Sunday Morning
Newton Aycliffe
Tanzy made two coffees. One for Pip, one for himself. He brought them over to the kitchen table, placing them both down, and took a seat opposite her. Pip smiled thanks and looked down, scrolling through something on her phone. The kids were outside playing in the garden. Eric was kicking the football against the side wall of the garage, the repetitive banging borderline annoying, and Jasmine was playing with a water set that Pip had bought recently, the sound of water splashing onto the decking every so often.
As Pip continued to scroll at whatever she was looking at, Tanzy’s phone rang. He plucked it out from his jogging bottoms and answered it.
‘Ori, it’s Mac,’ the voice said.
Mac from DFU.
‘Hi, Mac.’
‘I’ve been looking at Jane Ericson’s laptop.’ He fell silent as if he was doing something else. ‘I need to show you something.’
‘Okay, can you email it over? I can have a—’
‘I need to show you now,’ Mac said, cutting him off. ‘Are you at home?’
Tanzy frowned. ‘I am…’
‘Good. I’m near yours. See you in five.’
Tanzy, with curiosity, opened the door, and standing there with a laptop under his arm, looking a little scruffier than usual, was Mac, wearing a faded jumper a size too small and jeans with a tear at the knee which looked like he’d had for years.
‘Hey, Ori,’ he said, with a smile.
‘Come in,’ Tanzy said, stepping back, motioning him in with a hand.
It was the first time that Mac had been to Tanzy’s house. Whatever Mac was going to show him, Tanzy knew was important, otherwise it could have waited until the following morning.
‘Just through there,’ said Tanzy, pointing to the kitchen. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’
Mac told him he would love one and pulled a seat out at the table that Pip had just left, plonking himself down and opening the laptop on the table. Without asking, Mac took the half-eaten pack of biscuits and helped himself.
No wonder you’re in the obese category, Tanzy thought to himself.
Minutes after he’d made the coffees, Tanzy took a seat next to Mac, who explained to him he’d found something weird.
‘Weird?’ asked Tanzy, confused.
‘Well, when you know where to look, you can see how long people spend on certain websites. Behind the scenes, if you like’—he waved it away rather than getting too technical—'and the data tells you that.’
Tanzy gave a gradual nod, not really following. ‘Okay…’
‘There’s a certain website which she’d visited. The problem with the site is that, apart from an empty word box near the top of the page, there’s nothing else. The site itself carries a huge source of data.’
Tanzy held up a hand. ‘Hold on, hold on. I’m lost, Mac.’
Mac smiled. ‘Have you got Wi-Fi?’
‘Who doesn’t,’ joked Tanzy, then told him the password so Mac could connect to it.
‘Let me show you.’ In the blank bar at the top of the page, he typed in the address and tapped ENTER. The site came up immediately.
‘At the end dot com?’
‘Yeah,’ said Mac, nodding. ‘But look.’ He angled the laptop so Tanzy could see it clearer. ‘See this page. It’s a black screen, apart from that login bar.’
‘Yeah?’
‘But a page like this, with no additional drop-down menus or no visible linked pages, should have a small internet presence. The data volumes coming from that server should be minimal.’
‘But…?’ Tanzy said, unsure.
‘It has the capacity to run a large page with multiple drop-downs and a mass amount of media, such as videos and images.’
‘So, why is there only the username and password login option?’
‘That’s what I was wondering,’ admitted Mac. ‘Whatever she was up to, she needed a password to access, which I assume, would take her beyond this page and on to whatever is lurking behind this page.’
‘Is there a way to get past this?’
‘I’ve tried dozens of words and phrases. Every time I press enter, the search bar clears and I have to try again.’ He pulled the laptop closer to him. ‘What I have done, though, is search for the site on Google. There are a couple of forums that came up. Here, have a look.’ He pushed the laptop closer to Tanzy, who read the comments in several threads.
He frowned, worriedly. ‘What on earth was she watching on that site?’
