Текст книги "The Electrician's Code: An Evans and Blackwell Mystery"

Автор книги: Clarissa Draper

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

Theo spent a lot of mornings staring at his ceiling, debating whether to spend another day in a world where his wife didn’t recognize him, where he no longer received his kiss of affection before work. Today was no different—especially today. It was his anniversary.

He had spent the night hoping to get a lead on the case but it never came. She never came. Theo had waited outside Sophia’s flat for three hours. He had watched people come and go and cars enter the car park. Where the hell had she gone? Part of him wished he’d never rang her in the first place. He used her as a crutch. And why would she be eager to work on his case? Her job was exciting.

How many times had he rang Sophia’s mobile last night? Perhaps she was avoiding him. Perhaps she played polite but found him annoying.

Only a stalker would sit around her flat for so long. Was he that desperate? He was thankful she never returned home. What would she have said to him?

From the kitchen came the smell of strong coffee, eggs, and his mother’s intermittent laughter. For the past week, he didn’t remind anyone in his family about his anniversary and so far, no one had mentioned it. For that he was thankful. Conversations about his wife were always awkward.

An hour later, he finally made it to the kitchen. Somehow the whole family managed to make it to the table before him. If there was going to be somewhere the family gathered, it would be the kitchen table. He wasn’t sure they met anywhere else in the house unless it was game day and then the men sat in front of the telly. He took a seat across from his father. His father acknowledged him with a nod. His mother laid a coffee in front of him.

His brother-in-law, Tim, was still talking about the hamburgers he grilled the night before.

“I haven’t had a juicier burger in my life,” he said. “You may soon ask me to cook all the meals in the house.”

His mother didn’t say anything, but the way she slowly lowered the spatula on the worktop was enough to silence Tim.

When Agneta started to laugh, Theo picked up his coffee, went out the back patio door and into the garden. She might have reasons to laugh but he didn’t and to see it only rubbed salt into the wound. Outside, he pulled a plastic chair closer to the house. The air was nippy and bit at his ears. He could still smell the remnants of smoke and fried meat from the night before. Instead, he gulped down his coffee and blew out a visible breath.

On occasions like this, he often considered divorce. He had never done it because he worried it would break her heart, but why would she care? It didn’t take him long to change his mind, of course. He couldn’t do it, no matter how bad things became. She was happy and he must be satisfied with that. The family loved her, she would listen to all the old stories again and find them interesting because to her, they were new.

But what if he did divorce her? What would he do? He’d have to leave the comfort of his home. He couldn’t ask her to leave, not when the house was all she knew. And then where would he be? He’d end up like Maddock Tipring, sad and alone, perhaps victim of a murder where no one had a motive to kill him because no one really cared he existed.

Theo had an autopsy to attend soon and although he hoped for any enlightenment on the case, he knew it was unlikely. The solution would most likely come from the secret world of MI5 and the only person who could reveal those secrets forgot she made an appointment for the night before.

The patio door slid open behind him and his mother stepped outside. She came and stood by her son, only placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I get chair and I sit with you,” she said, in English. She so rarely spoke her second language.

“No, that’s all right. I’ll get you one.” He rose and brought her one. Her company brought him comfort.

“She doesn’t remember what day it is, does she?”

“No. Did you really expect her to?” she replied in Greek.

“I suppose not.” He pulled a box from his pocket and opened the lid. Inside sat a pair of ruby earrings. “I had an idea, from a case I was working on, to buy her these.”

“They are beautiful. Why don’t you give them to her?”

“What would be the point?”

“The point is, my son, they’re a nice gift and sadly, she hasn’t received a gift in a very long time.”

His mother was right. She didn’t care about him but he would do anything to make her happy.

Chapter Thirty

The next morning, Sophia started her weekend reviewing the Elaine Smith house tapes. Crystal had come in early to go over Smith’s computer which upon start up at the house, had self-destructed. Somebody smart, somebody really smart, could not only hack into the surveillance software but managed to remotely destroy evidence. Sophia was pissed. She would find the culprit if it killed her.

