by Joe McNally
She said nothing. I carried the coffee to her desk. ‘What’s your real name?’ I asked.
‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’
‘Come on, Mave. We’re living together, remember?’
She smiled and drank, looking at me over the blue rim. ‘Someday I’ll tell you.’
‘I know nothing about you except that your brain’s as big as the moon and you’re half crazy.’
‘Never a truer word, Edward, as you will one day find out.’
‘Come on, I’ve laid open my heart and soul.’
‘Not for me. You’ve laid those open for the world, because that’s the kind of person you are. We’re all different.’
‘Some more different than others.’
‘Agreed.’
She returned to the haven of her keyboard and screen. I said, ‘I’ll tell you what, if I crack this before you, and before the cops, you tell me your life history.’
She smiled, keeping her eyes on the scrolling text. ‘And if I crack it first, what do you tell me?’
‘I tell you I’ll never ask again.’
‘And you come in with me as a partner in the system?’
‘So long as it means I don’t break any rules.’
‘You might have to slightly fracture some very small ones.’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Okay. This project manager guy the bookies set up, have you got his number?’
I took out my phone. ‘In here.’
‘Call him and ask for the IP addresses of fifty of the customers whose PCs were hijacked. There’s a minuscule chance our man has been complacent enough to leave a route open from the first PC he infected.’
‘I thought you said there were thousands of PCs?’
‘There are. If I get the details of fifty, I can write some code that will probably identify all of them.’
I dialled the number of the project manager, Ishrat Uppal, realizing I didn’t know if it was a man or a woman.
It was a woman, and she proved very, very helpful.
52
I came through the kitchen next morning and heard the keyboard clicking. Mave had reverted to her old nocturnal habits.
I took her some coffee. She grunted and kept working. I knew better now than to say any more, and went for a shower. Mave was still in the zone when I left home before daybreak. I had two trainers to ride out for, then three rides at Chepstow.
Driving west to Chepstow, Mister Sherrick called to tell me he’d tracked down Jimmy’s ex-girlfriend, Amanda. I pulled over and he gave me her details. ‘She said she’ll be happy to talk to you.’
‘Good. How’ve you been?’ I asked.
‘I’m fine, Eddie. Don’t worry about me.’
‘How’s the fiddle gig going?’
He laughed. ‘They’re dancing in the aisles.’
‘That’s nice to hear. Listen, I’ve made some headway lately, are you around this evening?’
‘I’ll be here. You’re welcome anytime.’
‘I’ll try and see Amanda on the way home, then call in.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
When I arrived at Chepstow, I phoned Amanda. She said she’d meet me at a hotel in Swindon that evening and I was to call her when I was half an hour away.
My final mount was a winner, and I took extra satisfaction from knowing I’d had a lot to do with that. He was an old handicapper who hadn’t won for two seasons. He’d lost the habit and, worse, had got comfortable with that.
From the first fence I was gently pushing him, rhythmically, talking to him: ‘Come on, you’re a decent horse. You’re not finished winning yet. Let’s show them you can still do it.’ And I kept this up, along with the constant urging forward into his bridle, and with five to jump, he began to believe me and he took hold of the bit, and I kept pumping away steadily and his confidence grew on the strength, perhaps, of old memories, and by the time we jumped the second last in third position, he knew and I knew we were going to catch the two in front, that he’d once again be leader of the pack.
I was beginning to get a reputation for regenerating these veteran horses who’d spent seasons going through the motions, like the slow kid in class who’s gradually shuffled away into obscurity.
I was still in high spirits when I met Amanda Radicci, and her warm smile and big friendly eyes soon told me how she worked on men. Jimmy’s outlook, his lost in the past view regarding technology, summed up his general approach. He preferred simplicity and took things at face value. If Amanda had looked at him with this burning concentration, as if he were all that mattered, Jimmy would have been captivated. His forty plus years must have felt half that. He’d have seen his life open up again.
She settled in the corner of the lounge and asked for mineral water. I judged her to be about thirty. Her eyes and hair were dark, her skin so smooth from expert makeup application that she looked as though she’d been airbrushed. Except for her footwear, she was dressed almost primly: high necked sweater and knee-length skirt under a long coat. Her legs were crossed, and spike-heeled leather boots pointed at me as I returned with the drinks. I wondered how far up under that hem the boot-tops stretched.
I explained I was a friend of Jimmy’s and that his Dad was concerned about the way the police had handled things. I was only trying to help him out.
The sultry determined look she’d greeted me with had been gradually toned down when she saw I wasn’t responding to it, and she said, ‘So long as none of this is official. Not that I’ve anything to hide. I never met Jimmy’s dad, but he always seemed a nice man from what Jimmy told me, and he sounded sweet on the phone.’
I asked her if Jimmy spoke much about his job and the people he worked with. She said that all he ever wanted to talk about was how great everything would be when his divorce was through and they could move abroad and make a new start in the sun. It was that, she said, that gradually wore her down and made her decide to leave. ‘I was twelve years younger than Jimmy, but ended up feeling like his mother half the time. It was like being with a kid on a car journey who keeps asking “Are we there yet?”‘
That got to me. That resurgence of hope she’d given him that had backfired on the poor sod. I wished she hadn’t told me about it. I felt as though she’d whispered some bedroom secret that had wounded Jimmy’s dignity.
