by Helen Fields
‘So he has a reasonably high IQ, given that he’s avoiding obvious methods of tracking him. We’re looking for a man capable of multitasking with a high level of self-control,’ Tripp said.
‘Although it slipped with Lorna. He raped her, but he didn’t rape Zoey. That means something changed for him between taking the two women,’ Ava said. ‘One last thing before you all leave. The fact that Kate was working for SugarPa is highly confidential. You can release general pictures and descriptions to the press and public, but not that. Understood?’
‘Can we ask why, ma’am?’ another uniformed officer asked. ‘Should we not make it public to warn other young women arranging dates through the website that they’re putting themselves in danger?’
‘That’s a fair point,’ Ava said, ‘and I’ll handle it. But Kate’s parents don’t know how she was making money and I don’t want them to find out. Kate was using SugarPa to support her parents because of her father’s illness. They’re going through enough. I’m not sure they’d survive this additional piece of information.’
They disbanded, with men and women rushing to various tasks, as Ava took out her mobile to text Callanach.
‘If he’ll help, I need him to do one more thing. Copy the data then kill the site. Leave no one else at risk. Delete this text.’
She walked into her office to find DS Pax Graham waiting for her in jeans and a t-shirt, looking relaxed in her armchair.
‘Detective Sergeant, I hadn’t expected to see you again so soon,’ Ava said. ‘Is there new information?’
‘Forgive me for coming into your office without invitation, ma’am, but I try to stay out of the corridors and common areas in case any suspects are brought through or the press are allowed in for a briefing. Being undercover means my life is very restricted.’
‘I understand,’ Ava said. ‘It’s a sacrifice. I appreciate it.’
‘You’ve been to see your missing girl’s parents, I gather.’ Ava nodded. ‘I don’t envy you that. I think I’d sooner have delivered news of an actual death than tell parents that their daughter is still alive in the hands of a psychopath. Do you have any solid leads?’
‘We’re getting there, though not as fast as I’d like, sadly. Tell me you’re here to deliver better news.’
‘I have a theory,’ he replied. ‘Something the witnesses said, although it didn’t register with me at the time, or perhaps I processed it wrongly. As Melanie was attacked, but just before she got hit by the bus, the witnesses described a flash of light. At the time, I assumed it was the bus headlights, perhaps as he swerved to avoid her. After we talked I went back to the scene and looked at the angles and windows. From where our witnesses were sitting, deep under the archway, but facing towards the bus, the bus swerved away from them. It wouldn’t have caused a flash. If anything there would have been a sudden reduction of light. The flash must have come towards them, but there was no one else there except for the attackers. No other vehicle, and all the buildings are in a straight line. If someone had suddenly switched on a light, it would have shone down onto the street, not in the direction of the witnesses.’
‘A torch?’ Ava asked.
‘I’m thinking something more noticeable. What if one of the attackers decided to take a photo as Melanie’s face was cut?’
Ava perched on the edge of her desk. ‘As a trophy?’
‘Maybe to gloat over later.’
‘Or perhaps it was so dark they were going to miss seeing the effects of what they’d done. A photo means they could go home and get a good look at it later.’
‘Pointless without the flash on. They’d have got nothing,’ Graham said. ‘It’s a theory. Not much good to you without suspects though. DS Lively suggested you had someone in your sights for it.’
‘It’s a shot in the dark,’ Ava said. ‘A bit like the photo you think the attackers took. I’ve already been warned off by my detective superintendent.’
‘But if they shared the photo, messaged it, copied it onto a computer, there’ll be a trail. Even if they think they’ve deleted it from their phones, it might still be retrievable at this stage. You’d need a court order to seize the phones or to get into their communications data. Worth trying, I’d say.’
‘All right, I’ll consider it. Thanks for bringing it to me. Are you going back out onto the street?’ Ava asked.