On the screen, Sophia watched the footage from the living room. Miles had just left and Elaine had walked into the kitchen. The cards lay out on the table. Did he know Elaine was about to be murdered? Would he sit down to a calm game of solitaire if he knew? Besides, he was rubbish at solitaire.

There were two layers of piles. Four neatly stacked piles along the top row with a top card of a queen of diamonds, a seven of clubs, a king of diamonds, and a joker; and seven neatly stacked piles on the bottom row: three of hearts, seven of hearts, five of clubs, six of spades, seven of spades, nine of hearts, and a four of spades.

Why was there a joker on the top row? That didn’t make any sense. She took her mobile from her jacket pocket and pulled up a web browser. She hadn’t played much solitaire, preferring Maj Jong to a card game other than bridge, but she knew the joker didn’t belong. She was right. Although the piles were correctly arranged, Miles should not have been playing with a joker.

“So, what did you find on the computer?” Liam came and sat down beside her.

“Crystal’s working on it.” She pointed to a small conference room where Crystal had the computer hooked up like an intensive care patient. From the window, Sophia could see her friend signing a string of filthy words.

He leaned over and looked at the display on her mobile. “Really, you think this is the time to be playing games?” Taking her arm in his hand, he was about to pull her from the seat but she pulled her arm back.

“This is important. I think this might be it, anyway. It might explain the camera.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I think this might be the shipping information.”

In a search engine, she pulled up the International Container Bureau’s international standard for identification of shipping containers and looked over the requirement—four letters, seven numbers. This could be it, she thought, and became excited. There was a way to be sure. She could calculate the check digit. Slowly she went through the formula, multiplying and subtracting, until she verified that four was indeed the correct last digit.

“Liam? Remember I told you that we feared an intruder on the network?”

“No, not really . . .”

“Well, we feared it nonetheless, maybe we didn’t tell you for fear you would panic and it turned out to be nothing. Now, however, we believe it to be related to the case in some way. We’re not sure it’s Placko’s men or belonging to the buyer. Either way, it’s not us. So, we’ve monitored the transmissions. The intruder has only hacked into the cameras. They want to see what we see. Why? If it’s someone who is involved, they shouldn’t have to see what we see. It didn’t make sense until I saw the cards.”

“What do the cards mean?”

“I think it’s the shipping container’s ID. That’s what we’re looking for, isn’t it?”

“Show me.”

“Well, I knew to some extent what we were looking for in terms of the identification, four letters and seven numbers. That matches a game of solitaire completely. The joker confused me but then it doesn’t really matter what card goes in the fourth place because we know it symbolizes the letter U.”

“How—”

“That doesn’t matter. You can search that later. In the meantime, just understand, the top row is the four letters: QSKU and the bottom row is the seven numbers 3756794. So, you can check port authority to confirm that the shipment is indeed there and go pick up your weapons.”

He stood looking at her dumbfounded. “Are you sure?”

“Not a hundred percent, but ninety.” She shrugged. “Why are you just standing there? I thought this was time sensitive.”

Liam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his mobile. “What were those numbers?”

Chapter Thirty-One

Monday morning, Sophia couldn’t find Liam. No one in the office had seen him and said he must be on assignment. It was odd she hadn’t heard from him all weekend. Perhaps he had tried to contact her but whatever measures Crystal put in place to block him had worked.

After trying his mobile for what seemed like the hundredth time, she knocked on her boss’s door.

“Sir, I can’t seem to find Liam.”

Vincent put down the shoe he was scrapping against his desk leg. A pile of mud lay on the floor. “Liam’s taking the day.”

“Oh, why? Is he sick?”

“That’s what he says. I think it has more to do with Gikhrist Stewart.”

“Who’s that?”

“Didn’t you hear? They think Gikhrist Stewart is the buyer. Three of his men showed up at the shipping container Friday evening.”

