Digital Circumstances
Page 26
‘How about Claire – our receptionist?’
‘We interviewed her. She seems clean.’
‘Yes she is – where is she?’
‘At home, I assume. Maybe she’s found another job. You want her back?’
‘If you can. And Graham Turner?’
‘We talked to him too, briefly, and we’ve told him to stay away for now but keep in contact. Not sure what to do with him just yet. What do you think?’
‘Keep him away from the place for now. Any word on Charlene?’
Amanda looked at Grosvenor, then back to me. ‘No. We haven’t had any credit card activity, and her car is still in Wales. She’s still in this country from what we can see.’
I thought back to Romania, and our check-in at the airport: I couldn’t remember whether she’s given her own name at the desk, and I hadn’t been able to see her passport. Had she got herself another ID?
The noise of people around us was giving me a headache. I was tired and thirsty. And starting to get hungry. This was a nightmare, and it felt like it was going to go on for ever.
‘Anything else?’ Amanda asked.
I shook my head.
Amanda went out of the front of the station, pulling a tiny red umbrella from her big handbag and opening it as she went down the steps. Grosvenor and I went out of the side entrance to the taxi rank.
*
The flat was cold and empty. I lifted the mass of mail and dropped it on the table in the lounge, and turned the heating back on. Grosvenor left his bag by the door, and had a good look around – I noticed him staring up into the corners of the high ceilings, and behind pictures and under tables and chairs. I watched him for a few minutes, then rinsed out the kettle and put it on.
I unpacked and stuffed as much dirty clothing as I could into the washing machine and started it up. I made us both an instant coffee, which he grimaced at, and I sat on the couch and flipped through my mail, looking for anything significant. Nothing. I tore up the junk mail, and left the rest for later.
‘Which is my room?’ Grosvenor asked.
I looked up at him.
He grinned. ‘Just kidding. I’ve got a hotel. Our guy Steve will be moving in here for a few days though – you two might need to work real close. Shouldn’t be for too long.’
We sat opposite each other in the lounge, sipping our coffees, leaning forward, tense.
‘Tell me about your family, Martin. What are they like? What’s your relationship with them?’
I took a deep breath, surprised at his question. ‘My dad died a long time ago, when I was in my early teens,’ I said. ‘I had a wee brother – Peter; he died a couple of years before that. He was very clever.’
‘Must have hit your mom real hard.’
‘Yes.’
‘So you were her last hope.’
I nodded glumly, looking into my coffee cup. ‘And I let her down.’
‘Where is she now?’
‘She remarried – a schoolteacher. They live on the south-side - ’ I clarified: ‘The other side of the river. I don’t really keep in touch. She wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual in me being out of contact for a few weeks. I don’t really rate my step dad much. But he knew there was something dodgy about Ken Talbot, right from the start. He guessed what I was into.’
‘You can atone for all of it now,’ Grosvenor offered.
‘You think?’
We sat in silence for a time.
‘We’ve never mentioned David Collins,’ he suddenly said.
‘You know about him.’
‘Sure we do. Disabled in the automobile accident that killed Charlie Talbot. Living with his wife and child in Glasgow. Seems to have plenty of money to support him. She looks after him full time, and they have a full time nurse too.’
‘Leave him alone,’ I said. ‘Just leave him alone and I’ll do what you want. But if you spoil what quality of life he has, I’ll fuck up all of your plans, no matter what.’ I was aware my voice had got louder. I was angry.
He raised his hands. ‘Hey, easy tiger. We’ve no reason to touch Collins. We’re not doing anything out of spite here – we’re just trying to nail some bad guys, as high up the tree as we can go.’
I nodded, satisfied.
Grosvenor checked his watch and stood up. ‘OK, Martin. We need to get to work. Let’s rock and roll.’
I sighed and got to my feet.
