He passed Hooley a long list of numbers and letters that was indeed more complex than the name of his favourite pet dog, his usual choice. As he looked at the password he heard Roper say. “Don’t worry about remembering it. I have got it stored in my head and you aren’t likely to be here without me.”
The policeman took a deep breath, he’d only been with Roper for a few moments and already he was experiencing the sensation that events were moving outside his control. Of the many questions tumbling around his mind he decided to pick the most obvious.
“Why would it be best for me to have the same level of clearance as you? Don’t you need to be working here for that?”
Roper blinked rapidly: usually this indicated he thought someone had made a statement of the blindingly obvious. Despite having terrible trouble reading other people’s expressions, or emotions, it was always a simple exercise to tell what was going through Roper’s mind. Hooley waited for more information but the younger man had clearly exhausted his current line of conversation.
“Are you saying that I work here now? What about my other job at Scotland Yard, for the very unit you yourself were working for not that long ago?”
Now it was Roper’s turn to look quizzical.
“But how can I do my work without you to help me?”
This strange day was starting to affect his grip on reality. Slumping back in his chair he tried to gather his thoughts. Not only did he have no idea what Roper was talking about; he had just heard the man say he needed his help, something that had never happened before. In situations like this Hooley usually liked to wait for Roper to fill him in on what was going through his mind. His thought processes were so unlike those of anyone else that it sometimes took him a while to explain things. He had long had the impression that Roper held conversations in his own head and then assumed everyone else had heard them.
This time Hooley had a powerful need to get up to speed with everyone else, so he decided to ignore his usual tactic and move directly to asking what was going on.
“OK Jonathan, from the beginning, what are you talking about?”
The reason he tended to avoid this approach was because asking Roper to fill in the details could lead to him presenting a smorgasbord of the tiniest facts, all delivered on an accurate timeline. For people without perfect recall - which Hooley didn’t possess - it could turn into a grueling test of concentration, but he figured it was the only way forward.
It took about 20 minutes but eventually the mists cleared. It turned out that, as David Cotter suggested, Roper had, at first, been made to feel at home, working on topics that appealed to him and with Cotter as his main point of contact.
But things had steadily unraveled, which made Roper unsettled. This had led to lengthy discussions and they had tried many different solutions before realising the only answer was to get Hooley. Adding real urgency was Roper’s belief that as his problems mounted, a major act of terrorism was imminent. It had been decided, at a senior level, to second the DCI. It seemed that without him being told he was now an honorary Spook. A situation which made him smile as he recalled that his father, who had also been a policeman, had once worked for Special Branch, and often joked to his son that if he had told him anything about it he would be obliged to kill him.
Hooley understood there was little point in making a fuss. A naturally phlegmatic man, he assumed that someone would eventually get around to telling him officially. If they’d assigned his clearance level it must be a done deal. A mischievous thought struck him. His divorce had come through a while back and his former wife was now seeing a teacher. Hooley wondered if his GCHQ access would allow him to dig into the man’s background. They had met briefly on the doorstep of his former marital home and it was clear to both men that they would never be friends.
This idea sidled into his mind and despite his attempts to dismiss it he knew it was going to stick around for a while; he really did dislike the teacher. Trying to distract himself he checked his watch. To his surprise it was time to think about lunch. “Where do we go to get a cup of coffee and a sandwich round here?”
Roper leapt up, reminding him of a jack in the box. “Good idea. I was so busy talking to you that I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.” He rushed out of the door, moving quickly. He’d always been fast but GCHQ seemed to have turbo-charged him. “When we get back here I want to tell you about what I’ve been working on. I think there is a plot to kill a lot of world leaders.”
Chapter 3
Assistant Deputy Commissioner Julie Mayweather was waiting for a call after the sudden departure of Brian Hooley. He’d gone so quickly he’d only had time to send her the briefest of emails. An hour later and she was sitting in a meeting with the Commissioner, the newly-appointed Sir George Tarrant. Also present was the GCHQ Head of Analysis, Sam Brady, a man she had heard of but never met. To her surprise the head of MI5, Jennifer Cameron, was also present. She said very little, other than to acknowledge her colleagues.
The conversation was led by Brady, who turned out to be a decent sort, apologising for the short notice but stressing it was vital. He said. “I wouldn’t have taken this action unless I could see no other alternative. Your man Roper has made quite an impression and trust me, GCHQ is not filled with people who are easily won over. It’s that remarkable Rainbow Spectrum of his. Since he arrived he’s been helping others try and construct their own versions, but his is still first and best.”
Roper had revealed his extraordinary new way of analysing information during an investigation into murder and people trafficking that was linked to a secret attempt to create a cure for cancer by taking stem cells from young women. The investigation proved so complex he had developed a method of assigning principal colours of the rainbow to individual parcels of information. In turn, this enabled him to make new connections to all the different pieces of information. It was rather like solving a jigsaw puzzle by producing the key shape that no one else had seen.
Mayweather had long ago given up trying to fully understand what he had created. But there was no denying it worked.
