by Rob Wyllie
But unfortunately, Frank couldn't get access either, not at this point in time at least. It was good that Britain still paid some regard to civil liberties and human rights and all that stuff, of course he agreed that, but it could really slow things down when you were working on an investigation. To get access to the MI5 databases, you needed the say-so of a senior officer, DCI rank as a minimum, and they had to get an official form signed by their boss too. Fair enough, but it really was a pain in the bum. Especially in this case, since it was public knowledge that Gerrard Saddleworth had a history of student activism. It was odds-on therefore that he would have come to the attention of MI5 at some point in the past, so that would be worth looking at. And senior GCHQ staff like Khan were given an MI5 file as a matter of routine, even if there was nothing of interest to put in it. But no matter, he would ask Jill later and maybe she would take a quick look for him, off the record.
The PNC was a reasonable place to start in the meantime. After eighteen years in the force, Frank knew that success in a case came from putting in the hours, slogging through reams of forensic data, trying to make sense of conflicting witness statements, looking for that little overlooked nugget of information that tied it all together. That was his experience, and he had no reason to expect this one to be any different. Which is why it was all the more surprising that just twenty minutes after he had sat down in front of his computer, he was feeling like he'd just bagged a hole-in-one at St Andrews in the Open.
He had started with Gerrard Saddleworth and Penelope White, but had drawn a blank. Squeaky-clean records as far as the police were concerned. He wasn't too worried about that, because the juicy stuff on Saddleworth, if there was any, would most likely turn up on the wee MI5 database.
But then five minutes into his search came the remarkable discovery that Dr Tariq Khan had a criminal record, and one serious enough that he would surely go to extraordinary lengths to keep it buried deep in the past. This was a hell of a lot more serious than a parking ticket. No, it was absolute dynamite.
Then just a few minutes later, bang, another one. Unbelievably, Adam Cameron had a drugs bust. Thirty-odd years ago, when he was up at Oxford. Just a caution for possession, but he had been damn lucky it hadn't derailed his career. Not something to boast about in his profession.
And then he had got the call from Eleanor, with her initial verdict on the Khan report. She sounded hesitant.
'Frank, I've had like a couple of read-throughs and I have to admit I don't quite know what to make of it.'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, I need to qualify this you'll understand, because he's one experienced dude and I've not got half the knowledge that he's got, but well, it's like a bit weird. What I mean is the conclusion and summary is black and white, he says that there's an eighty-six percent chance that the identification by that dashcam is wrong. That's as close to a hundred percent certain as you can be in scientific terms.'
'So what's the problem?'
'It's the workings. I mean the scientific evidence he uses earlier in the report to reach his conclusion. You see, to me, and as I said, I'm nowheres-ville compared to him, but to me, it doesn't stack up. Without getting technical or anything...'
'Aye, please don't,' he grimaced, 'or I'll get lost.'
'Don't worry, I'll keep it simple - well simple-ish. So facial recognition systems work by recording the geometry of the face, how far apart your eyes are, the distance between the tip of your nose and your mouth, that sort of thing. These are called facial landmarks, and the technology uses around seventy of them. These are unique to each face and once you have them it's actually simples-ville to do matching searches on a database. Too simple, some might say, but that's another story. The other thing is, and this is either like really scary or really powerful depending on which way you look at it, you don't need all the seventy landmarks to be able to do an accurate match. And Frank, it's this feature that your case depends on, isn't it? The terrorist's face was partially covered by sunglasses and a headscarf, but the photograph captured enough of these landmarks to allow a match. That's how she was caught, I think.'
'Ok.' He spoke slowly. 'I think I understand this. Carry on.'
'Right, so what the Khan dude is saying in simple terms is that the plumber's dashcam photograph didn't capture enough facial landmarks to allow a reliable match. He dresses it up in some highly technical words that I don't understand, but that's the essence of it.'
'But I'm getting the sense that you don't agree.'
'Correct, I don't. I haven't seen the actual photograph, but I would have thought that there would definitely have been enough landmarks recorded for a positive identification. In fact I'm sure of it.'
'So you're saying that Dr Khan's conclusions might not be correct?'
'Just my opinion as I say, but yes. And remember, he's probably forgotten more about the subject than I'll ever learn, so you know, I might be like way off the mark here.'
'Yeah point taken Eleanor,' Frank said, 'and I'm obviously not going to hold you to it or anything, don't you worry about that. But it's very interesting, although I'm not sure if I have a clue right now what it means. But yes, thanks again for your efforts.'
'Any time Frank, and I hope it helps.'
So not a bad morning's work, all in all. Two of the persons of interest with something to hide, and a technical report that might not be all it seemed. What it all meant, he had no idea at the moment, but this was the way you worked the early stages of an investigation like this. Dig out some interesting facts and gradually start piecing them all together until a pattern emerges. Do the leg work, put in the hard graft and you'll get results. Time now to smooth-talk Jill Smart in to opening up that MI5 database.
