by Lizzie Lewis
“I’ve not been back near the place since the day I left,” I say. What on earth is the man talking about?
“I know your husband was with the police, but I didn’t know he was some sort of pervert. Or was it your idea to keep an eye on whoever moved in next?”
“I’m sorry, Mr Mulligan, but I’m going to hang up. You’re talking nonsense. I paid you the rent arrears three months ago when the insurance came through, and whatever your tenants are up to, please don’t phone me about it. Understand?”
“Mrs Jones, my tenants reported a problem with the lights, and my electrician has been in there this morning to sort things out.”
Mr Mulligan is making it sound as though it’s my fault, but the lights were working perfectly when I left. Anyway, has it really taken six months for some electrical problem to show? I came here to live with Jezza and Rachel immediately after Sam’s death. And now I’m getting the blame?
“I’m talking about the spy cameras and things,” Mr Mulligan shouts. He sounds as though he’s about to give himself a heart attack. I hope he doesn’t have high blood pressure.
“I know I didn’t leave anything behind,” I tell him, trying to put on a voice that will calm him down.
“They weren’t left behind, Mrs Jones. They were hidden in the ceiling light fittings in the living room and the main bedroom. Sneaky little cameras and microphones. Don’t deny it. I’ve got them here in my hand. What’s your explanation ... pervert?”
I know Sam didn’t hide them. What would be the point? Someone obviously got in during the day while we were living there, and hid them. Someone from the gang that eventually killed him? I feel violated that our private conversations were recorded. And not just conversations. A camera. Cameras. Suddenly I don’t want to be a private detective checking up on people. The whole concept of private investigation sounds obscene.
But things are making sense. Sam was obviously being trailed by the gang. Even if they hadn’t managed to tap his mobile phone, they would have been able to hear one side of every conversation he made at home. I’m sure he told me where he was going on the evening he was killed.
“Mr Mulligan, you have to take everything to the police at once. I think that stuff must have been put there by whoever killed Sam. Give me five minutes, and I’ll tip them off at the station about what’s happening. Please, this is important. Sam and I are not to blame, but the police might be able to track down the people who left the spy equipment.”
There, that should let my old landlord calm down a bit. “You have to do it, Mr Mulligan. Please. The police will do a proper bug search. There might be more equipment that your electrician hasn’t found. But whatever you do, don’t do any more searching. Try not to handle anything. Put it all in a polythene sandwich bag and I’ll phone you back.”
“I’m not convinced it’s nothing to do with you, Mrs Jones, or with your husband. Believe me, I’m seriously regretting ever having rented the property to the two of you.”
I’m not going to respond to that. Anyway, he has a perfectly valid point. We got three months behind with the rent and he had to go to the bother of evicting us. We certainly put him to a lot of trouble.
I’m phoning Courtney. It’s her day off, but she’s listening to me, and clearly takes the discovery seriously. She’s going to contact someone senior who’s on duty and explain the situation to them. I give her Mr Mulligan’s phone number, and she tells me I can leave the matter in her hands.
I’m glad I came out into the garden to take the call. This is a large old house with a large garden, and I know the neighbours won’t be listening. I can just imagine how Jezza and Rachel would feel if there were bugs in this house.
A horrible panic runs through me. “Jezza, Rachel, come out here quickly. I’ve got something important to say.”
They’re coming out now, looking puzzled.
“That sounds like a serious call you’ve just received,” Rachel says. “You look upset, Janika. Problem over your new apartment? We don’t have to go today.”
We go down to the end of the garden, and very quietly I explain about Mr Mulligan and the surveillance equipment.
“That’s nasty,” Rachel says, and I signal to her to keep her voice down.
“Rachel, Jezza, have you had any trades people in the house that you didn’t expect?”
I can see they’ve caught on to what I’m thinking. Rachel looks at Jezza and they shake their heads. They go out to work Monday to Friday, and I’ve been away some of the time on my residential private investigators course since I’ve been living here.
I’ve always felt their front door lock isn’t particularly secure, and there’s no house alarm. However, the latch was secure enough to trap me outside when I first moved here. I was on my own and went to get something from my car, and the door blew shut behind me. I had no idea how to pick a lock, and I still don’t. So I had to phone Rachel at work, and she kindly popped back to let me back in.
Naturally, from then on I’ve always made sure I have a key with me, even if I’m only going outside for a few seconds. What I want in my new apartment is a lock that needs a key to go out as well as in when the door closes and latches itself automatically. If I don’t have the key, I can’t leave the premises. Simple. Locking myself out will be one embarrassment I’m never going to face again.
Jezza is examining the lock. “It doesn’t look damaged, but that doesn’t mean someone hasn’t managed to get in while we’re out,” he says. He’s looking at Rachel. “Any thoughts?”
I’m probably panicking about nothing. Whether they know if anyone got in or not, the main thing is to discover if there are any hidden bugs. And I’ve got the equipment to do it.
“Stay out here,” I say, taking command. “I’m going to do a sweep. We’re not leaving for Button Up until I know your house is clear. I’m so sorry, this must be such a worry to you.”
“I hope there’s nothing in the bathroom,” Rachel says.