33
Monday Morning
Police Station
Most of the team had either heard what happened over the weekend on the news or had been told. They waited nervously in room 103, a long rectangular room with windows on one side, allowing a substantial amount of daylight in. A whiteboard filled most of the wall near the door, with a projector fixed to the ceiling just above it for presentations or videos.
This morning was going to be used for just that. An update on latest news and current affairs.
The tables in the room were positioned in a ‘U’ shape. Fuller had said, with Tanzy and Byrd’s approval, that it would make everyone feel important and a part of the team. In previous roles, he’d implemented such ideas instead of rows of desks, experiencing the people at the back didn’t involve themselves as much as the ones at the front.
As Tanzy and Byrd looked at their colleagues, the morning sun shone brightly through the windows, illuminating most of their tired faces. Byrd went over to the window, used the pull cord to lower the blinds a little.
On the desks furthest away from them was DC Cornty, DC Tiffin, PC Andrews, and PC Weaver. The right side was filled by DC Leonard, PC Grearer, DS Stockdale, and PC Timms. On the left side, were the lead forensic officers, Jacob Tallow and Emily Hope. Next to them, the forensic trainee officer, Amanda Forrest. And next to the forensic team, closest to the door, was DCI Fuller. He didn’t always attend the meetings, but after the events from the weekend, he’d made the effort. He liked to know his team was up to speed with current affairs and equally, enjoyed hearing their views and ideas on how to solve them.
Byrd returned to the centre of the wall and stopped near Tanzy, who had set up the laptop with a presentation they’d both put together earlier.
‘We’ll make a start,’ Byrd said, grabbing the small black remote from the table. Tanzy pressed a button on the laptop and the whiteboard filling with a page titled ‘Current affairs’ and the date underneath it.
‘I’d first like to say I hope everyone had a good weekend.’ He waited for nods but there were only a couple. ‘Unfortunately’—he turned to the screen—‘not everyone did.’ He clicked the first slide. ‘As some of us know, Jane Ericson, a twenty-six year old female fell from the fourth floor of her balcony to the ground. She died immediately.’
The slide on the screen showed everyone the area of concrete where she’d landed, covered in a small, faint pool of dried blood. The next image was a photo taken of the balcony from ground level, indicating the height of the fourth floor.
‘That’s a long way down,’ DC Cornty commented.
Byrd ignored him and continued.
‘In addition to this, another video has been uploaded to the internet. Some of you may have seen it, some may have not. Hands up who’s seen it?’ Half of the hands went up. ‘We managed to save it before it was taken down. For those who haven’t seen it, here goes.’ He looked back at them. ‘Viewer discretion is advised.’
Most of them nodded, readying themselves. The video was the same one Tanzy and Byrd had watched yesterday, starting with when Jane Ericson entered the lift. The time changed in the bottom corner suddenly and, on the screen, standing to the left, obviously under some influence of alcohol, was Jane, leaning to the side. In addition to Jane, there was what appeared like a man’s arm, but not much could be seen in terms of his face or any distinctive features. They watched him disappear for a few seconds, then green gas started to fill the lift until they couldn’t see Jane anymore
.
‘What on earth has just happened?’ DC Anne Tiffin asked, the first time she’d seen it.
Byrd or Tanzy didn’t respond and continued to watch. The next part was taken from ground level, looking up at Jane, who was balanced on the handrail of the balcony. Tanzy discreetly glanced up at Byrd while he watched it.
‘Is that you, sir?’ DC Cornty asked.
Byrd immediately snapped his head at him and stared. Many eyes widened and glared over at Cornty. Byrd didn’t say anything, holding his gaze, but Cornty, cockily, matched it. Byrd was professional and didn’t answer his question, looking back at the screen just in time for when the phone rings. A second later, Jane loses her balance and falls to her death.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Tiffin shouted, covering her mouth with her hands.
‘That is a long way…’ DC Cornty whispered.