Chapter 14
It was over twelve hours since Maggie had received the irritating phone call from Frank. Some extremely interesting facts had emerged that warranted further investigation, that was the tantalising message. Extremely interesting, he had said, not quite interesting or just merely interesting. She had pressed him for more, but he said it was too complicated to discuss on the phone. So for further details, she would have to wait until she and Jimmy met up with him later that evening. The truth was, she had been in turmoil since that photograph had turned up, and the wait was only going to add to the agony. Because now there was something tangible, something that might help her answer the question that had haunted her every moment, waking or sleeping, since the end of the trial. Who was it that had lied about the point in time when she had received Khan's report?
Further contemplation of the situation would have to wait however, because today was an important day. The most important in her life for over a year. Because today was Ollie's seventh birthday, and Philip had grudgingly agreed that she could see him for one hour. Just one hour. It wasn't nearly enough, nothing like it, but right now her ex-husband held all the cards and she had no option but to go along with it. Her mum was coming too, and would soon be arriving at King's Cross. Damn. She glanced at her watch and realised that she was already too late to meet her at the station. The news from Frank and the gut-wrenching anticipation of the day ahead had knocked her for six and she had already lost all sense of time. But maybe Jimmy could help. Was it a bit cheeky to ask?
He answered his phone after just one ring.
'Hi Jimmy, it's me.'
'Aye, I know, it says 'mad woman' on my phone.' He seemed to have detected the agitation in her voice. 'Are you ok?'
'Where are you at the moment?'
'I'm just walking down from St Pancras now. About half way down Judd Street.'
'Jimmy, I don't really like to ask, but I've really screwed up my timings this morning. Would you mind awfully going back to King's Cross and meeting my mum off the Leeds train and directing her to the Victoria Line? We're seeing Ollie at the McDonalds in Oxford Circus at twelve and there's no way I can get to the station to pick up mum without making us all horrendously late. What if I tell her to stand outside WH Sm
iths and wait for you to call her? I'll tell her to look out for a tall dark stranger that some people might call handsome.'
He laughed. 'Ha ha, visually challenged people do you mean? Consider it done.'
'I can't thank you enough Jimmy, you've saved my life.' Again, she thought. She changed the subject. 'So what do you think about all that stuff that Frank found out yesterday? I assume he called you too?'
'Aye, I spoke to him last night. It is crazy, right enough, I don't really know what to make of it. We're meeting up at his pub tonight aren't we? Anyway, I'll drop you a message once I've chucked your mother onto the tube.'
Maggie reached Oxford Circus with fifteen minutes to spare and made her way to McDonalds where she was pleased to see her mother was already waiting. They hugged warmly, drawing strength for the momentous hour that lay ahead.
'Mum, I'm so sorry I didn't make it to the station,' Maggie said. 'I just lost all track of time.'
'Darling, I'm only sixty-six years old and perfectly capable of navigating my way across London. But it was very nice to meet your Jimmy, he's lovely and ridiculously good-looking, I must say. Yes, I'm not too old to notice.'
'He's not my Jimmy mum,' Maggie laughed.
'Well, he should be, if I'm any judge.'
'And how's dad?'
'About the same. He gets very confused still but he is perfectly happy as far as I can tell. And he asked me to take plenty of pictures of Ollie, so he does remember some things, thank goodness.'
'That's nice.'
They fell into silence, nerves jangling with excitement but some apprehension too. It was over two months since Maggie had last been with her son. Social services had quite rationally ruled that she couldn't be trusted, so it was entirely down to Philip when she could see him if at all. He used it like a nuclear weapon, inflicting unimaginable agony that with every second of separation burned a searing pain into her heart. Her recurring nightmare was that Ollie had already forgotten her, warm and secure in the care of the dazzling Angelique Perez. She knew that her mum was suffering too, the grandparents as so often being the forgotten collateral damage in a marriage breakdown. It was completely understandable therefore that despite Asvina's strict advice to the contrary, she was still driving to Ollie's school once or twice a week to catch a fleeting glimpse of her son, however brief, but that only succeeded in making the pain so much harder to bear. Today she just wanted to hold him in her arms and never let him go, ever, but she knew that could not be. But it wasn't long now until the custody hearing, when surely no court would decide that a child should be separated from his mother. That was the only thing that mattered and she had to stay strong.
At ten past one they still had not arrived, her mum fussing that they had got the arrangements wrong and should have been at another restaurant. But Maggie knew differently. This was just another of Philip's little power games, designed to cause maximum suffering. Right from the start, she knew that she had made a mistake in marrying him, but she had been nearly thirty-five and single and obsessively conscious of her biological clock ticking ever faster. Like a fool, she had gone ahead with the marriage, believing that she could grow to love him, like some ill-fated heroine of a Victorian novel. But she had grown to hate him instead. And now she found herself inextricably linked to him through her adored son.
Her mum was pointing to the door. 'Here they are at last.' There was Philip, with Ollie. And with them, unexpected and uninvited, Angelique Perez, holding Ollie's hand. They were laughing, sharing some private joke, a scene no doubt orchestrated by her ex-husband to maximise the pain. Pig. And now Maggie was struggling to hold it together.
Her eyes welled up. 'What is she doing here mum? What the hell is she doing here?'