“Or in our bedroom,” Jezza adds.
I’m hoping there’s nothing in my own ensuite bathroom. Anyway, I need to get on with it, either to set my own mind at rest or to give all of us reason to panic.
“I can’t seriously believe anyone has bugged your house,” I say. I hope they believe me. If the gang think Sam had passed information on to me, they might think I’m discussing it with my friends. Or they might hope to see me in my bedroom poring over a notebook belonging to Sam and then tucking it under the mattress ‒ for them to retrieve when the houses is empty. Of course, I don’t have any sort of notebook that Sam left behind, although I do seem to remember him writing stuff down somewhere, but I wasn’t really paying attention.
“If there are bugs,” Jezza asks, raising his voice slightly more than I like, “will someone know you’re searching for them?”
“The bugs probably send a signal to some nearby sensor that records video and conversation. There won’t be somebody wearing headphones hiding in the bushes. I’ll start the sweep now.”
Of course Jezza insists on coming with me, which means Rachel does as well. I practised sweeping for bugs on the residential course, but searching for bugs hidden by the course leader isn’t the same as doing it seriously. On the course, I’d been thinking it would be fun doing it for real, but the fact is it’s a worry. Supposing there really are bugs? Video as well as sound.
My bug detector is fully charged and one of the most expensive models on the market. It will find radio transmitters of every possible frequency, but it won’t find static recorders that don’t actually transmit a signal over the air. But I can’t imagine there will be any like that here. But it will find concealed cameras. Even cameras with a tiny pinhole lens.
Permanent spy bugs usually run off the house electricity, probably from tapping a cable in the ceiling. Some transmit a video and audio signal 24/7, and others need regular access to the recording medium to replace it. Most likely a memory card. I’m fairly convinced people haven’t been coming and goi
ng regularly to this house. And even if there are bugs, whoever planted them probably gave up listening to them ages ago.
I’m starting in the hallway with my bug detector, the equipment automatically sweeping through every possible frequency. There’s a signal on the detector screen and from the speaker, but not from a source close at hand. All sorts of domestic equipment emits radio signals, including televisions. So I ask Jezza and Rachel to hurry through the house and check that everything electronic is switched off, even the digital alarm clock in their bedroom.
I’m still picking up the signal. It seems to be coming from the dining room or the kitchen. It only takes a few seconds to pinpoint the source to the ceiling in the dining room. There is another camera and microphone bug in the kitchen, and another in the sitting room ceiling.
I whisper to my two friends not to speak, but beckon to them to follow me up the stairs. To their relief, and mine, their bedroom and the main bathroom are both free. But to my alarm, there’s something in my bedroom ceiling light fitting. Snooping on people like this is a disgusting practice. Whatever made me think I wanted to be a private detective with a box full of advanced bugs?
I need to think of a new career. Perhaps go back to hairdressing, if I can get a job. I’m going to phone Abi Wells and tell her I’m sorry, but I won’t be bringing the signed tenancy agreement.
Chapter 9
As we go back into the garden to discuss the next step, I’m starting to think more rationally. According to the law in the UK, I’m not allowed to enter private property and place bugs without permission. I can do it if the owner of the property, such as an office, requests me to do it, but I can’t break the law by trespassing.
There’s no way I could consider taking on an assignment to place bugs in a house like Jezza and Rachel’s, assuming I didn’t know them. But, more importantly, Jezza and Rachel could ask me to plant them, to keep an eye on the cleaner ‒ or perhaps someone who was a carer for their elderly mother, if they had one living here. And that would be fine.
So perhaps it’s a bit premature to be phoning Abi and cancelling that lovely office and small living apartment. Instead, I phone Courtney and explain what I’ve found. I tell her that now their cover is blown, whoever planted them may well be aware that I’ve detected the bugs. And there might be bugs I’ve not managed to find. What does she suggest?
No one can expect to kill a member of the police force and find they are no longer being hunted. This case is still high priority. Courtney seems to be fully on top of the job. She’s going to get the team that’s on their way to Mr Mulligan’s house to come straight to mine. Mr Mulligan has already handled the bugs extensively, but when I assure her I haven’t attempted to remove anything, she’s excited by the prospect of finding fingerprints or perhaps DNA.
Five minutes after we’ve spoken, one of the crime scene detectives phones me and says they’ll be over immediately, with a strong warning not to touch anything. She probably doesn’t know about my training, and even if she does, it’s not going to be as impressive as hers. So I bite my tongue and tell her we’ll wait until the team arrives, and I promise I definitely won’t touch anything.
Things move surprisingly quickly, and the leader, a woman probably in her fifties with a very commanding voice and steel grey hair pulled back into a bun, asks if we can possibly leave the team alone for a few hours.
“But Janika is an experienced ‒‒‒‒”
“Don’t worry, Rachel,” I say quickly. I know she’s about to explain that I’m a trained detective, but I’m not experienced in any way at all.
I smile. “Sam Jones was my husband, and he told me a bit about detecting, and I’ve been training to do some private investigation work. That’s why I had the scanner.” It’s just as well to explain what’s going on, without claiming any superior expertise.
I tell the team leader where I found the bugs, and I even have the decency to say I might have missed some, and their team may well find more.