Before Byrd exploded at him, Tanzy jumped up and said, ‘So, we have a similarity here, guys.’ All eyes found Tanzy. ‘We have two murders and we have two videos. Investigating the scenes, we can also confirm we have the name Roger Carlton too. As we also know, a female called Samantha Verity came forward informing us she’d had a relationship with Roger Carlton, who, in fact, is called Mackenzie Dilton. She said he was obsessed with an American show where one of the characters was called Roger Carlton. She also said he was strange and there was something off about him. The first time we came across Roger Carlton was at the house fire at Napier Street. I spoke with him – he was posing as one of the fire investigators, but after speaking to Harry Law, their supervisor, he didn’t know the name or see the man in question. Secondly’—he looked over to forensics—‘thanks to our forensic team, we found a business card on Jane’s laptop. It was an electrician's business card with the name Roger Carlton.’
DC Tiffin raised her hand.
‘Yes, Anne?’
‘If the videos were uploaded to the internet, can we not trace it? Or the IP address of the device that uploaded it?’
Byrd and Tanzy both smiled, appreciating her train of thought.
‘Unfortunately not,’ Byrd answered. ‘We spoke with Mac in DFU and he said he did his best to trace the IP address with the ISP but the—’
‘The ISP?’ questioned DC Leonard.
‘The internet service provider,’ answered DC Cornty. All eyes fell on Cornty for a moment, so he elaborated. ‘Everyone is assigned an IP address by their Internet service provider.’
‘That’s true,’ continued Byrd, ‘however the IP address was never fixed and the service provider didn’t recognise the address of the upload.’
Leonard frowned. ‘Meaning what exactly?’
‘That Roger Carlton, a.k.a Mackenzie Dilton found a way to make sure his IP address was untraceable. Mac said he’s come across it but only on rare occasions. The address seemed to bounce across providers, leaving no fixed location. We are assuming he’s based here in Darlington, but according to his IP address, he could be in India, then ten seconds later, in America.’
There were a few confused faces but no one said anything on the matter.
‘Do we have any intel on the whereabouts of Mr Dilton, yet?’ asked DCI Fuller over from the left, sitting casually with one leg over the other.
‘Not yet, sir,’ responded Byrd. ‘We spoke with the company he worked for, an IT firm up in Newcastle.’ Fuller was aware of this but appreciated it was for the benefit of the team. ‘Said he hadn’t worked there in months.’
‘Did Samantha Verity give an address for Mackenzie Dilton?’
‘She did. Orion and I went there. Victoria Embankment. A few minutes from here. No one answered but we spoke with a neighbour who said he hadn’t seen him in months. Turns out, judging by the information I received from HM Land Registry, that the house isn’t owned by Mackenzie Dilton anymore. It used to be until ten months ago when Geoff Adamson purchased it. I went to the house on Friday to speak with him. He explained how he bought the house from Mr Dilton and that was the last time he had seen him, and unfortunately, didn’t have any contact details, as everything was done through their solicitors.’
Fuller nodded but it was clear by his facial expression he was less than impressed with how things were going.
‘Anything on the fire at Napier Street?’ DS Stockdale asked.
Byrd turned towards Tallow, Hope, and Forrest in search of anything further on their findings. Tallow shook his head.
‘What about the four missing women?’ Fuller asked quickly.
Byrd and Tanzy had heard him on the phone in his office to the superintendent, Barry Eckles. Judging by their heated conversation, it appeared Eckles was pressing him hard and didn’t hold back in expressing his disappointment so far. The call had ended by Fuller saying ‘I understand’ before he hung up the phone.
‘No sign of them, sir. I’ve spoken to their families over the weekend to give them updates, a way of informing them they are our priority.’
Fuller gritted his teeth and pushed his lips out. It wasn’t looking good for them. And judging by what was going on in Darlington, they all thought the same thing: it wouldn’t be long before another body turned up or went missing.
34
Monday Morning
Essex, South of England
Linda Fallows made coffee and toast, then sauntered into her conservatory, placing them both down on the small table next to her chair. She grabbed the TV remote and settled into it. The sun was up and high in the sky, brightly shining through the glass windows of the conservatory. She’d had it built three years ago, ready for her retirement.