‘No, I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on. Lively has my mobile number if you need me. I’m happy to help out if I can. Oh, nearly forgot. I left a Caesar salad and a sandwich on your desk. Wasn’t sure what you like, so it’s nothing very exciting. Seems to me, you probably haven’t eaten in a while.’
Ava stared at the brown paper bag on her desk. Plastic cutlery was balanced on top, next to a bottle of sparkling water. She’d thought that food was last thing she wanted, but her stomach told her differently.
‘That was thoughtful. I owe you a favour,’ she said.
‘Not at all. I’m from Thurso, ma’am. We never leave a woman feeling in our debt.’ He left. Ava sat behind her desk, taking the salad from the paper bag and digging into it. However much guilt she felt about Kate Bailey’s capture, she still had to eat. And if she had to face Overbeck for yet another row, she was going to need all the energy she could find.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
‘You haven’t had your hair cut since I last saw you then,’ Callanach said as he hugged Ben Paulson hard and slapped him on the back. They walked through the doors into The Inn on the Mile, where South Bridge met the High Street, and headed for the bar. ‘Beer or something stronger?’
‘I’ll settle for beer. Judging by the tone of the message you left me, I’ll be spending the rest of my evening working,’ Paulson said, his Californian twang turning heads. ‘Just reassure me that helping you this time won’t end up with me in the cells waiting to be bailed out again.’
‘As I recall, what put you in the cells last time was the fact that you’d hacked into a financial institution, and moved money from the staff bonus account to various charities,’ said Callanach, smiling.
‘Hey, you have to put the word “allegedly” in front of that. They never proved a thing. Shall we sit?’
They took their drinks to a booth where they sipped for a couple of minutes, watching the mixture of locals drinking wine or whisky, and a tourist hen weekend sampling the bar’s infamous cocktails as they flirted with the staff. The Inn was warm and comfortable, and Callanach had discovered they served the best fish and chips he’d ever tasted. Not a meal the Frenchman in him would have admitted becoming addicted to, but Scotland was all the better for comfort food.
‘I’m surprised you’re still here, to be honest,’ Callanach said. ‘Once the last investigation was over I figured you’d be headed back to the sunshine. What made you stay?’
‘Usual story. There’s a girl. She campaigns for a human rights group. I tried to persuade her to come back to the States with me but she’s lochs and kilts through and through. Much as I’m craving the sunshine, I just couldn’t leave.’
‘You sound hooked. Have you introduced this girl to Lance for approval yet?’
Lance Proudfoot, a local journalist, had befriended Luc and Ben during an earlier investigation, and taken a paternalistic interest in both their lives ever since. The only problem was his uncanny knack of landing right where the worst of the action was. Callanach still hadn’t forgiven himself for the dreadful injuries Lance had received during an operation that went wrong a few months earlier.
‘I have, as a matter of fact. They were unbearable together – started talking so fast I couldn’t decipher the accents any more. By the time we left, Lance was convinced I wasn’t good enough for her. Scots blood and all that. He said he hadn’t seen you for a while.’ Ben raised questioning eyebrows over the rim of his pint glass as he drank.
‘Not enough hours in the day,’ Callanach replied.
‘Really? Only I heard there was some rather attractive Spanish doctor on the scene.’
‘Don’t worry about that. He told us the story three times in as many hours and he’s wearing the scars like war wounds,’ Ben said. ‘So come on, you’ve just checked your watch for the second time since we arrived. I’ve seen the news. Go on, ask me the favour – or do I have to guess?’
‘We could probably get a warrant eventually, but it’ll take too long. There’s a girl missing. I won’t go into the details, but she’s in the hands of someone likely to hurt her very badly and very soon. We believe he contacted her through a website called SugarPa and they went on a date. She hasn’t been seen since.’
‘SugarPa won’t play ball voluntarily?’
‘Not a chance,’ Callanach said. ‘They’re citing privacy and data issues. That’s what happens when your members are paying to take young women out to – and I quote – spoil them, no strings attached. Except for the fact that there are plenty of strings attached.’
