end weren’t enjoying the attention. On the other hand, that wasn’t for him to judge. Some people enjoyed masochism and good luck to them. As long as it was legal and by mutual consent, Paolo didn’t have a problem with what people did to get their kicks. It was when people were coerced, or too young, that he had issues. Which way the club operated, legal or illegal, would come out in time, but there was a blackma
iler in there and Paolo intended to find out who it was.

  There were few cars in the car park, so presumably no special events were on for today. Knowing a bit more now about what went on upstairs, Paolo wondered exactly what sort of special event he’d interrupted last time. No wonder George and Chaz had been in such a state about their unannounced visit.

  Oh well, time to find out what sort of reception they received this time. As they reached the top of the steps, the door swung open and Chaz appeared.

  “Good day to you. Have you come to see Mr Baron?”

  Taken aback by the warmth of the welcome and immediately on his guard, Paolo nodded. “Yes, is he in?”

  “He’s in his office. If you could just wait here a moment, I’ll call him for you.”

  Less than a minute after Chaz put his phone back in his pocket, George Baron appeared. Walking briskly towards them across the vestibule, he nodded to Chaz, who disappeared through a doorway Paolo hadn’t noticed on their previous visits. When the door closed, it blended in perfectly with the décor, hidden unless you knew where to look.

  “That’s how Chaz knew you were outside,” George said. “It’s a cubby hole with viewpoints into here and out to the car park. Chaz keeps an eye on things for me without anyone knowing he’s there. I take it you’ve come to talk about Montague Mason?” he said.

  “Now, why would you think that?” Paolo asked.

  George shrugged. “I read about his suicide in the papers. He was a member here, so I assumed you were following up on aspects of his life. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “Yes and no,” Paolo said. “Can we go through to your office?”

  George nodded. “Certainly, follow me.”

  As they passed through Trudy’s domain, George stopped. “Coffee?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. If we could go through to your office, I’d be happy. I’ve a number of questions to ask and would like to get them over with,” Paolo said.

  “What about you, young man?” George said. “Or do you have to follow the boss’s lead?”

  Dave shook his head. “Not for me, thanks.”

  George opened the door and stood back for them to enter. Taking up the same seats as the last time they’d been in the room, Paolo waited for George to settle before opening up with his first question.

  “How do you advertise what goes on upstairs, George? We know there’s a sex club operating up there, but it’s not the kind of thing you can put an ad for in the paper. By the way, what tastes exactly do you cater for?”

  Paolo thought George couldn’t have looked any more innocent had he been a new-born baby. The look of offended outrage was perfectly executed. Paolo guessed it was Baron’s way of sticking two fingers up without actually raising his hand.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I assumed you simply wanted confirmation that Montague was a member. The answer to that is yes, he was a very valued and well-liked member. This is a club for gentlemen to do business. It isn’t a sex club and I have no idea why you would think such a thing.”

  Paolo sat forward. “We have proof Montague Mason was being blackmailed over what he got up to here. The person sending the blackmail emails did so from this club. Whoever that was seemed to think there were, shall we say, unpleasant sexual activities going on. Montague had been leaving a holdall full of cash outside behind your bins for more than a year and a half. Why would he have paid if there was nothing in the allegations the blackmailer made?”

  This time Paolo would have sworn the look on George’s face was genuine. He hadn’t known about the blackmail. About the sex activities, definitely, but not about the blackmail.

  “A blackmailer? That’s not possible,” he said. “My staff were handpicked by Chaz. They are trustworthy and would never…” His voice trailed off, almost as if he’d realised what he said confirmed the existence of the upstairs activities.

  “What I mean is, there’s nothing to blackmail anyone about. You must be mistaken.”

  Paolo smiled. “Not mistaken at all. We have email evidence that proves the emails were sent from inside this club. The contents of those emails are graphic enough to convince me, and probably a jury, that some of the participants in the activities are not necessarily willing to take part. I believe restraints are used to ensure compliance.”

  George shrugged. “If that were the case, and I’m not saying it is, what goes on between consenting adults in a private venue has nothing to do with the law. Times have changed, thank goodness. Those whose tastes run outside the so-called norms are now allowed by law to indulge.”

  “Yes, as long as they are consenting adults. But it seems someone here decided to make some money out of those indulging their tastes. It might not even be a member of staff. It could be another member, or even one of those who have been used and abused and decided it was payback time. I take it you have a computer room here for your members?”