It wasn’t long before Rusty, the black lab she’d had for eight years, came bouncing in from the kitchen, no doubt smelling the burnt bread lingering in the air. He loved toast. Not only toast but jam on toast. It was his favourite.
‘Good morning, you!’ she said, leaning forward, rubbing under his chin and top of his head. There was nothing but love in his dark, brown eyes as he looked up at her waiting patiently. ‘You want your breakfast?’
He moved his head eagerly as if he understood.
‘Here you go…’ She grabbed a slice and fed it to him. It was gone within seconds, but he seemed happy. Rusty was a brilliant dog. She’d bought him as a puppy when her husband, Gary, was alive. They used to go walking with him over the fields and down by the river. Rusty was Gary’s idea. He knew cancer would take him eventually and wanted Linda to have company when it was his time to go. And he wasn’t wrong. Neither were the doctors. Six months after getting Rusty, Gary passed away. Liver cancer. The only saving grace was that, in the end, it happened quickly.
Rusty looked happy and lowered to the floor, dropping his head between his front legs, looking towards the television. He did this most mornings. It was their routine. Linda had always wondered what he could see on the television, or whether it was just colours but either way, he enjoyed it, and no doubt enjoyed her commentary about what was happening.
Linda, after reading some fiction, went up to bed early, then got up at 4 or 4.30 a.m.. It was something she got used to and when she rose, she always made breakfast and sat in the conservatory, catching up on the news she’d missed from the night before. Using the remote she found the news saved in her recordings and pressed play. She liked the national news, liked to know what was going on around the country, not only in and around Essex.
She watched the news desk reporter inform the public about a killer in Darlington, who’d set fire to a house, murdering a family of four, and was now the likely suspect in the death of a young woman who had fallen from her balcony from the fourth floor.
She raised a hand to her mouth. ‘God… that’s awful, Rusty.’
From her left, she grabbed her iPad and searched for murder in Darlington. A string of results came up. She slowly scrolled down the list, clicked on the link with the headline ‘house fire – a family of four burns to death’, and pressed enter. At the bottom of the page, it mentioned a YouTube video, titled ‘Element 1’, explaining that it was live
footage recorded from the scene of the fire. She opened up YouTube and typed it in. Nothing came up. It had been taken down.
She pressed return and found herself on the list of results again, seeing headline ‘Woman falls to her death' underneath. She clicked it, read up on Jane Ericson to learn exactly what’d happened to her. Due to further investigation from the forensic team after seeing the deadly gas from a camera inside the lift, they assume it was most likely an asphyxiant gas that depleted the level of oxygen inside the small space. The green colour could have been added for effect.
There’s mention of another video posted to the internet, titled ‘Element 2’. Linda opened up her app and searched for it, but it was either blocked or had been deleted.
‘Never mind, Rusty,’ she said to the dog. ‘It isn’t there.’
When she finished watching the rest of the news, she stood up, went to the kitchen, and made a coffee. On her way back to the conservatory she stopped to stare at the photos on the wall. There were dozens of them, all six inches by four, dotted around the wall in no particular order. Some were of her family and friends, and others were of her and Gary.
Finally, her focus fell on the one of her and Chief Constable David Gilling, when she’d received an award of recognition at the annual Police awards from several years ago. She was so happy and proud. Single-handed, she had interviewed and successfully got inside the mind of Tony Crawley, the man who’d kidnapped and killed multiple teenage girls, but had given the name of the last victim who he’d kept alive. Because of her, sixteen year old Bethany Tate had been found, and sent home to her family, safe and sound, albeit with a few scratches and a story she’d tell people forever.
She remembered the awards evening very vividly; David Gilling standing at the front of the smartly dressed crowd, commending her efforts and determination, labelling her one of the best criminal psychologists he’d ever had the pleasure to work with. After that, she’d decided to retire, take her pension, and settle down to a quiet life, where her biggest danger would be Rusty smothering her for more cuddles.
No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3 Page 11