by Bill Rogers
Both Jo and Teesdale gave him a dirty look.
‘You’re right,’ said Jo quickly, ‘we don’t, but if you’ve nothing to hide a voluntary search would help eliminate you.’
The veteran stood up. ‘I finish at ten,’ he said. ‘I’ll be home by quarter past. Meet me there and I’ll show you round. He arched an eyebrow. ‘I take it you know the address, what with you being detectives?’
Chapter 46
‘What do you think, Ma’am?’ said Jimmy Hulme, as they climbed into the Audi.
‘I think you should think about what “don’t say anything unless it’s through me” means.’
‘Sorry, Ma’am.’ He managed a half-decent impression of sheepish.
‘You will be if you do it again.’ Jo fastened her seat belt. ‘You’ve been watching too many TV detective series. This isn’t Life on Mars.’
She switched on her phone and checked for messages. There was one from Nick Carter saying he had an appointment with the Coroner’s clerk at 8.45 in the morning. One from Helen Gates wanting an update. And two identical ones from Max Nailor: Call me.
He answered on the second ring. ‘Jo. I’ve been trying to reach you.’
‘I know. I’ve been interviewing a suspect.’
‘Any luck?’
‘Too soon to tell. I take it you’ve no news of Melissa or you’d have told me straight away?’
There was a short pause. ‘Have you activated your jammer?’
‘It comes on automatically,’ she told him, ‘whenever the phone is active and hands-free.’
‘In which case, I’m afraid the answer is no. We know that the van was stolen the day before yesterday from a builder’s yard in Trafford. We even have images of the thieves who took it on the firm’s CCTV. Two teenagers – one we think is female. But they both wore hoods and the picture quality is terrible.’
‘How did they get to the yard?’
‘By car. They were dropped off in the neighbouring street. And guess what?’
‘The car was stolen?’
‘And fitted with cloned plates. So now we’re trying to track that, and wade through thousands of hours of CCTV from the Wythenshawe estate – but it’s unlikely that’s where she’s being held. The odds are there was a switch to another vehicle, or she was taken somewhere else, and the van driven to the spare ground where it was torched by one of their mules.’
‘Still no communication between the people who are holding her and the Walshes?’
‘No. Nothing.’
‘That’s not good.’
‘No.’
There was a long pause.
‘That’s why I rang you,’ he said. ‘Do you think you could have another go at Jason O’Neill? He’s still our favourite suspect.’
‘I’m assuming the Anti-Kidnap and Extortion Unit have facilitated elite surveillance?’
‘Of course. But it took all day. Both ISDN secure machines failed twice, so the request had to be couriered down to the surveillance commissioners for approval. It’s only been in place since midday.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing. If anything, he appears to be using his best efforts to find her. One minute he’s checking with his minions to see if they’ve heard anything, the next they’re calling or texting him to say they haven’t.’
‘Any mention of Steven Yates?’
‘Not once. And that’s the strange thing. It’s almost as though locating his right-hand man is the last thing he wants to do.’
‘It sounds as though O’Neill suspects you’re listening in?’
‘In his shoes, wouldn’t you?’
Jo checked the time on the console. ‘I’ve got exactly an hour before I need to be somewhere else,’ she said. ‘That gives me just enough time to get to O’Neill’s and back, with a brief conversation in between. That’s the best I can do, unless you’re prepared to have me knock him up at midnight or wait till the morning?’
‘Now would be good.’
‘I’m on it,’ she replied.
‘Elite surveillance?’ DC Hulme asked as they set off.
‘What it says on the tin. The best of the best.’
‘Listening devices. Computer intercepts? That sort of thing?’
‘Much better than that.’
‘I tried to get on the College of Policing communications data seminar,’ he said, ‘but there was a massive waiting list.’
‘Which one?’
‘The Evolving World of Communications Data. Challenges for Investigative Teams.’
‘Good for you,’ she said. ‘But even if you’d been front of the queue you’d have been out of luck.’