“Should I know who Gikhrist is?”

“The man who killed Liam’s wife.”

What?

“Look, Evans,” Vincent continued, “if you want more information, contact Liam. I have work to do.” He banged his shoe against the floor and placed it back over his socked foot. Then he picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Get out, Evans.” He waved her away.

Sophia slowly backed from the room. Liam had a wife? His wife was murdered by Gikhrist Stewart? No wonder he wasn’t in. No wonder he’s been out of sorts. He wasn’t the ass. She was. Who was this Stewart? Why didn’t he just tell her? She had to find him and apologize.

Someone tapped her shoulder. It was Crystal.

“Sophia, did you hear about Gikhrist Stewart?”

“I just did. Who is he?”

“He manages a securities company—smart and highly skilled in the technologies department. We’ve been trying to get him for fraud and various other crimes but he always manages to get away. We even sent a woman undercover but she was murdered. Did you know it was Foxton’s wife? I didn’t know he had a wife.”

“I just found out myself.”

“Horrible news. For years Foxton has been trying to arrest or perhaps even kill Gikhrist. The closest Foxton got to revence was when he ran over his dog.”

“Oh my God.”

“Stewart deserved worse.”

“No wonder Foxton’s taking the day off. Why don’t they arrest him? He’s behind the purchase of the weapons.”

“It’s the goal but as of now, we still don’t have enough to tie him to the sale and his men are not talking. Hopefully they will soon. If only for Foxton’s sake.”

Sophia nodded. She headed directly out of the office. She needed to think.

“One ticket please,” Sophia asked the woman behind the glass. It was 2:30 in the afternoon and Sophia had tracked Liam to this location—an old cinema in Hammersmith. There was a worry he was here to meet a contact, in which case, she risked ruining it for him, further jeopardizing their working relationship.

“What movie?”

“Oh . . .” Sophia looked up the board and picked the first one she saw that didn’t sound like it would involve a lot of fake screaming. However, she couldn’t be sure he was at that one, so she replied, “Um, I’m not sure.”

“Well, you have to pick one.”

“I’ve arranged to meet my boyfriend here but I can’t remember the name of the film we arranged to see. So, I need to check them all.”

“Why don’t you just ring him?”

“I can’t. His mobile’s turned off.” She tapped her fingers on the counter. “Look, give me number eight. Is it good?”

She just shrugged.

Sophia dug around in her bag and pulled out the money. Money that was going toward a movie she would never watch. She wished she had brought a picture of Liam to show the girl but doubted whether the girl could ID him. She took the ticket and entered the theater.

The old cinema reeked of popcorn. Although the architecture was beautiful, the carpets were worn and the velvet curtains that hung from the ceiling had begun to fray and thin. Ahead of her, an old woman in gray uniform vacuumed, and other than one short teenager behind the refreshment’s counter, the foyer was empty.

Based on the posters that lined Liam’s walls, she skipped the first few movies and entered an old forties film, Cat People. She had no idea when the film had started but only a handful of people sat inside. She slowly walked to the front, turned around and made her way back to the exit. As she went, she studied the faces. A few turned to look at her but then turned back to the screen. She only stopped when the scene turned dark and she could no longer make out the faces. One thing was certain—Liam was not watching that movie.

She made her way through two more theaters but she never found him. Had she got it wrong? There was a chance the accuracy of the location could be off by meters, leading from the theater to the building next door, but she didn’t want to think about that. She still had five more rooms to visit.

The next one played Kiss Me Deadly, a 1955 black and white film featuring Mike Hammer. It was the type of movie Liam would enjoy. Again she walked up to the front and made her way back. She only had to cover half the theater because in the middle sat Liam. He didn’t notice her because he stared intently at the screen. A woman screamed for her life. Sophia made her way down the aisle and sat next to him.

If he noticed her, he didn’t say anything.