‘Didn’t you fancy moving abroad?’ I asked.
‘I would have if there’d been a proper chance. But Jimmy was a dreamer. He didn’t have the money. His divorce was going to be expensive. He kept saying something was being put together, but he wouldn’t tell me the details.’
‘You think he was making it up?’
‘I think he believed it, he kept telling me it was all hush hush. That didn’t help things either. Then he went to Ireland for some tests, said it was a medical Bayley Watt wanted him to have as he was getting a bit older. I wanted to go with him, but he wouldn’t have it. That didn’t help things, if you know what I mean.’
I wondered if that was for the implant, or something to do with Jimmy’s cancer. ‘How long was he away?’
She turned to me, her big eyes much colder now. ‘Listen, this is beginning to sound like some kind of interrogation. Could I get in trouble over this?’
‘No, no, not at all. How would you be in trouble? I’m just trying to help Jimmy’s dad get to the bottom of things. Jimmy left the house to him and an insurance policy, and the insurance company are arguing about Jimmy’s mental health, his suicide. You know how they are with things like that.’
‘His mental health seemed fine. He wasn’t depressed, the opposite, if you ask me. He was always happy unless we’d had a fallout. Then he’d brood for a day or two, which is hardly abnormal, is it? Tell Jimmy’s dad if he needs a signed statement from me or something, I’ll do that.’
‘I will. Thanks. So did Jimmy go through with the medical?’
‘As far as I know, though we still weren’t really talking when he came back.’
She nodded. ‘He bought a scratchcard on the flight to Dublin. I found it in his pocket…when I was doing a washing.’
She watched me and I tried to look as though I believed she hadn’t been going through Jimmy’s stuff. She said, ‘The scratchcard was typical. He was always looking for the “lump sum”, as he called it - made me feel like a bloody debt that was waiting to be paid off.’
I looked at her. ‘I knew Jimmy for years,’ I said, and I told her about the time he saved my life. ‘He was a good man. Whatever he was doing it would have been for you.’
‘I know it would. I know. He just got too serious, too soon. I kind of tried to get him to ease off, but he was blind and deaf to anything I said unless it was “I love you” or “come to bed”. We hadn’t been together forty-eight hours and he was making plans, even talking about having kids. It was too much for me, and I couldn’t get him to understand that. I’m not some cold hearted bitch who picked him up then dumped him. I simply couldn’t cope. I’m sorry.’
I nodded.
‘Do you believe me?’
‘Yes. I believe you.’
‘Does Jimmy’s dad think he killed himself because of me?’
‘No. He doesn’t.’
‘Jimmy was sick, you know. I don’t think he told anyone else. After we broke up he sent me a letter saying that the medical we’d had the fallout over, had shown he had cancer, that he hadn’t wanted to tell me in case it scared me away. He said there was some treatment he was getting, something nobody had ever tried before, and it would either cure him or kill him. He said the illness must have been playing on him and that’s why he’d been so obsessional with me, that he was sorry and if the treatment worked would I take him back.’
‘Did you-’
‘I wrote back to him. I said, yes. I’d give it another chance.’
She was getting tearful, trying to keep her voice low. She looked around to see if anyone was watching us. She took a napkin from the table and dabbed at the corners of her eyes, then clutched it, her red fingernails digging into it as she said, ‘You know what I’m most ashamed of? It wasn’t the walking out, or the Dear John letter, it was…it was saying I’d give it another chance if he got better, because the first thought I had when I posted that letter was I hope he dies from the cancer and I don’t have to keep my promise.’
‘Your heart was in the right place when you wrote it, Amanda. We all mess up. All of us.’
She wept, and that palette of makeup she wore left her looking like a clown. She excused herself. I waited, wondering if poor Jimmy had taken bribes to keep quiet about the ringers. Bribes and a supposed cancer cure implanted in Ireland.
He’d have travelled home full of new hope, waiting for the capsule inside him to start its healing work. A capsule containing cyanide. A bug recording his conversations. That call to me just before Christmas was listened to and twenty four hours later the cyanide capsule was triggered, then Watt and Kilberg hoisted Jimmy on that chain for me to find. Poor bastard.
53
When I reached the car, I called McCarthy and asked him to get his guys searching in Ireland for what this ringer might be.
‘Why Ireland?’
‘A few reasons. I’ll tell you next time I see you.’
‘I thought the bookies were looking for it?’
‘They will be.’
‘They’re keeping quiet about this?’
‘Even quieter than you.’
Next stop was Mister Sherrick’s flat. I noticed that when he clicked the kettle switch, it boiled quickly and I guessed he’d been expecting me sooner. I carried the tray from the kitchen to the fireside. Mister Sherrick said, ‘I met Ben Tylutki when I was at the shops buying those biscuits. He said you gave that Chepstow winner as fine a ride as he’s seen.’
‘Ah, he’s a good friend of mine, Ben.’
‘Eddie, we get enough brickbats in life. Don’t be shy about taking the compliments.’
