(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset

by Michael Leese

  She led the interview cautiously, going over previous ground and being careful to thank the accountant for the help he had given them so far. After about five minutes of questions on general finance issues she could see he was relaxing. He’d gone from worrying that he was a suspect to offering insights into the company and Bennett the man.

  Finally, she got him on the topic she wanted, deciding to approach the subject directly. Sometimes you could be so cautious you never got to the point. “How did Mr. Bennett tell you he was doing top secret work? That must have been an odd moment for you?”

  Wilson nodded his agreement. “It was. The thing about Tom is that he would have made a useless spy, at least in the long term. He was just so passionate about his work and loved talking to people about it. When he told me about his security work he was quite apologetic. We had always known exactly what each other was doing so this was the first time he’d had to keep anything from me.

  “It wasn’t something that worried me. I knew he would only do that if it was necessary and I imagined that it involved work to keep the country safe from terrorists so, in a way, I felt quite proud that my company was involved in something like that. Even if I didn’t know all the details.”

  Mayweather, listening carefully, noted the way he expressed that. Not knowing all the details meant he did know some. Her reactions now owed a lot to her father. He had taken her on long rambles in the countryside, teaching her the need for patience and quiet if she wanted to catch a glimpse of wild animals. Without meaning to, he had equipped her with valuable tools for being a detective - or a stalker, as she liked to joke.

  Now she felt she could afford to push a little as she steered the conversation - this was not an interrogation - to where she wanted it to go.

  She said. “My DI and I like to take time out just to get a little perspective over what’s going on. Not making a big deal out of it, just 10 minutes over a cup of coffee, usually in my office. It makes sure we know what each other is up to and gives us the chance to review what we are doing. It’s surprising how often you spot things that are going wrong.”

  For the first time, he was clearly relaxed enough to smile. “We used to do the same thing. It was Tom’s idea, he called it our ‘sort it’ time. You know, when we could sort out problems and make sure everything was on track.”

  “I can imagine that you are going to miss those moments. Just the two of you in the office; I bet you made sure the phones were switched off for a few minutes.” He nodded, making Mayweather wonder if she was getting too good at this sort of thing.

  She went on. “I know he never told you about his secret work, but is it possible that you were able to surmise things, sort of pick up details? I wouldn’t normally pry over sensitive areas, but I still can’t find a reason why anyone would want to have killed your boss; your friend, I suppose.”

  She knew this last comment had grabbed him: shaping her appeal in that way was intended to help him make the right call. He needed to be totally sure he would be helping his friend, not betraying his memory.

  He sat still, clearly having an internal conversation and then half-nodded, as if realising he was making the right decision. He said. “Like I said, it’s not that he ever told me anything in detail, but he was a man who loved to talk about his work. When we had our ‘sort it’ time he knew he was safe to say things and that they wouldn't go any further. It meant he didn’t have to be on his guard so much. He and I go back a long way.

  “One time he was talking about an article that suggested the Americans had produced tiny drones the size of a bee. He was genuinely fascinated by the topic and I got the impression that he felt it was OK to discuss it because it was out there.

  “I can’t really explain why, but I thought that was exactly the area he was working in with his secret stuff.” Taylor looked down at the floor for a moment. “That’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry it’s not much and I hadn’t wanted to mention it before because it’s just what I thought. He never said it in so many words, but I am sure he was talking about making tiny components.”

  Mayweather stood up. “Actually, Mr. Wilson you have been more helpful than you know. Many thanks again for coming in, and could I remind you that this is an ongoing investigation. So please don’t discuss our conversation with anyone else without talking to me or DI Cleverly first.”

  The two officers watched Wilson being escorted out by one of the uniformed officers then made their way into Mayweather’s office.

  The DI was the first to speak. “Have we just been told that he was being spied on by top secret equipment that he made himself?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Now all we have to do is find out which bit of the intelligence service he was working for. I’m rather glad I have that appointment with the head of MI5.”

  Chapter 31

  Sometimes it felt like they were surrounded by an invisible force field. Working in an open plan office meant colleagues could be exaggeratedly respectful of personal space; you could be working physically alongside someone while doing your best to politely ignore them.

  This was adding to the sense of isolation afflicting the DCI. Much as he knew he’d helped Roper start to work out what was going on, it was frustrating to have so little to do. Part of him knew that was inevitable from the moment he had been called from London. The younger man needed his support but it didn’t alter the fact this wasn’t his world.

  Had he been working at the Special Investigations Unit he would not be having a problem. There was more than enough to occupy him and he could keep busy and productive while waiting for Roper to find whatever he was looking for.

  Thinking about the active cases he had left behind was making him restless. He wasn’t designed for this sort of thing. Sitting on his hands and killing time. It was making him feel crabby, but there was nothing he could do about it. Everyone said the case was in the national interest. That made him huffier. Everything here was in the national interest.