She smiles, and I think we’re sort of friends now. Anyway, it’s thanks to me that she’s here at all.
Within a few minutes we are more or less shooed out of the house, and politely told not to return until the evening. Is that all right? And do we have spare keys for the front door so they can lock up when they leave?
I get the impression that we have to go, whether it’s all right or not. The team has work to do. Rachel asks if it’s all right if we grab a few things, and the team leader says that’s fine ‒ as long as we don’t speak a word. I get the impression we’ve already given the game away by doing the search, but then if we hadn’t been looking, no one would be any the wiser about the bugs. It’s just that I think the team leader is the sort of person who finds fault with everyone, and I’m feeling rather sorry for the rest of the team.
I’m standing in the front garden, waiting for Jezza and Rachel, and I can hear a car drawing up. To my surprise it’s Courtney Jacobs, the Detective Constable who has been such a help to me so far. She comes across and explains that she was just following up on my phone call, and she’s glad to see that the crime team have arrived.
“Is DI Dickinson coming, too?” I ask. It seems rather odd that a detective constable has come, and not the detective inspector who’s in charge of the investigation.
Courtney is shaking her head. “The forensic team will report back to him, and I’m only here out of courtesy.”
“Any updates on the investigation you can share? I take it you’ll still be searching Mr Mulligan’s house as well as collecting the bugs he’s just found.”
“I wish there was news,” Courtney says. “We’re following a few leads, but nothing major yet. This isn’t the work of a small town drug dealer. This is something major. International. I’d love to share, but please don’t ask me to tell you anything more.”
I just nod. Jezza and Rachel still haven’t appeared, and the silence between me and Courtney is starting to grow embarrassingly long. I eventually break it by asking, “How is DI Dickinson’s family?” I remember Courtney saying there was some sort of problem. Perhaps I shouldn’t be asking the question. It’s no business of mine.
Courtney shakes her head but says nothing for a moment. Then she says, “We’re not quite sure what’s happening. He won’t discuss his family life at the station. He has two kids in their early teens. His wife has left him and taken the kids. I’ve no idea why. We all thought he was quite a family man.”
I think back to my own time in Poland when I nearly walked out on my parents. But I was in my early twenties.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Courtney. I won’t say anything to him about it. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Jezza and Rachel are about to leave. We’ve been thrown out of the house.” I laugh. “Well, not exactly thrown out, but told to keep out of the way for the rest of the day. Anyway, thanks for coming. It’s good to keep contact with people Sam worked with.”
Courtney laughs. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. You’re still going to be in the Brevelstone CID area.”
“Great,” I say. “Be sure to find some excuse to call in.”
Thirty minutes later we’re on our way to meet Abi, and are certainly not travelling in silence. We’re making up for the time we weren’t allowed to talk at the house. There’s a lot of conjecture about who could have planted the bugs, and even whether it’s going to be safe to return.
I’m really regretting taking up the offer of accommodation with Jezza and Rachel. It seems I’ve brought trouble with me. So when were the bugs placed in the house? Did someone plant them the moment Sam and I agreed to take up Sam’s friends’ offer of accommodation?
That makes sense. What possible reason could there be to check up on me living there without Sam? I’m starting to feel a bit better about it. I guess the forensic team will get some idea of when the bugs were hidden. I certainly hope so, and I try to comfort Jezza and Alice with that reassuring thought.
The car journey to Button Up takes just over an
hour. Rachel who is driving seems to be familiar with the small town, and I only have to give her directions to Button Up as we approach the centre.
Although the coffee shop is a little distance from the main shops, parking is tricky. I remember Abi telling me there’s parking round the back of Button Up that Melanie Donovan uses. Melanie isn’t going to be in today, and Abi says she walks to work when the weather is fine. I know it’s a bit cheeky, but I suggest to Rachel she gives it a go.
The space is empty. I realise that without the waste skips, there would probably be room for two small cars. I’m not sure what can be done about the skips, but it would be great to have a permanent parking slot available for my little Nissan Micra when I move here.
We are rather late for lunch, but I phoned Abi before setting out and explained the situation, and said we would stop off on the way to get something to eat. She explained that food is served until they close just before six, so as long as we could hold out, we were welcome to eat there. And the offer of a free lunch for my guests was still valid.
I’m delighted to see that Jezza and Rachel take to Abi. In a few minutes they’re talking together like old friends, even discussing their own churches. Young Pete has Hayley with him, and they start to prepare our various panini and toasties with side salad while we talk to Abi.
Pete Wilders seems to have a special interest in detection work, and he leaves Hayley to finish preparing our lunch order, and pulls up a chair to our table to hear the account of the hidden bugs. Abi tells him not to be so nosy, to which Pete rolls his eyes and retorts that that’s a bit rich coming from her!
Pete is telling us how he and Hayley trailed an Italian conman, and apparently the two of them solved a major crime after tricking the man into letting Pete get his fingerprints.
Abi is smiling, and she tells us there’s a bit more to it than that, but Melanie has a lot to thank Pete for. I guess we’re going to hear more about it later, but Hayley calls Pete across to help serve up our late lunch.