‘I just hate tempting fate, Jim.’
I told him about the meeting with Amanda, softening the hard edges as best I could. ‘What is she like, pretty?’
‘Very. Dark, big eyes, nice skin. She’s looked after herself.’
‘She sounded a nice girl on the phone.’
‘She seems all right, though I’m not sure Jimmy would have put up with her for too long, even if she hadn’t walked out.’
‘Demanding type?’
‘I’d say so.’
We sat and talked for an hour, though I had to be careful about what I said. I’d have trusted Mister Sherrick with my life, but didn’t want to put him in a dangerous position.
Back home, I opened the door to silence. No keyboard clicks, no cursing. Mave was not at the desk. I found her asleep in the big chair by the fire, chin on chest, loose hair changing colour in the reflection of the fire flames. It was the first time I’d seen her completely still and calm, and I was struck by her slightness. Her shallow chest drew small quick breaths like a mouse. Her hands were clasped in her lap. I lifted the woollen throw from the sofa and laid it carefully across her.
I made coffee, and sat at the desk with my pad and pen, feeling that I was somehow in Mave’s space. As ever, I drew until I had drawn conclusions; piecing possibilities together and trying to break them down. If I couldn’t find a flaw, they stayed on the list to discuss with Mave.
Jimmy had gone to Ireland for his so called medical which had to be when the stuff was implanted. I could easily get a list of the dates he’d been away.
If our man was based in Ireland, it was a fair assumption that the horse had come from there, although it might make the animal’s identity harder to discover.
So what time had Bayley Watt spent in Ireland? Or maybe Kilberg had been the man to travel? I sensed rather than heard Mave behind me, and I turned to see her shoeless and forlorn, still half asleep.
‘Can I help you, madam?’ I asked.
‘I’m looking for my common sense.’
‘Oh. When did you last see it?’
‘At home, in Wales. Seems like months ago.’
‘Well, that’s probably where you’ll find it, refreshed and waiting.’
‘Get off my chair.’
I got up and Mave sidled over and sat, her fingers reaching for the keyboard like a comfort blanket.
Over coffee she ran the programme she’d built. All it was to me was a one-minute blur on the PC screen. It ended with a twelve digit number. Mave said, ‘That’s the IP address of the end PC in the link this guy was using.’
‘What’s IP? Does that tell us who and where this person is, the one who owns the PC?’
‘Internet Protocol. It tells us where the PC is down to the city level. With more work, I could break through and into the PC itself, but it would be easier and quicker to get your police friends to get the service provider to give us access.’
‘Then what?’
‘There’s a chance, if your man has been complacent, that I can find out what PC was used to pick up the data from this one.’
I called Mac and got the usual “leave it with me.”
I turned to Mave. ‘So, how many PCs were in his network?’
‘Close to thirty-three-thousand.’
‘Jeez.’
‘Smart fella.’
‘Nice work, Mave.’
‘It was, actually.’
We smiled and I thought of what Mister Sherrick had said, and how much easier it was for Mave to accept compliments.
I sat back and picked up my pad. ‘Here’s my version of coding. Try this.’
‘Let me go to the toilet first. A gallon of coffee’s bursting my bladder.’
‘I’ll make some more, to help refill it.’
54
Mave was back at her desk, fresher, coffee mug looking large in her narrow fingers. She rested her chin on the rim and with the cast of the low light, it looked as though her small thin face could easily drop in and
sink.
I said, ‘That last PC in the hijacked network theoretically puts us within one step of our man, doesn’t it? What are the chances? Try and look at it objectively, and tell me the odds.’
‘If he’s stayed careful, a million to one. If he’s dropped into complacency, much, much shorter. Remember I said to you when you told me the horse names that he’d taken a chance by using an anagram? Fruitless Spin, Fissure Splint…what was the other horse?’
‘Spiritless Fun.’
‘Very clever people sometimes can’t resist dropping in a tiny clue to let other clever people know how smart they are. They’re not bothered about impressing the masses. But when they think they’ll never be caught, they sometimes like to tease. If he believes a network of more than thirty thousand PCs is enough to protect him from anyone, then he could be in for a surprise.’
‘Is there any way he could suss you’re trying to track him through that network?’
‘He could have coded something in to alert him, but he’d have needed some knowledge of the way I code to second guess me.’
‘I thought software code was software code?’
‘Coding can be as individual as a painting, or a song. I could look at code and tell you who wrote the programme if I’m halfway familiar with his work.’
‘So if he’s had an anagram moment, he might be just a step away?’
‘Could be. Let’s see how quickly the cops get official access to that last PC in the line.’
I stood up and stretched and yawned. ‘I’ll call Mac first thing and press him for a result tomorrow.’ I saw myself in the mirror. ‘God, I look even more tired than I feel.’
‘You’ve no stamina, Malloy.’
I massaged my face with my hands, rubbed my eyes. When my fingers were at my chin I stopped and stared at my reflection and thought of Bayley Watt. I turned to Mave. ‘If you see me doing that face rubbing thing again, smack me on the head with something hard. I don’t want any reminders of Bayley Watt lodged in my psyche.’