She watched the movie for a few moments as well. For although she had decided to go to him there, she hadn’t thought out what she would say when she met him. Finally, she turned to look at him. He didn’t turn his head, but she saw his right eye twitch. He knew.

“When does the movie end?” she asked.

“It only just started.”

“Oh.”

“Why aren’t you in the office?”

“Why aren’t you?” She looked ahead. “You’re not here to meet anyone, are you?”

“If I was, it’s pretty stupid for you to interrupt a meet like this.”

“Yes. So, am I interrupting?”

“You are interrupting the movie,” said Liam.

A man five or six rows up turned around to give them a dirty look.

“Are you going to stay and bother me?” Liam asked.

She hadn’t decided. The movie became interesting and before she realized it, she had sat through the rest without talking to him. As the credits started to roll, he stood up beside her and started walking down the aisle away from her. She quickly rose and followed him.

“That was a good movie,” she said. “Have you seen it before?”

“Why did you come?”

“I thought we should discuss what happened a few days ago. I tried to contact you but you’re obviously avoiding my calls.”

“So you thought you would track me down.”

“I did learn from the best.” She gave him a smile. He didn’t reciprocate.

“Look,” she continued, and grabbed his arm to halt him. “Look, it’s awkward to work together if we don’t get this sorted.”

“I agree, that’s why I put in for a transfer.”

“That’s a bit extreme. What went wrong? What did I do wrong?”

“Do you know something, Evans? I can’t even really remember what we had a row about.”

“That’s wonderful. Then we’re all right, right?”

“That’s the thing, we’re not. I thought I could make this work but I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you remind me too much of my wife. And you know what? After realizing that Stewart is behind this, you might be wise to stay away from me.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Yes, neither was my wife. This is a dangerous game we play. Hell, we shouldn’t even consider it a game. It’s serious. People get hurt, especially those who are not trained to . . . You should know this best of all.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m muddled. I need some space and time to think, sort it all out. I’m not angry at you, I’m worried about you.” He turned around and started walking away down the pavement.

She didn’t follow. He was right. It was a crazy world and she wasn’t just behind a desk anymore, viewing it through rose-colored lenses. It had become violent in the past and it would again if she wasn’t careful. He was only trying to protect her.

He stopped and turned around. “Are you coming?”

“No, because I agree with you, Foxton. It’s better if we keep our distance.”

He approached, nodding.

“When do you transfer?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It has to be approved and I’m not sure they’ll think of approving it until after the case is over. Even then . . .” He paced back and forth. “Do you want to grab a coffee?”

She nodded. “It’s really cold.”

They walked to a coffee shop two streets over and stepped inside. Immediately the warmth hit her and she shivered. She found them a table in the almost empty cafe and sat down.

“Why couldn’t we arrest Gikhrist before?”

“We could never tie him to the crimes. He started with fraud and slowly worked his way up. He’s brilliant with computers and various forms of technology—made millions of pounds. I kick myself when I think I didn’t realize sooner that it was him behind the events at the flat. He probably had a laugh when he found out I was on his trail. He’s an arrogant bastard. The problem is that he doesn’t have a conscience, he has no problem killing to protect himself or for that matter, just for kicks.”

“Why did he go after your wife?”

He stared at her for a minute, probably debating whether to go further or not, but finally he replied, “To get to me. And it was a warning first. He made it clear that if I pursued him, he would go after all that was near and dear to me. I don’t even, to this day, know how he knew Kendra was my wife . . .”

“Is that your wife’s name?”

He nodded.

“Some believed he got access to our computers or had a man on the inside. We never found a leak. I actually believed Kendra was safe—I came home late and she wasn’t there. Instead of checking in on her or ringing to make sure she was all right, I went to bed. I just thought she popped out to the shops.”

“You can’t blame yourself.” It explained why he checked up on Sophia regularly.

“It all happens so fast. I didn’t believe it at first. I wanted to punch the person who told me such a sick joke—my wife couldn’t be dead. We made a point of it, my wife and me, to lower the risk after we got married. She held a desk job, like you. She wasn’t meant to be put in danger. I never meant to put her in danger. But it was the job. It was me.”