‘Why’s that, Ma’am?’
‘It’s only for senior investigating officers and above.’
She glanced across at him. He looked genuinely disappointed, not at all like the office joker he pretended to be.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘That course wouldn’t have covered what I’m about to tell you, so consider yourself privileged.’
He angled his body towards her. ‘I’m all ears, Ma’am.’
Jo grinned. ‘How very appropriate.’
‘How’s that?’
‘You’ve heard of the Smurfs?’
He nodded. ‘Little blue Belgian cartoon gnomes. I watched the film with my niece and nephew. Please don’t tell the others, Ma’am. I’ll never hear the last of it.’
‘Our secret,’ she said, ‘providing you continue to do my bidding.’
‘Blackmail’s a criminal offence,’ he said.
‘Extortion, Detective Constable, extortion. But only if you can prove it. Now, where was I?’
‘Smurfs.’
‘Among the Government Communication Headquarters’ numerous techniques is a special set of programs known as the Smurfs. In essence, they’re secret intercept tools. Three of them are fairly common knowledge, ever since the Edward Snowden leaks revealed GCHQ had been sharing smurfed information with the US National Security Agency.’
She paused as she braked at the third set of lights on Princess Avenue and waited until they’d come to a stop. ‘There’s Dreamy Smurf, Nosey Smurf, and Tracker Smurf.’
‘You’re having me on, Ma’am.’
‘I wish,’ she said. ‘Dreamy Smurf remotely turns on phones that are off. Nosey turns on the phone’s microphone. Wherever the phone is, they’ll be able to listen in to everything that’s going on.’
‘And Tracker Smurf ?’
‘Does exactly what it says.’
‘Geolocates the phone?’
The lights changed to green and Jo set off. ‘Even more accurately than the normal triangulation from cell-phone towers.’
‘Blimey,’ said Hulme. ‘Next you’ll be telling me it’ll take photos on demand.’
‘Correct. Once GCHQ has sent the exploit SMS and gained control of your phone, they can access your contacts list, see your call and text record, and where you’ve been. The lot.’
‘And that’s what they’ve been doing with O’Neill’s phone?’
‘Probably. But only after the surveillance commissioners had given their approval. And the same with any other phone he uses that they know about.’ She shrugged. ‘But then who’s to say he hasn’t got one they don’t know about?’
‘They will if they’re listening in.’
‘Only if he’s got a smurfed phone nearby when he calls on a burner. From what SI Nailor told me, either O’Neill is wise to all this, or he had nothing to do with Melissa’s abduction.’
She checked her rear mirror and glanced across at him. ‘Now do us both a favour and give it a rest. I need to think about how to tackle this. Melissa’s life may depend on our not messing it up.’
Chapter 47
‘That’s odd,’ said Jo.
‘What is?’ asked Jimmy Hulme.
‘No watchers and no Armed Response. It looks as though DCI Fox has decided to throw him to the wolves.’
The avenue was deserted, unlike the last time she’d been here. The dark-bl
ue Jag was still in the drive. The house was in darkness.
‘What about the van parked up on the left just before we turned into this street?’ said Hulme.
‘Well spotted.’ Jo unfastened her seat belt. ‘That’ll be one of the AKEU surveillance backups. Can’t just rely on the Smurfs.’
As they crunched their way to the front door unchallenged, the driveway was flooded with light and a front curtain twitched in the right-hand bay window. DC Hulme rang the bell. A light came on in the hall. A shadow approached, growing in size until it filled the glass panels and the door opened.
‘I might’ve guessed!’ Jason O’Neill growled. He turned his back on them and walked towards the light. ‘Close the door after you.’
They followed him into the kitchen. There was a darts match on the television. The volume had been muted. A cell phone, and a landline handset lay side by side on the central unit. The only sounds were the ticking of a wall-mounted clock, and a spluttering coffee machine.
O’Neill switched off the machine, topped a mug up with coffee and milk, and turned to face them. ‘I thought you’d given up on me.’