Chapter 28
St Vincent Street
Grosvenor and I climbed out of the taxi into the cold drizzle and walked across the pavement and up the steps to where a police constable stood with rain dripping from the brim of his hat, a small crowd of people at the nearby bus stop idly watching us. The PC looked at us dispassionately as Grosvenor flashed his ID, and he then led us through the door and up the stairs to the door of B&D Software Solutions. I noted the damage around the shiny new deadlock: it looked like they’d broken into our offices and then replaced the lock.
We went inside. Amanda was standing in the middle of the reception area, her umbrella propped against the desk and developing a small puddle on the floor. She was on her mobile. She killed the call quickly as we came in, and it rang again immediately. ‘Yes, tell her to come over soon as she can.’
I looked around. Like my flat, it was silent and cold, with a film of dust everywhere. The two filing cabinets each had a random drawer open – and I could see they were empty – and Claire’s desk drawers were all open and empty. The doors to the individual offices were closed and had police tape across them.
The policeman stayed by the main door. Grosvenor walked slowly around, and leaned over the tape to open the doors of the three offices. He ducked into each in turn, and looked around. ‘You didn’t touch these computers?’ he asked.
Amanda grimaced. ‘We tried to get into them, but they are all password protected. When we got enough potential evidence from the paper files here and at Talbot’s and Lomond’s homes, and their home computers, and we’d spoken to you, we decided to leave them here rather than take them back to the forensic IT guys. My boss OKed it.’
Grosvenor nodded. ‘Good.’ He stroked the keyboard of my Mac, and the PC beside it, and stood still, thinking, then looked at his watch.
‘What now?’ I asked.
There was silence for a couple of minutes. Then he said: ‘I think we need lunch. Can we get take-out?’
Amanda pulled out her purse and gave the policeman a couple of twenties. ‘Could you get us a selection of sandwiches and some soft drinks – bring them back here? Enough for five people. Anybody veggie? No? OK.’
He pocketed the money and left, looking proud of his new responsibility. I went into my office, ducking under the tape, and sat at my desk. The drawers had been forced open and emptied. Grosvenor was still deep in thought. Amanda started pulled the tape away from the doorways, stuffing it into the bin.
‘Martin!’
I stood up at the sound of Claire’s voice, and she came through to hug me. ‘You’re safe. Thank god.’ She held me at arm’s length to look at me, then held me tight again.
‘I’m OK,’ I mumbled into the mass of her long red hair. ‘How are you?’
She let me go and looked at Grosvenor and Amanda, who was looking hard at her with a raised eyebrow. Claire was dressed in jeans and a green fleece, her hair wild. ‘What’s been happening?’
‘Come and have a seat,’ Amanda said, leading Claire back to the outer office and sitting her down at her desk, perching herself on the edge of it, legs crossed. I stood in my doorway and watched.
Claire looked up at Amanda, then past her to me. ‘Martin? What’s going on?’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Just stayed at home – after the police interviewed me when you and Sandy disappeared. I haven’t been doing anything. What’s all this about? What’s been happening? Nobody’s told me anything. Was something going on with Sandy?’
Amanda was still just staring at Cl
aire, so I answered. ‘Sandy worked for a gangster named Ken Talbot. This whole business was a scam to get credit card numbers, bank account details, the works.’
‘Oh god!’
Amanda reached to hold Claire’s hand. ‘I’m Amanda. I’m with the police. We’ve got all of that business cleared up now.’ Her voice was deep and smooth. ‘We know you had nothing to do with it.’
‘So what happens to the business now? What about my job?’
Grosvenor smiled at her. ‘Your job is safe for now,’ he said. ‘Martin here is going to see if he can run the business as a legitimate concern. If it works, everything will be pretty much back to normal – except it’ll be legit.’ His smile widened, but hers was tense.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘My name’s Mark Grosvenor,’ he said, reaching to shake her hand. ‘I work for an IT company in New York. We dealt with B&D, and they screwed us over. I came over to try to sort things out, and ended up being interviewed by DS Amanda Pitt here – scared the hell out of me, I can tell you. Anyway, the Scottish police have asked me to stay on and help find out what was going on with the business, and maybe even find some of the guys out there that were working with Sandy Lomond and Ken Talbot. I’ll just be here for a few days – but I need to get back to New York soon as I can.’
