As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series) (13 page)

‘He had a second Twitter account?’

‘He did. And someone in High Tech needs their arse kicking. New Slatesman is a rock climb in the slate quarries in North Wales. Jake got the second ascent last year.’

‘What about Armitage Shanks?’

‘We were in town, years ago, and got stopped by someone with a petition. Jake gave his name then as Armitage Shanks. They make loos.’

‘I know that, Sir.’

‘Funny thing is, when it was my turn to the sign the petition, I gave my name as Jake Fayter. He never forgave me for that.’ Dixon smiled.

He tapped the ‘Me’ icon.

‘He’s only following two people and got two followers, look,’ said Jane.

‘And they’re the same people. A private party perhaps?’

The first account belonged to Desperate Dan with the username @Quarryman1971.

‘I’m assuming Dan Hunter was born in 1971?’

‘He was, Sir. What’s the significance of Quarryman?’

‘Another climb on the slate. Take a look at the second account. Get it?’

‘Perry Falco and @DuckHawkMan. Doesn’t mean anything to me,’ said Jane.

‘Falco Peregrinus is the Latin name for the Peregrine Falcon and Duck Hawk is the American name for it. That, Jane, is our dealer.’

‘Can we get Twitter to tell us who he is then?’

‘I doubt it. Fake name. Probably a fake email too and I bet he’s hidden his IP address behind any number of proxy servers.’

‘Could be abroad even?’

‘Well, he wasn’t when he stood next to Dan Hunter and shot him in the eye.’

‘True.’

Dixon looked at all three accounts. None had ever tweeted.

‘Must be direct messages then,’ he said. He returned to the ‘Me’ screen and tapped the grey envelope. This revealed a page entitled Messages. There was only one entry, an exchange started by Perry Falco @DuckHawkMan. It was not recent, as evidenced by the ‘198d’ adjacent to it.

‘One hundred and ninety eight days ago, I suppose?’ asked Jane.

‘Beginning of April at a guess,’ said Dixon. He tapped the arrow to open the message string. ‘This is it.’ Dixon reached for a pen and paper and wrote out the messages exactly as they appeared on the screen.

09/04 09:34

Millennium girls

birthday 27 November

09/04 19:17

Wish them a Happy Birthday

from me

10/04 10.02

Ring me on 313050

10/04 17:12

Will do. Give me a couple

of days

13/04 20:46

Well?

14/04 07:32

We are in luck

14/04 15:49

Party starts Manchester on 17th.

Entry code EK018. You’ll be met

18/04 21:20

Great party. Loving it!

30/04 09:12

Fancy another trip?

30/04 14:43

Yes!

02/05 08:14

Same birthday. Ring me on

312100

05/05 20:12

On way to Manchester.

Same entry code?

05/05 21:42

Yes. All booked

‘It’s a load of crap.’

‘Code is the word you’re looking for, Jane. It’s a load of code.’

‘What for?’

‘That’s what we need to find out, isn’t it? For starters, I’ll bet you a tenner that Manchester EK018 is a flight number. What price Manchester to Dubai?’

Dixon opened Google on his computer and typed in EK018.

‘There we are. Manchester to Dubai daily. Emirates flight 18. An A380 no less.’

‘So, they flew from Manchester to Dubai on 17th April.’

‘Better check with Emirates. And find out who booked and paid for those flights.’

‘Now?’

Dixon looked at his watch. It was nearly 7.00pm.

‘No, in the morning will do. You head off home.’

‘Yes, Sir. What about the rest of it?’

‘Setting up the two egg stealing trips, I expect.’

‘Not the most elaborate code, is it?’

‘Probably never expected anyone to read it. They just dressed the messages up as innocuous crap that wouldn’t attract attention. Easily lost in the billions of direct messages passing daily on Twitter.’

Jane went home leaving Dixon sitting at his desk. He turned back to the piece of paper in front of him. He had always hated crosswords, particularly cryptic ones. The millennium girls’ birthday on 27th November was clearly significant, whoever the millennium girls were, as were the telephone numbers with no dialling code. Most importantly, though, he now had proof of the dealer’s existence.

Dixon looked at Jake’s iPhone. It was his only means of communication with @DuckHawkMan, unless he could follow him on Twitter. He turned back to his computer and went to twitter.com/duckhawkman.

@DuckHawkMan’s tweets are protected.

Only confirmed followers have access to @duckhawkman’s Tweets and complete profile. Click the “Follow” button to send a follow request.

‘Fuck it.’

Dixon did not hold out much hope of a Follow request being accepted and, without the password, his only access to the second Twitter account was through the app on Jake’s iPhone. He made up his mind quickly. He put the empty evidence bag in the bottom drawer of his desk, slipped Jake’s phone into his jacket pocket and went home.

Dixon drove north on the A38. He was not entirely comfortable with his decision to take Jake’s iPhone but consoled himself with the knowledge that he needed to move quickly. Various clichés occurred to him, that the end would justify the means and an unfortunate one involving omelettes and breaking eggs. But there was no escaping the simple fact that he had crossed the line. At worst, it would involve a disciplinary process and a reprimand. At best, he would get away with it. It was a risk worth taking.

He stopped off at the Chinese takeaway in Burnham-on-Sea and managed to fit in ten minutes on the beach with Monty while his food was being cooked. There was a full moon, which made Monty visible in the dark. It was one advantage of a white dog.