“You can’t blame yourself.”

“But I do, And one does not get over the death of one’s wife. Especially when the killer is having a laugh about it over tea.”

Sophia put her hand on his arm. It shook. “I can’t possibly say I understand because I don’t. I lost someone close to me, only I was the bloody killer.” She took a sip of her coffee. Her lip was beginning to quiver. “We have to be smarter than him. I’m sure we are. If he can get to us, we can get to him. Crystal and I can make it a priority to find him. And not only that, we’ll find out how he managed to get away with things for so long and catch him.”

“That’s not your priority—you have other cases you need to work on. They don’t like me taking you away from your assignments. I can’t ask you to do that. If they wanted the team to find him that way, they would have made it a priority for you. Right now they are more interested in the weapons. I have to follow orders.” He looked at his mobile. “I can’t ask you to look into it.”

She understood. “All right. I will tell Crystal what you told me.”

“Sophia, you can’t get too involved, do you understand? If you do, he’ll come after you. You have to be very careful. He will have no qualms holding a gun to the back of your head and blowing your bloody brains out.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Theo, and for that matter, Dorland, did not have much experience with autopsy. “Experience with autopsy.” What a way to describe it—as if it was something to be desired. The room was sterile except for the naked man that lay on the table. Theo watched Dr. Alfred Waynton lay out all his utensils one by one, picturing what each was used for, imagining the knives slicing through human flesh. His stomach turned over.

“Would you like a glass of water, Theo?”

Theo looked up at Waynton and swallowed sharply. “No. I’m all right. Just tired.”

“Well, don’t fall asleep during the autopsy. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”

Dorland seemed happy in the room, laughing, making jokes. Theo supposed it was his uncle that calmed him. What must family dinners be like? Did they let him carve the turkey? De-bone a ham? One by one, each organ was removed, weighed, and examined.

“The old man was in fine health, save a missing leg,” Waynton said, removing his gloves and donning a new pair. “I can tell you this, the person who murdered him was shorter than him. Can’t tell you if it was male or female, only that it is possible for it to be either sex.”

“What about the wound? Did the killer know what they were doing?”

“I think that they aimed for the heart. Although he was only stabbed once, the knife didn’t go deep. Only half the knife entered the chest cavity. Fortunately for the killer, they struck right on target. The good news is that he was dead almost instantly.”

“As far as you can tell, this murder was not done by a professional?”

“No, well, I suppose it might have been, but it could have been committed by anyone else too.”

“Male or female.”

“Yes. Male or female.”

So, really we have nothing to go on?”

“I’ve collected a few fibers, but unless the killer screwed up and left some mark on the knife I’m not sure you’ll be able to find him or her from the autopsy results.”

“What about the leg? Why was it removed?”

“It’s hard to say. I looked up the man’s health records but all it said was his leg was amputated due to an infection. How he received the infection is unknown. The amputation was done by a doctor in the NHS. Can’t remember the hospital off-hand.”

The tox screen also proved disappointing. Other than a few common medications relating to high blood pressure all in their proper doses, there were no unusual substances found. He had not drunk in days and suffered from nothing life-shattering. If he had not been stabbed, he would probably have lived for years to come. How could the man manage to make someone angry enough to plan this murder? The reason was not apparent to either detective.

Three phone calls to forensics only depressed Theo further, for there were no useful prints other than what belonged to the deceased and the nurse. No footprints, no other blood. Any hopes for useful DNA leading to an arrest of a suspect were unrewarding. It was a standard kitchen knife. No unique brand name.

“The public doesn’t like a senseless murder of a crippled old man just heading out to retrieve his newspaper. It makes the populace afraid and their fears fall on us. It really is important, but I think you know how important it is. Don’t you?” Theo said.

Dorland nodded.

“We must be running backwards,” Theo said, walking toward his office, “because I sure feel like vomiting.”