‘Not while Melissa Walsh is still missing,’ said Jo.
He shook his head. ‘I’m sick of telling your lot. That was nothing to do with me.’
‘Maybe not. At least, not directly.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Where’s Steve Yates, Jason?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘Search me.’ He blew across the surface of the coffee and took a sip. ‘I’ve been trying to locate him myself. He took it bad when Dad was murdered. You never know how grief’s gonna affect someone, do you?’
‘How has it affected you, Jason?’
His fingers gripped the mug more tightly. His eyes betrayed a flash of irritation. ‘I’ll let you know,’ he said.
‘The thing is,’ said Jo, ‘there’s been another incident.’
‘Incident?’ He looked surprised, and wary. ‘What kind of incident?’
‘Someone else has been shot. Just like your dad and the other two victims. Only this person, as far as we can tell, had no connection with your father whatsoever. Nor for that matter did the previous victim.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘She. And no, she isn’t dead, and she is expected to recover completely.’
He placed the mug down on the central island and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. ‘Lucky for some. Who is she?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
He scowled. ‘You give me her name and I’ll tell you if she had anything to do with us.’
Jo felt DC Hulme staring at her. She knew he was thinking what she was thinking: the three of them were not alone. There were others listening. Recording every word. She weighed it up. Heather wasn’t dead, nor was she likely to die. There were no relatives to inform. Plenty of people knew about the attack. It wouldn’t be long before the press would be all over it. There was just one problem. If the perpetrator discovered that she was likely to recover, might he try again? But he was going to find out anyway, once she was released from hospital.
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ she said, for the sake of the listeners. ‘But I want you to promise not to share this information until it’s public knowledge, otherwise you could be putting her at further risk.’
Jason smiled broadly, but his eyes remained cold. ‘You can trust me, officer,’ he said. ‘I always keep my word.’
‘Heather Rand,’ Jo said. ‘She’s a retired Manchester Coroner.’
‘Rand?’ He chewed the name over, then shook his head. ‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard of her. Mind you, Dad might have done. There’ll have been a fair few inquests over the years he’d have had an interest in.’
The silence was shattered by a loud and insistent ringtone. O’Neill took a cell phone from his back pocket, shook his head, and looked around the room. Jimmy Hulme pointed to a chunky black and silver phone resting beside a large air fryer.
O’Neill crossed the room and picked it up. ‘’Ello?’ He listened for a moment and then turned to look at the two detectives. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘I’m putting this on speaker.’ He touched the screen and held up the phone. ‘It’s Burke,’ he said. ‘Go on, Nathan, tell ’em what you just told me.’
‘We’ve been all over Wythenshawe, Sharston, and Newall Green,’ said the voice. ‘No one’s seen owt or heard owt. I’ve got people sniffing around on the Sharston and Roundthorn Industrial Estates. I swear down, I’ve never seen so many bizzies on the streets. We’re tripping over them everywhere we go. I tell you what, if she’s here, they’ve got her well hidden.’
‘What about Steve Yates, Nathan?’ said Jo. ‘Have you heard from him?’
The phone went silent. O’Neill gave her a dirty look. ‘Go on, Nathan, tell her,’ he said.
‘Nothin’ to tell, Jace. It’s like you said. Looks like he’s gone to ground. Knowin’ Steve, he’ll be in touch when he’s good an’ ready.’
‘Cheers, Nathan,’ said O’Neill. ‘Keep me posted.’
‘Will do, Boss.’
O’Neill ended the call and put the phone down. ‘Satisfied?’
‘How’s your mum?’ said Jo.
‘How d’you think?’ He walked back round the island and picked up his mug. ‘Been skriking her head off non-stop since Dad died. The doctor gave her some sedatives. They knocked her out, thank God.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Jason,’ she said. ‘I’d hate to think of Mrs Walsh going through what you and your mum are going through, only worse. If that’s possible?’
He lifted the mug, took a sip, pulled a face, and threw the contents in the sink.
‘Time you left,’ he said.