Brady accurately read her expression. “He’s explained it to me three times now and I still haven’t got a clue what he’s talking about, but plenty of others do. He’s created something of a storm and was making a difference.”
“Was making a difference?” She instantly picked up on the past tense.
The MI5 man nodded and spread his hands apologetically. “I don’t want to exaggerate but we think there is a problem. Not with his ideas - they’re still perfectly sound - but he just seems to have lost his way. It took us a while to pinpoint what was wrong but we eventually concluded that Roper is lonely. Perhaps not lonely as you and I might see it, but he was missing interaction with one man: Brian Hooley.”
She knew what was coming but wanted Brady to spell it out. He did. “The thing is, I know you’ve already loaned us Roper, now I’m afraid we need your deputy as well. It’s vital we get Roper back on track.
“One of my senior team has likened what’s going on to some sort of fog descending, making him lose his way. What’s making us anxious is that a few weeks ago he was suggesting that some sort of unprecedented collaboration between very different terror groups was taking place. He hadn’t got in to details before the fog descended. I’ve diverted senior analysts to it, but they can’t see anything.
“As you can imagine the fact that we can’t take the initial information forward has sent blood pressures rocketing. Not just here either. We share intelligence with countries all over the world so it’s created issues in Washington, Tel Aviv, Sydney and Paris - to name a few. All are aware of his unique abilities. That’s why we need your help.”
Even before he’d started name-checking world capitals she’d known this wasn’t a request that she would be turning down. She said: “If anyone can get him back on track it’s Brian Hooley. In some respects, they are like chalk and cheese, but in others they seem to bring the best out of each other. I
would have been happy to deal with this over the phone, so thank you for taking the time to tell me yourself. I appreciate it.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied. “If it hadn’t been for you giving Roper a chance in the first place, well we’d never have known what a brilliant analyst he is. I know both you, and Brian Hooley, went out on a limb over him. It’s important people remember that.”
The meeting broke up and she made her way back to the Special Investigations Unit, an elite team of detectives housed in a secure building in Victoria, just a short walk from the main rail terminal.
On the journey back to the office her mind was already turning to the practical steps she needed to take; crucially, who was going to step into Brian Hooley’s shoes? He was a formidable, vastly experienced senior officer, and would be missed. He’d recently suffered a spectacularly difficult marriage break-down, but it had never once impacted on his work.
Back in her own office she was assessing the current case load when Detective Inspector Norman Cleverly appeared in her doorway, an expectant look on his face.
“Tell me,” she said, fearing the worst.
“We’ve had a second attack. This time the victim was snatched in Clapham and his body left in a disused warehouse in Kent, on the fringes of Maidstone. His face had been removed; exactly like the first one.”
Her heart sank. “You say we know he was taken in Clapham. I presume that means we know who he is?”
The Inspector nodded. “The killer left the wallet and driving licence with the body. Because his wife reported him missing straight away local police were able to get confirmation from an unusual birthmark on his right forearm; it looks like a strawberry, only pale brown.
Cleverly shook his head. “The new victim is Tom Bennett; he had a wife and two kids, lived in a very nice house on Clapham Common and was a big player in the telecommunications business.”
She quickly gathered her thoughts, her decision about who would be her acting deputy already decided. “Brian Hooley has been seconded to other duties for a while. Between you and me he’s at GCHQ. I’d like you to take over his role with immediate effect. The first thing you can do is assemble the beginnings of the team to take this investigation on. Are the local police aware yet that this is almost certainly a serial killer at work?”
He shrugged. “We haven’t made contact but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they were wondering. Although the first case was up in Yorkshire, just outside Leeds. It made huge waves because of the way the face was mutilated.”
Her mouth formed a moue of disappointment. “I’m sure you’re right. The best we can hope for is that this stays out of the media as long as possible. Can you get me the contact details for the locals down in Kent and make sure you brief the Press Bureau? I don’t want them to lie, but if any journalists start fishing around they can try and point them in other directions.”
She watched him head-off, impressed that he had taken the promotion in his stride and not wasted time asking questions. For now, it was obviously temporary, but who knew what would happen in the future. She walked to her personal bathroom. The building had once been a Corporate HQ and she was lucky enough to have one for her exclusive use. She wanted to take the chance to freshen up while she could.
Locking the door behind her she pulled out a clean white blouse and bra. She splashed water around before checking herself in the mirror. She was always relieved to find that her face was managing to stay one step ahead of the wrinkles that had engulfed her mother. She put that down to plenty of exercise, good food, no alcohol and the fish oils she had been taking for twenty years. Staring back at her was a woman she liked the look of; fit and slim, short brown hair, expressive brown eyes and looking, in her opinion, pretty good for her fifties. After applying deodorant, she put her fresh clothes on and went back to face the world.
Waiting for Cleverly to finish up his preparations before they left, she couldn't help but think that things would probably be easier if she had her two top men with her. But that negative thought was pushed aside as she recalled Hooley’s recent words.