  He tried to analyse his feelings, attempting to decide if his sense of dislocation was simply down to the inevitable hiatus while Roper tried to make sense of the complex issues he was focusing on.

  His mood wasn’t being helped because he was concerned about the younger man. On the face of it he appeared calm and in control. But the DCI knew that this could be deceptive. Roper felt tension as much, probably more, than anyone else. Looking at him now, his eyes glued to the screen, he didn’t look as though he was coming back to the real world any time soon.

  He might as well go to the cafe, he had to do something. He couldn’t take much more of sitting at his desk, killing time. With a groan, he heaved himself out of his seat. That was another thing: since coming to Cheltenham he had been missing out on his osteopath sessions. Perhaps a visit to the onsite medical centre would help. If his back got much stiffer he was going to be in difficulties. He knew he was being grumpy but couldn’t help it.

  When he returned an hour later his posture suggested someone who has been vigorously manipulated - a sort of ‘it hurt but it will do me good’ approach. To his relief it was helping. He was already feeling better.

  He had been lucky to have arrived at the centre just as a patient canceled an appointment. He had been waved straight through. The young osteopath had quickly identified which joints were out of sync and he had been treated to some robust treatment that had left him feeling like he had been run flat by a steam roller before being miraculously re-inflated.

  Feeling pleased with himself he had stopped off to collect two coffees and two chocolate muffins. Walking back to their work area he was delighted to see Roper was out of his reverie and had clearly been looking for him. Roper was about to say something when his eyes took in the two cups of coffee and a bag that he clearly hoped was food.

  Handing over his prizes, the DCI sat down, took a huge bite of muffin and washed it down with a gulp of Americano, cold milk added separately. As usual Roper had wolfed his down at such a speed that Hooley
was amazed he didn’t choke.

  “I think I am on the right lines with my distraction theory.” This was followed by an intense study of the empty coffee cup before he threw it into the nearest rubbish bin.

  The DCI knew full well that there was no point in trying to rush him and was content to sip his coffee. For the first time in a couple of days he was free of back pain. He hadn’t realised how much it had been affecting him. He savoured his drink and thought about the upcoming Arsenal game on Saturday. Many of the fans were up in arms with the manager but Hooley was more sanguine. They might not have won the league for a while but they were still a competitive side. Perhaps this year would be the one. His football fantasy was disturbed as Roper finally picked up on his opening comments.

  “I now understand how distracted I’ve been, because that’s all I can think about. I’ve even been wondering if I imagined being distracted. So, this has been a very clever piece of work and it has taught me a lot more about the way my Rainbow Spectrum works.”

  Hooley thought this was more like the Roper he knew; all he had to do now was to try and work out what all that meant.

  “Could you run that past me again, only this time with subtitles?”

  When Roper was in one of these moods it was like watching an old-style word-processor transform into to a super computer: A few lights would start flickering, then before you knew it the machine powered into life, all flowing lights and print-outs.

  Roper said: “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”

  He looked expectantly at Hooley who grinned as he recognised the phrase. “‘Who watches the watchers?’” then he caught himself. “Actually, it should be “Who watches the watchmen?’. My Latin may not be up to your level, but along with ‘Carpe Diem’, that is one phrase I do know, as should every policeman.”

  He was quietly enjoying his triumph when he realised that Roper clearly expected more. He was confused, had he got the translation wrong? No, it wasn’t that. So it was something about the phrase itself. Then realisation hit him. “The Ipsos. You think that the name of the boat is important.”

  Roper nodded. “I’m quite angry with myself for not picking up on it before but I can now see that I was right about disinformation. Someone made sure that the intelligence about the Somali pirate operation would come to my attention.

  “Giving the boat the name Ipsos was a small gamble but I think they were relying on me overlooking the name. They knew I would be drawn by why such a powerful vessel had been purchased in the first place. I was far too busy thinking about how they might be using it to spot the obvious - the name. This was designed to keep my attention away from something else.”

  “But how did you know that the name was the clue?” His faith in Roper was so strong it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be wrong. He was fascinated to hear how the younger man had worked it out. He thought this must be what it’s like to spend time with a chess champion; someone who can see dozens of moves ahead.

  “I went back to the beginning and noticed that the boat should have been given a Somali name. The moment I looked up Somali names on the net I instantly spotted that Ipsos was wrong. Then I worked it out.

  “I now know that the name of the boat could have been altered by the person who is trying to manipulate me. If they can intercept all this information, then changing a detail like that would be easy.

  “Again, this comes back to the way I use the Rainbow Spectrum. I have been placing too much emphasis on finding answers without thinking for myself. Once I understood that it all started to fall into place. That name was changed to make me think someone wants me to know they are watching me.”

  Hooley felt a sense of foreboding. “That sounds like a threat. I hadn’t believed this was so personal; that someone has you in their sights.”

  Chapter 32

  Roper’s conviction that he was the main target of a GCHQ mole seemed to cause little impact - at least on the surface. Hooley noted that while he had been thinking misinformation was a widespread GCHQ phenomenon, others were already wondering if it was Roper-specific.