Claire nodded. ‘So what do we do now?’
Amanda stood up, smoothing her skirt down, still focused on Claire, her eyes all over her; she seemed to hold her breath as Claire struggled out of her fleece, revealing a tight green halter-neck top. ‘We’ve got some lunch coming in, and then we’ll try to get everything up and running. We’ll get your switchboard live, switch on the computers, and then, over the next few days, see what happens.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Same as before: take calls, arrange meetings, field enquiries, troubleshoot. Except that Martin will be in sole charge.’
‘And we’re bringing in a colleague of mine, an IT expert from the States – guy called Steve Roberts.’ Grosvenor’s smile was still wide, his voice soft. ‘Is that all good with you?’
Claire nodded, and gave a smile that was only a little strained. ‘Yes. As long as I have a job.’
Amanda leaned over and almost touched her hair. ‘You still have a job, Claire. Here, take my card. If you’re ever worried about anything, you just call me.’ She handed Claire the small white rectangle from out of her jacket pocket, pressed it into Claire’s hand, and clasped it tight.
The young policeman arrived back with a bag of sandwiches and some juices and cokes, setting all out on a side desk, and explaining what it all was. We helped ourselves and then spread out in the room to eat and drink, in almost total silence. There was no small talk to be had in this gathering, nothing to joke about. Grosvenor took a couple of calls, moving as far away from us as he could to mumble and listen. Amanda spoke on her mobile to someone who was obviously her boss, but I couldn’t make out anything.
I texted Nicola from my Orkney mobile, and gave her my main mobile number. I told her I really wanted to see her again, and that things were complicated with work but that I hoped to get through to see her at the weekend, or maybe she could come to Glasgow.
Then, after lunch, Claire started up the switchboard and started to listen to some messages, making notes. Amanda smiled, whispered something in Claire’s ear, then said goodbye to us all, leaving Grosvenor the keys. The policeman hovered by the door. Grosvenor worked out how to start the coffee machine, and grimaced at the pack of stale coffee but used it anyway.
I went into my office, sat at my desk and switched on the Mac, and held my breath and logged on. Grosvenor set a cup of coffee beside me, and pulled a chair over so he could sit watching what I did. ‘I need to keep the business going first,’ I said to him.
The emails started coming in, private messages started appearing, and Claire’s phone started ringing.
Grosvenor watched and sipped his coffee. I replied to what looked like the most urgent messages and enquiries, apologising for the interruption to service because of a major server breakdown. Claire brought through messages from people who had been having problems, and I got her to phone them back, give the cover story, and, arrange for work to be done, prioritising it all as best she could. I checked our bank accounts: nothing had been paid into the Argyle Street account for over a week, but that wasn’t sinister – Argyle Street was legitimate.
After about two hours, with Grosvenor there all the time except when he used our toilet, I had covered all the outstanding legitimate enquiries, scheduling and re-scheduling weeks of work. On that level, things looked good. The business was still afloat, and our clients were still out there, speaking to us.
I phoned Argyle Street. ‘Bytes and Digits. Ben speaking.’ The voice was hesitant.
‘Hi, Frank,’ I said. ‘It’s Martin. Martin McGregor.’
His tone didn’t change. ‘Hi, Martin.’
I smiled. Ben – the one we used to call Frank II but had started calling Frank+1somewhere along the line – didn’t react to someone who had vanished from his life and been out of touch for almost three weeks. ‘Who else is there, Frank?’
‘Just Frank and me,’ Ben said.
‘Who’s manning reception?’
‘No one. June left eight days ago.’
I closed my eyes. ‘So who’s been sending out invoices, banking cash, doing the books?’