Her mother gripped her arm. 'Let it go dear, just go to Ollie.' He had caught sight of her and was snatching his hand free from Angelique's and running towards her.
'Mummy, mummy. My mummy.'
Maggie scooped him up in her arms and hugged him tight to her breast, as tight as she dared. It was going to be alright.
'My darling, my darling.'
A muffled voice came from the folds of her arms. 'Ugh, you're squeezing me mummy.'
She released him, planting a gentle kiss on his head. They started to laugh, quietly at first, then a bit louder, and soon so uproariously that everyone in the restaurant suspended their refuelling to look. It was going to be alright.
'You've got one hour,' Philip said coldly. 'We'll be back then and don't try anything stupid. Come on Angelique.'
It was awkward at first, of course, because so much of the easy babble of family conversation depends on the quiet routine of normal life, a life which cruelly they no longer shared. But the laughter had helped, and there was 'happy birthday' to be sung, candles to be blown out and piles of presents to be opened, brought in four garishly-decorated gift bags. 'Star Wars Lego!' Ollie shouted as he tore the wrapper off a particularly large package, 'and a new football! Thank you mummy, thank you nana!'
They laughed when he squeezed his Big Mac too tightly and a jet of ketchup shot out and splattered down his new clean t-shirt, they laughed when he let out a huge burp, and of course they laughed at his terrible seven-year old's jokes, fresh to him but fondly remembered from Maggie's own schooldays. For an hour, it was as if the last eighteen months had been a sick dream from which they had now thankfully awoken, but then all too soon it was over. Philip was back, alone this time, tapping his watch theatrically. Just fifty-four minutes had elapsed, exactly what Maggie had expected.
'Right, that's it, time's up. Ollie, come to me please.'
Ollie began to cry. 'No, I don't want to. I want to stay with my mummy.'
Maggie cuddled him close. 'Darling, we've had a lovely time but you know what we said. You need to go with daddy just now. It won't be long until I see you again and we will have another lovely time, won't we? Now go and give your nana a big kiss and a hug. I love you darling.'
He struggled to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 'I love you too mummy.'
He kissed his grandmother on the cheek then shuffled over to where his father stood. However, it seemed that Philip was not yet ready to leave. 'Ollie, go back and sit over there with your nana and play with your new toys,' he said sharply. 'I need to talk to mummy for a few minutes.'
Maggie noticed he was carrying a buff A4 envelope.
'You need to see these I think.'
He extracted a sheaf of large photographs and spread them across the table. The scene they depicted was unmistakeable.
'You pig, you complete pig.' And then, comprehension. 'You've had someone following me. I can't believe that.'
'Your own fault Maggie, nobody else's. Skulking around outside a primary school with a camera and binoculars, that's just pathetic. Anyway, I just want you to know that this morning I've raised an injunction at the High Court to prevent you going anywhere near Ollie's school again, or anywhere else where Ollie might go. I've taken advice, not that I need it, and I fully expect it to be granted tomorrow. Of course, that's you up shit creek as far as access is concerned. I mean you can still go ahead with the hearing if you want, but you've got two-thirds of bugger-all chance of it being granted now.'
She struggled to make sense of what he was telling her. 'You can't do that Philip. It's too cruel, even for you.'
He looked at her with contempt.
'I can do what the hell I like and you can't do anything to stop it.'
A fierce anger swelled up inside her, fired by the utter injustice of her situation. It wasn't fair that he could keep her from seeing her own son, and she wasn't going to just lie down and let him walk all over her. Not now that she knew all about that Cathedral Close dinner. She didn't know what that was all about but she was bloody well going to get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she did. Red-faced, she walked over and violently pushed him in the chest with her outstretched palms. Taken by surprise, he was toppled over by the force of it, ending up prostrate on t
he floor, face upwards. An instant later, she was straddling him, her face inches away from his, her forearm locked across his throat.
'You listen to me you pig. Don't you ever threaten me again, do you understand?' Reaching in her back pocket, she took out her phone and pushed the photograph into his face.
'You see Philip, I know all about your scheming. I don't know what it's all about but believe me I'm going to find out and when I do, you'll be sorry. I'll make damn sure of it.'
An excited crowd had gathered round, led by the manager of the restaurant in his striped green shirt and 'here to help' badge. Maggie bounded to her feet, running her hands through her hair and smoothing down her t-shirt.
'Nothing to get worried about here.' She shot a sweet smile in the direction of the manager. 'My husband and I were just having a bit of a domestic. We do this all the time. Very therapeutic. Come on darling, get up.'
The manager looked at her uncertainly. The last thing he wanted was to have to call the police, with all the hassle and disruption that would bring. 'Well, if you are sure...'
'Yes, we're quite sure, aren't we darling? Come on, up you get.'
It took several seconds for him to struggle back to his feet, like a boxer trying to beat the count. He looked rattled but his voice spat defiance.
'I don't know where you got that photograph, but you really are a stupid woman Maggie, imagining all sorts of drama and conspiracy when there's really nothing there at all. It was just an innocent dinner between friends and colleagues, nothing more.'