  George nodded. “And wifi downstairs.”

  “Only downstairs?” Paolo said. “Scared of what might get sent out if people had wifi upstairs?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” George said. “I told you, this is a businessmen’s club. Upstairs is not where business is conducted. There are private bedrooms for members to use.”

  Paolo nodded. “Yes, I know how they’re used. By way, I discovered what the Triple B stands for and it has nothing to do with your name.”

  George Baron laughed. “You know more than I do, then. Come on, spit it out. What d’you think it stands for?”

  Paolo leaned forward. “I don’t think, George, I know. Bondage, buggery and brutality, but not necessarily in that order.”

  “You’re making some pretty wild accusations. I could have you for police harassment.”

  “I don’t think so. Didn’t I just tell you we’ve got proof? The blackmailer gave lots of interesting details to convince Montague to cough up. Why would he have paid if none of it was true? No, George, we’d like to take a look at your upstairs rooms. If you’ve got nothing to hide, why not show us around now?”

  “I’d love to. All you need to do is show me the warrant and off we go.” He grinned. “What? No warrant? Shame on you. You can’t go poking around in private clubs without a warrant. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a coffee before you go?”

  “Quite sure,” Paolo said, standing up. “My colleague and I are going to leave you in peace for now, but we will come back and, when we do, you can be sure I’ll have a warrant firmly clutched in my hand.”

  George rose as well and held out his hand. Paolo ignored it.

  “Montague Mason wasn’t a friend of mine, whatever the press might think, but he was driven to suicide by someone operating from these premises. I’m going to find out who. I’m also going to find out whether or not all the participants are here willingly, or being coerced into taking part in your sordid games. I haven’t forgotten why you were at the youth centre. I’ve looked at your ad. You want young men of a certain age and they must be prepared to live in. You’re not looking to help unfortunate young men into employment; you’re looking for vulnerable people who can be exploited. Where do they stay, George, these young men you give jobs to? In the rooms upstairs, waiting to be serviced?”

  “Get out! Get out and take your sidekick with you. You won’t get back in without a warrant and you’ve got no chance of getting one. I’ve broken no laws, so just fuck off and don’t bother coming back.”

  Happy that his last barb had hit home, Paolo waited for Dave to leave before turning back to George.

  “I’ll get that warrant; you can bet your life on it.”

  Paolo was still fuming when Dave pulled out of the car park and into the traffic.

  “You really think we’ll be able to get a warrant, sir?” Dave asked.

  “I don’t know, to be honest. I let him rile me, which was stupid. There’s definitely something upstairs he doesn’t want us to see, but a judge is not going to sign off on a warrant on the strength of my feelings. Even the
blackmail angle, as Mike said, the emails were sent using the club’s IP address, but not from an email programme, so it could have been another member. It could have been a cleaner, barman, anyone. Damn, I could have handled that better. Anyway, I’m going to try for a warrant. The blackmailer definitely used the club’s premises.”

  They drove in silence until they reached the station, then as Dave turned off the ignition, he turned to Paolo.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but you’ve been a bit preoccupied the last few days. Anything I can help with?”

  Paolo shook his head. “No, just a decision I had to make. I’ve made it. Now I’ve got to act on it and I know I’m not going to like the results.”

  Dave raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Not work related, Dave. Private life a mess, as usual.” Paolo laughed. “I have no idea why you always ask me to help you sort out your personal life, I make a bloody mess of my own every chance I get.”

  Dave grinned. “That’s why I ask you for advice, sir, to learn from your mistakes. I figure you’ve got so much experience of getting things wrong, you can tell me how to get things right.”

  ***

  Paolo tidied his desk, ready to leave for the evening. Jessica was still in Bradchester and he’d arranged for her to come over to his place. It was his turn to cook and he was ready to tell her his decision. He looked around his office. Every item, from the pictures of his family to the police issue calendar, meant something to him. Leaving to go to Canada wasn’t just a case of packing his bags; it would mean packing up his entire life.

  He was about to switch off his office light when the phone rang. Sighing, he went back over to his desk to answer it.

  “Storey.”

  “Am I through to Detective Inspector Storey?”

  “Yes, is that Derrick Walden?”

  “It is, but how did you know?”

  “Firstly, I’ve been expecting a call from you and secondly, you have a very distinctive London accent. Anyway, I believe you have some information for me?”