There was a silence. ‘June left eight days ago.’
‘OK. Have you and Frank been doing work, Frank?’
‘Yes.’
A pause. ‘Right. Claire is going to send down a schedule of urgent jobs – forget everything else and get right on those. Understand?’
‘Yes.’
I waited for a follow-up enquiry, but nothing came. ‘Fine. I’ll get over later, or tomorrow.’ I hung up.
I called Claire through and told her to send the work schedule up to Argyle Street. Then I turned to Grosvenor.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘That’s all the legitimate enquiries dealt with for the moment.’
‘Talkative guy, your Frank.’
‘Hmm. Right, do you want me to try to contact the others side of the business?’’
Grosvenor pulled his chair closer, his breath on the back of my neck. ‘Let’s go,’ he murmured.
I switched on the PC and booted into our version of Linux, and logged on with my password. I typed ‘strangle10’ at the command line, and that program started up, giving no clues that anything was happening at all until it put up two numbers, a nine-digit and a six-digit. On my phone, I sent a text to the contact called Straiton containing those numbers. This should allow whoever it was to access the identified bank account, and transfer whatever money was there to the other accounts, including mine. This was all normal procedure, and it seemed to work.
Now I typed Woz84. Again there was just a long pause while the program went out to somewhere on the Internet. Nothing happened: I just got the command line prompt back again. I stared at it and swallowed.
‘OK?’ asked Grosvenor.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I should have got some IP addresses. These would be ones Gregorius wanted to keep contact with. The fees for them would go into that bank account, and dispersed from there – I don’t know how that works. ‘
‘What would you do with the IP addresses?’
‘I’d leave the admin passwords for them alone and change the others that we’d previously given access to him for.’
‘Locking Gregorius out of them.’
‘Yes.’
‘But he’d already have installed malware in them.’
‘Yes, he just no longer needs to harvest other details. If people change their passwords then they’ll be safe. More or less. And if it’s a business computer, then it won’t grab details of new customers.’
‘Pretty neat.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘But it’s not working today.’
‘No. They’ll probably be suspici
ous about the three-week gap in contact.’
I typed Gregory on the PC, and got a ten-digit number back from somebody somewhere, and a question-mark prompt. The number was not divisible by nine. I gulped.
‘What does that do?’
‘If it’s divisible by nine then the whole setup is safe. This number isn’t.’
‘Yeah, I can do the math.’ He sat back. ‘What now?’
‘Emergency contact,’ I said. ‘I’ve only had to do that before going on holiday.’ Like Portugal and Romania. But always in advance and never after a failed attempt to make normal contact. This was all going to look very suspicious to those people at the other end of the line.
‘So what does that entail?’
I started the graphical interface on the PC, and clicked on Skype. The phonebook there had two entries: Strangle10 and Woz84. I clicked on Strangle10, choosing a voice call. Even so, Grosvenor shifted his chair to the side, well away from the webcam’s line of sight. The call went unanswered. I tried Woz84.
‘Hello, Colin.’
‘Hi,’ I said. I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been out of contact for a few weeks: unexpected holiday – couldn’t let you know.’
There was a short silence. ‘Where were you?’
‘Ah – Orkney.’
‘Interesting.’
I swallowed and shared a glance with Grosvenor. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We understand you’ve been in Spain. For four years.’ I could make out more of the voice now: a foreign accent, East European I thought.
Oh fuck. ‘Ah. I should maybe have mentioned that to you. Colin retired and I took over. My name’s Martin McGregor.’
‘Martin McGregor. Who are you, Martin McGregor?’
‘I worked with Colin. I took over when he left.’
‘You explained nothing of this.’
‘I thought there was no need. Nothing changed, did it?’
There was a pause. ‘But something change now, Martin McGregor. What has been happening?’
‘Nothing. Nothing at all. Honestly.’
‘No police activity?’
‘No.’ Shit, I should have said yes and explained.