Dixon was home by 8.30pm. He fed Monty and then set about his takeaway. In between mouthfuls of chow mien, he opened a can of lager, powered up his laptop and switched on the TV. He opted for The Wild Geese. It was a film he had seen many times and it helped him think.

He opened Internet Explorer and typed ‘313050’ into Google. The results were disappointing. He scrolled down through entries that meant very little to him, a hex colour code, whatever that was, and what appeared to be a zip code in Denver. The last entry on the first page was more promising and came from streetmap.co.uk. Dixon clicked on it and found himself looking at a map of Shrewsbury. He scrolled down looking for further information and clicked on a link to ‘convert coordinates’. This opened a new window, which gave easting, northing, postcode, latitude and longitude and grid reference. Dixon did not recognise the other entries.

Dixon could see that 313050 was the northing. He recognised the grid reference format, SJ 500 103, but was unfamiliar with northing and easting. He went back to Google and typed in ‘northing’. Within a few clicks he was on Wikipedia learning about all-numeric grid references, ‘quoted as pairs of numbers’.

‘Pairs of numbers’ was the key. He looked again at the first of the Twitter direct messages, ‘millennium girls birthday 27 November’. He wrote down 271100 next to it on the piece of paper. It had to be the first part of an all-numeric grid reference.

He was on gridreferencefinder.com in a matter of seconds. He entered 271100 for the easting and 313050 for the northing and clicked ‘go’. Moments later he was looking at an aerial view of Cader Idris in the Snowdonia National Park. Next he entered 271100 and 312100 and found himself at the foot of the Pencoed Pillar, again, in the Cader Idris region of Snowdonia.

Dixon reached for Jake’s iPhone. He opened the Twitter app, navigated to direct messages and tapped out a message to @DuckHawkMan.

I’ve got your money.

He took a large swig of lager and clicked ‘Send’. It was going to be a long night.

The reply came within minutes.

Who is this?

Dixon was stunned. He had not expected a response at all, let alone one so quickly. He was suddenly aware of the implications of what he had done and what he was doing. He had removed evidence in a double murder investigation and, if he was right, was now in direct contact with the man who had put a gun to Dan Hunter’s head and pulled the trigger. He was also the man who had killed Jake.

He took a swig of lager and turned his attention to his response. An honest answer to the question was not an option. ‘This is Detective Inspector Nick Dixon, Avon & Somerset CID’ would bring the exchange to an abrupt halt. Any chance of finding DuckHawkMan would be gone in an instant. The obvious answer was to masquerade as Sarah Heath. It would be entirely plausible that Jake’s girlfriend would have access to his Twitter accounts. It would be equally plausible that she had access to the money from the second Dubai trip. This might be the means of bringing DuckHawkMan out into the open.

Dixon reached for Jake’s iPhone, which was on the arm of the sofa. His hand was shaking. He suddenly became aware that his heart was beating loud and fast. He took a deep breath and began tapping out a reply.

Sarah Heath.

His finger hovered over the send button. He hesitated. It occurred to him that DuckHawkMan might know where Sarah lived. If he knew Jake, it would be reasonable to assume that he knew where Jake lived and that would lead him to Sarah. He might even know where she worked. The answer was obvious. Dixon needed Sarah‘s co-operation. He threw what was left of his chow mien in the bin, picked up his car keys and set off towards Burnham.

He had no real idea how he was going to persuade Sarah to co-operate; particularly after the hard time he had given her in interview. Not only that, but as far as she was concerned, Jake had killed her sister. It was certainly not going to be easy but he had to try. Not least for Dan Hunter’s sake.

Dixon parked in the car park in front of the Clarence and went into the Public Bar. No sign of Sarah. He found her behind the Lounge Bar. It was empty apart from an elderly couple in the far corner. Sarah was changing the gin optic and had her back to him when he walked in.

‘I’ll have a pint of lager, please, Sarah,’ said Dixon. ‘Can I get you anything?’

Sarah’s smile disappeared immediately she recognised Dixon.

‘What do you want?’

‘I need your help…’

‘My help? You need my help?’

‘Yes. Let me buy you a drink and I can explain.’

‘You’ve got a bloody cheek after the grilling you gave me. You practically accused me of killing Jake.’

‘I’ve never thought you had anything to do with his death. You know that.’

‘What was all that about then?’

‘It’s a murder investigation. You were withholding information. What was I supposed to do?’

Sarah banged Dixon’s pint down on the bar.

‘Ten minutes, that’s all I need.’

‘Why should I?’

‘For Jake.’

‘He killed my sister.’

‘Did he? Are you sure about that? Because I’m not. All we’ve got is one statement from a known drug dealer with a list of previous convictions as long as your arm. Hardly compelling evidence, is it?’

Sarah ignored him.

Dixon continued. ‘No jury would convict on that evidence. And let’s be honest, Sarah, if Jenna hadn’t bought the drugs off Jake, she’d have got them off someone else, wouldn’t she?’

Sarah began pouring herself a glass of white wine.

‘£6.10 including the wine.’

Dixon took his wallet out of his back pocket and produced a ten pound note. Sarah gave him his change, picked up her glass of wine and walked around into the seating area. She sat down at the table adjacent to the bar. Dixon sat on the bar stool opposite her.

‘Go on. I’m listening.’

Dixon placed Jake’s iPhone on the table in front of Sarah.

‘Whose is that?’