Jo knew they were wasting their time, but at least she’d tried. ‘Come on, Jimmy,’ she said.
They were halfway down the hall when O’Neill called after them.
‘You talked about me not putting that woman at risk. What about me and my mum? Why’s our protection been pulled?’
Jo turned to face him. ‘They’re probably out there looking for Melissa Walsh. Along with the rest of the officers your men keep bumping into. I’m sure that once she’s back home, safe and sound, DCI Fox will consider redeploying them.’
‘And pigs’ll fly!’ he said.
The floodlights came on as they stepped onto the drive.
‘Do you think he set that up for us? The phone call?’ said Jimmy Hulme as he paused by the passenger door.
‘He didn’t know we were coming,’ she reminded him.
‘Maybe one of his cronies – the one who was watching us from the bay window – sent Burke a quick text to call in – make it look legit?’
‘I’m impressed,’ said Jo. ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye.’
She could have sworn the harsh light had caught him blushing.
‘Thanks, Ma’am,’ he said.
‘I hadn’t finished,’ she said and got in the car.
He joined her and began to buckle his seat belt. ‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ he said. ‘What were you going to say?’
‘Thank God, DC Hulme.’ She grinned. ‘Thank God there’s more to you than meets the eye.’
It took him a moment or two to work that one out, by which time she was reversing out of the drive.
‘By the way, Ma’am,’ he said, ‘I’ve been thinking. What with our theory about the unsub being a revenge killer?’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I’ve just recalled that one of the names for the castor oil plant, on account of the shape of the leaves, is Palma Christi.’
‘The significance being?’
‘The Hand of Christ,’ he said. ‘That’d make a great moniker for a psycho, don’t you think?’
She glanced across at him. He was gazing through the side window, looking really chuffed with himself. Jimmy Hulme, she reflected, you never fail to surprise me.
Chapter 48
Close to midnight,
Jo switched on the light, slumped down on the sofa, and contemplated the jumble of crates.
They summed up where she was in her life right now. In limbo. Not really here, and not yet there. Wherever there was? That was true not just of a physical space that she could truly call home, but also the state of her love life, and her work. Abbie would continue to haunt her emotional life until Jo was gone from here and settled into the apartment at The Quays. And, in all likelihood, not even then until she’d made it hers, and Abbie’s baby had been born. As for her nascent relationship with Agata, it was far too soon to tell where that was heading.
A sudden pang of guilt made her put the pizza box she was carrying down on the nearest crate, and fish her phone from her bag. She switched on and scrolled through the texts. There were two from Abbie, both of which she deleted unread. There were four from Agata, each one increasingly anxious. Jo checked the time. It was far too late to call, but the least she could do was text her back. Her thumbs skimmed across the screen.
Aggie . . . I’m SO sorry!!! It’s been a hell of day. I’ve driven four hundred mules, been to two crime scenes – one was another murder – interviewed one victim and loads of witnesses. Just got in after fruitless search of home of suspect. AND to top it all, that young girl still missing! Had to keep phone on mute, haven’t even had time to read messages. I know it’s no excuse, but I hope you’ll forgive me. Will call in the morning, I promise. Love you. Jo XXX.
She pressed send, and picked up a slice of pizza. It was still in mid-air when the phone rang. It was Agata.
‘Jo, thank God you’re alright. You are alright, aren’t you?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Jo. ‘Just tired and hungry.’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve been too busy to eat? You’ve got to eat and drink, keep your strength up – even more so when you’re under stress.’
Jo smiled to herself. Agata was beginning to sound like her mum. The real one. The one who had adopted and raised her.
‘Thanks, Aggie,’ she replied, ‘but I picked up a pizza on Stevenson Square. I was about to eat it when you rang.’
‘Don’t let me stop you, Jo. It’ll get cold. You eat, I’ll do all the talking.’
Jo laughed. ‘I’m going to take you up on that. I’ll put you on speaker. Don’t worry, there’s no one else here, just me and a load of crates.’