‘Complexities?’ Ben asked.
‘Servers are in Russia. Member who has the hostage undoubtedly used a false name. We have their last communication but he’s no longer an active member and has erased his profile. I’ve already emailed you the details. We need anything that might help trace him. Email, credit card, phone number. All his communications history. Can you do it?’
‘I can try,’ Ben said. ‘But if the company was making enough money, they’ll have invested in a good security system. After a couple of high-profile dating websites got hacked, everyone built up their walls. Nothing puts off members like your wife reading your name in a tabloid. How much danger is the girl in?’
‘You know the other two bodies found in the last fortnight?’
‘Shit.’ Ben whistled. ‘How much time?’
‘Running on empty,’ Callanach said. ‘Sorry if you had plans.’
‘That’s okay. I’m freelancing. I’ll sleep when I’ve finished. Is there anything else I should know about the case? Sometimes it’s the details that make the trail easier to follow. What’s different about this guy than all the other sickos you guys come up against?’
‘There are religious overtones. Real Old Testament stuff about sin, punishment and retribution. We’re not sure yet if this is some sort of extremism or just an excuse to torture vulnerable young women. I’d tend towards the latter. All we have so far are Bible verses linked to each victim.’
‘Okay, I’ll bear it in mind. As good as it was to see you, I’m guessing you’d rather I was at home getting started,’ Ben said, finishing his beer and pushing the empty bottle into the middle of the table.
‘Ava wants you to know that she’s not expecting you to do this for free. She’ll pay the going rate. It’s just that we can’t make it official,’ Callanach said, standing up.
‘Ah, so this was DCI Turner’s idea. Has she forgiven me yet for sending her former fiancé back to London with his tail between his legs?’
‘I think you’d be surprised how grateful she is to you, actually. She’d have come herself, but I thought you might feel more comfortable seeing me instead,’ Callanach said, doing up his jacket and looking out at the pouring rain.
‘Well, I am glad to see you, but I don’t hold grudges. Tell Ava she owes me a drink, nothing more. I don’t want to profit from a case like this. I’ll call you as soon as I have something. I should know if I can crack their firewall in a few hours. Take care, Luc.’
He disappeared out of the door with the carefree smile of a twenty-something who was successful and in love. Luc envied him. There wasn’t much success happening inside MIT. None at all, actually. As for being in love, he’d forgotten how that felt. Selina was amazing, and remarkably persistent in the face of a lack of response from him, but in relationship terms he was just going through the motions. It was only a matter of time before Selina figured that out.
Ava walked into Overbeck’s office. Her superior officer glared at her. ‘It’s 11 p.m. Make it fast.’
‘I want permission to follow up at the Leverhulme School,’ Ava said. ‘I backed off when you told me to, but we have no other leads and this is now a murder investigation.’
‘Rationale?’
‘One of Melanie Long’s attackers called another a cretin. It’s not common language these days. Also there’s evidence suggesting that a photo was taken during the course of the attack, probably from a mobile phone. I think it was a trophy, or thrill-seeker behaviour. I want to find out who Leo Plunkett’s closest friends are and question them. Nothing heavy-handed, but it would be irresponsible not to follow up the lead.’
‘If I say no?’ Overbeck asked.
‘Would you say no if I was asking permission to speak with a few kids in the local state school?’ Ava countered.
‘Don’t get smart with me and don’t be childish. You know what’s at stake,’ Overbeck snapped.
‘Your next promotion?’
‘Is this what the moral high ground looks like, DCI Turner, because from where I’m standing you’re grasping at pretty thin fucking straws. Take DS Lively with you. You are making enquiries of potential witnesses, not interviewing suspects. They are young people, and they must have an adult with them or you do not speak to them at all. Understood?’
‘Of course,’ Ava said, turning towards the door.
‘Before you go, how are we doing on Kate Bailey? Any closer to finding her?’