  He was surprised to learn the Cabinet Secretary had been informed. Sitting here in Cheltenham was a long way from the Corridors of Power. It showed how intense the spotlight on Roper was.

  Once he had accepted Roper’s logic, and he had no doubt he was right, the DCI had felt his mood lift. Here was something he could get his teeth into, and to which detective skills had a part to play.

  The first thing he wanted to do was to talk to David Cotter in the neurodivergence team. He could have sent an email but decided he would stick to old fashioned methods: he would walk round and see if he was available. As he made the short journey he reflected this wasn’t quite like the old days of wearing out shoe leather while going house to house but, if he didn’t think about it too much, it did at least give him an impression that he was back on the beat and looking for answers to his questions.

  His reverie was interrupted when he was forced to a standstill by what could only be described as a land train of young analysts who came tearing towards him and then shot past, forcing him to step to one side to avoid colliding with anyone. Arriving at the neurodivergence team’s location, he went to walk in then checked carefully to make sure he wasn’t about to be flattened by someone coming the other way.

  Stepping inside the only person he could see was a woman in her mid-30s, with short black hair that crowned a pale face. He thought she was very pretty. She was engrossed in her computer screen like everyone here in Cheltenham - and didn’t acknowledge him. He glanced around to make sure he hadn’t missed Cotter, and then stepped over to stand in front of the woman’s desk.

  She looked up and smiled as he approached. Like everyone else she was wearing a t-shirt, although this one was plain and had no names on it, jeans and a pair of Converse trainers. This was a footwear label he was familiar with so he was mildly surprised that people here seemed to wear them.

  “Brian Hooley, right?” she stood up and extended her hand, making Hooley realise she was about five feet, six inches tall and very slim; a bit too skinny for his taste. Not that he was an Adonis himself. “You’re quite famous around here. The person that Jonathan Roper trusts, probably more than anyone else.”

  He wasn’t sure how to react to that and ended up displaying a goofy grin that was only missing an ‘Aw, shucks’ caption bubble. He told himself to get a grip and managed to change the goofiness to what he hoped was a look of professional inquiry.

  “You’re right about me being Brian Hooley. What was it that gave me away? The grey hair, suit or the general sense of a man not quite knowing what’s going on?”

  The woman laughed, displaying a set of very white teeth. “None of those things. I was sent a picture of you, along with your file, when you joined the team here. And people do talk about you, but in a complimentary way. Everyone knows Jonathan doesn’t suffer fools so you must be pretty sharp for him to spend so much time with you.

  “Anyway, my name is Helen; Helen Sharples. For my sins, I run the team here and had intended to meet you when you first arrived; it’s why I had your file. But, as always, events took over. While we are based here there are a lot of other sites to cover.

  “Plus, our field of study is going through a lot of change at the moment which means I encourage my team to go on as many refresher courses as they can. I like to think we bring the latest thinking to our job - so long as it’s tried and tested of course. This is no place for random, experimental projects.”

  Hooley couldn’t help but instinctively like the woman. She had a subtle self-confidence to her that was infectious without being overpowering. He became aware she was waiting patiently for him to reply to her question about how could she help.

  “I came over to try and find David Cotter, but given I can’t see him, and after what you have just said, I think I can guess what the answer is going to be.”

  She flashed her big smile again, making Hooley remind himself he was nearly
twice her age.

  She said: “He is out, but you’re in luck. He’s been on a tutorial in London with one of his former lecturers. He called me this morning to say he was coming back today and expected to be here around mid-afternoon.”

  “Fantastic,” said the DCI, rubbing his hands together. “I can send him an email and try to book an appointment with him.”

  Sharples was suddenly very serious. “I think I can guess what this is about. You want to talk to him about who Roper has interacted with here at GCHQ? I could give you an overview but David is the man for all the details.

  “Do send him a message and I will back it up as well. I’m here all day so I will see him when he gets here. She bent down to her desk and briefly tapped at her keyboard and then looked back at him. “I’ve sent you an email with David’s mobile on it so you can send him a text message as well.”

  He thanked her. “I’m still finding my way around here and don’t know how the etiquette works. If I was back at Scotland Yard I’d be chasing him until he responded, but you may do things differently. I didn’t want to get his back up before I’d had a chance to ask my questions.”

  Sharples laughed out loud; she sounded quite raucous. “Don’t worry about that at all. He’ll recognise that it just means there is some urgency behind the request. This isn’t a place to work if you don’t like sudden spikes in pressure. The atmosphere may seem calm but you’re only ever a short hop from a crisis somewhere in the world.”

  Chapter 33

  “I had so many people to talk to that we had to arrange a rota, where I met four people at a time and talked to them about the Rainbow Spectrum.” Roper was recalling his first few weeks at GCHQ and the excitement that surrounded his arrival. “We’d allowed up to ninety minutes a time.”