“We’ve got a good team here who don’t need us to tell them what to do.”
Chapter 4
The young guy at the counter glanced up as Roper walked in, then he reached down and held up a brown paper bag.
“Lunch order completed by us at 12.31pm then handed to you at…” He checked his watch. “12.34pm and 21 seconds.”
Hooley was both amused and impressed. “I see the service around here is right on the money.”
Counter guy, wearing a name badge that said “Nigel”, jumped in. “We’re right on the time, rather than the money. But I guess you being neurotypical explains why you’re more interested in the cash.”
The DCI caught himself before he could reply. Nigel was likely going to be similar to Roper, so anything he said might be examined intently. He went for a safer option. “Could I have a smoked salmon on brown bread, just a little butter, pepper and no cream cheese?”
Nigel handed him another bag. “Order completed by us at 12.25pm, collected by you at.” Another check of the watch. “12.35pm and 42 seconds.”
Hooley was already aware that he was in a unique environment, now he was beginning to understand quite how different it was.
“I take it Jonathan placed the order?”
Nigel, looking impatiently at the queue building behind the DCI, nodded his head.
“Of course he did. We’re not mind readers. He told me last week that you would be here today and that would be the order I needed to prepare. Unless you need anything else, your coffee is ready at the other end of the counter.” This was followed by an emphatic glance at the next person waiting in line.
Hooley moved away and watched Roper collect two take-away cups. As they headed back to the office he reflected he was obviously rather more predictable than he had thought. “Maybe here I am just a number,” he muttered.
Roper pulled a large amount of food out of his bag. “Two chicken and bacon sandwiches on brown bread, two blueberry muffins and two bananas in case I still feel hungry.” It sounded like he was ticking off a check-list.
Hooley studied the younger man for a moment. Despite his eating habits, it was clear that he hadn’t put on any weight since he had last seen him six months ago. With his dark eyes and prominent cheekbones, he was a striking looking man with a semi-detached manner that gave him an enigmatic, almost mysterious air. At least that’s what Hooley thought, although he was well aware that Roper’s former colleagues found him rather more challenging.
Oblivious to this inspection Roper was demolishing his food: both sandwiches had disappeared before Hooley had managed to extract his from its cardboard packaging, something he was embarrassingly bad at. Sandwich finally freed, he couldn’t help being envious of Roper’s prodigious consumption making no difference to his weight. He was still skinny, his six-feet-two-inch frame never filling out. He was tempted to ask where the black suit was but decided that would emerge in the course of events. Roper always had a reason if he suddenly changed his habits.
He was just about to eat when David Cotter walked back in and gave Hooley a rueful smile. “I guess you may have realised that we were much further along than I let on.” He glanced over at Roper. “Jonathan, is this a good time for me to run Brian through the security protocols? It won’t take long then you can get on when he comes back.”
Roper had just taken a huge bite out of his first muffin and sprayed food on his desk when he tried to answer. He started an ineffectual attempt to use his hand to sweep up the crumbs.
Cotter grinned at him. “I’ll take that as yes then. If you need us we’ll be in my office.”
As they made their way along the corridor Hooley remembered he hadn’t done so much walking since the time Jonathan had come to stay with him at his flat in Pimlico.
He followed Cotter into his office and they sat down facing each other over a low table. The man held his hands
up in apology. “I should have been honest from the start, but your transfer here was sanctioned at a very high level so I wasn’t sure how much I was supposed to say. I think all of us here were caught up in the urgency and focussed on the logistics rather than the person.”
Hooley had suspected this was the case. In his experience people in organisations often became entangled in events; there was no need for him to take things personally. It wasn’t as if he had much choice anyway, and if they thought Roper needed his support, then he was glad to help.
As he mulled this over he lapsed into silence, which Cotter attempted to fill. “Let me try to give you all the details. Right from the moment he joined us it was clear that Roper had an emotional connection to you that he doesn’t have with anyone else. This was something we were interested in because Roper has a simple technique when it comes to other people: he tends to shut them out.
“He has developed a pretty decent working relationship with myself and others on the team, but that’s it. Apart from the guy in the coffee shop. Like Roper he struggles with emotion. This seems to be enough for them to build a relationship on.”
He took a drink of water from a bottle on his desk. “I’m getting off topic. The point is that we worked with Roper to create an environment that we thought would allow him to work to his maximum potential, and at first it did. But he has been slowly losing his way. This problem manifested itself just as he started talking about evidence of some sort of global terrorist action, so now we were getting really worried.
The psychologist stared at a point on his desk for a while, gathering himself, then asked. “Has anything like this happened before? Something you have witnessed?”
Hooley nodded. “There was; quite different to what you have just described, but it is worth me telling you. It goes back to the point where he was suspended briefly; something I have always blamed myself for.
“I’m not sure what happened but I do know that in the build up to the crisis I had taken my eye off him and didn’t notice how hard he was working, or just how seriously he was taking things. I think he got to the point where he had taken all the responsibility on himself.
(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 24