‘Not much,’ Ava replied, softening her voice. Conflict at work was unsustainable when a life hung in the balance. ‘We’re doing what we can with the CCTV footage. The killer’s not on our database, we know that. We’re currently double-checking vehicles seen on camera in the area where Lorna was dropped off, and which were also in the city when Kate disappeared, but it’s taking a lot of manpower and yielding too few results.’
‘You know you have to find this girl in time, Turner. We can’t have any more mutilated young women dumped on our streets.’
‘And I’m sure Kate’s parents would appreciate not burying their daughter, too,’ Ava said through gritted teeth as she shut Overbeck’s door behind her, striding towards the staircase to the lower floor. ‘Salter!’ she shouted, as she walked down the corridor past the incident room.
‘I’m here,’ Salter replied, poking her head out of the kitchen.
‘You’re coming with me to Leverhulme School first thing tomorrow morning. Meet me there at 9 a.m.’
‘Sure,’ Salter said.
‘And tell DS Lively you’ll be coming with me to question Leo Plunkett again. He’s to remain here, coordinating the Kate Bailey search and answering to DI Callanach.’
Sod Superintendent Overbeck, Ava thought, using her lover to keep an eye on her. She would handle Leo Plunkett however she liked. The time for going easy had passed when Melanie Long hit the front of a bus and left a little boy without a mother.
‘This is Callanach,’ he muttered into his mobile, wondering why his arms were so slow to work, before realising he’d fallen asleep at his desk using his arms as a pillow.
‘Hey, I should have let you sleep. You sound like you need it,’ Ben Paulson said.
‘No, I’m fine. What did you find?’
‘Not a lot, but better than nothing. I got John White’s profile back. It was cached in the data on Kate’s laptop. She was obviously wary. I found a lot of pages that she’d looked through, so she did the best homework she could. Sadly, there wasn’t a lot to find. The photo he used as his profile picture was a stock image he’d downloaded from the internet then just blurred it a bit. Easily done with any standard software these days. I used image recognition software and found the original picture in minutes. The email he used gave me an IP address that leads to an internet cafe. That’s a bit more interesting. I was able to trace it pretty easily.’
‘So the man we’re looking for isn’t some computer genius,’ Callanach said.
‘Not at all. He did enough not to have you walking straight to his front door, but it was the bare min
imum.’
‘All right. Which internet cafe?’ Callanach asked.
‘Coffee in the Cloud. It’s in Livingston. Interesting that he didn’t come into Edinburgh. He’d have had much more choice of internet venue in the city,’ Ben said.
‘No, it makes sense. We believe he lives to the west of the city. Making another trip just increases the possibility of his car getting picked up on CCTV. If he believed that erasing his SugarPa profile was going to be enough to prevent us tracing him, he might well have been less concerned about his choice of cafe.’
‘Okay, well the downside of that particular establishment is that they still accept cash for user time. Most cafes now insist on card payment simply because if anyone uploads or downloads anything that’s criminal in nature, the individual user can be traced. Avoids any sticky situations with the police.’
‘What about his payment for membership of SugarPa? He must have used a card for that,’ Callanach commented.
‘Actually, it was an online direct payment facility, and here’s where I’m going to be less helpful. It’s Russian owned and run, same as the SugarPa servers. They process an international payments scheme, charging exorbitant fees to make international payments, but the guarantee is that provided you load up your account in advance sufficient to pay both your fees and whatever you want to purchase, they don’t give out any information about you to anyone. And they have the sort of firewall that the CIA can only dream of.’
‘I thought you said the killer wasn’t that tech savvy?’
‘He didn’t need to be. Type “international online payments” into a search engine and the site comes up within the top three hits. It’s a one-page form to fill in. You have an account within the hour. Couldn’t be much easier.’
‘Untraceable?’ Callanach asked, although he already knew the answer.
‘You got it. Want to buy a new passport, smuggle some women through a port under the radar, pay for weapons without a nasty trail of paperwork and import taxes, this is the website to use.’